resented a grim
head in the act of devouring a child--which tradition affirmed was the
great giant Tarquin at his morning's repast. The room was fitted up with
cumbrous elegance. A few pieces of faded tapestry covered one side of
the apartment. In a recess stood a tester bed, ornamented with black
velvet, together with curtains of black stuff and a figured coverlet. A
wainscot cupboard displayed its curiously-carved doors, near to which
hung two pictures, or tables as they were called, representing the fair
Lucretia and Mary Magdalen. A backgammon-board lay on the window-seat;
three shining tall-backed, oaken chairs, with a table of the same
well-wrought material, and irons beautifully embossed, and a striped
Turkey rug, formed a sumptuous catalogue, when we consider the manner of
furnishing that generally prevailed in those days.

The page sat on a corner seat beneath the window. He struck a few wild
chords.

"Not that--not that, good Altdorff. It bids one linger too much of
home-longings."

Here the boy's eyes glistened, and a tremulous motion of the lip showed
how his heart bounded at the word.

"Prythee, give us the song thou wast conning yesterday."

The page began with a low prelude, but was again interrupted.

"Nay, 'tis not thus. Give me that wild love-ditty thou knowest so well.
I did use to bid thee be silent when thou wouldest have worried mine
ears with it. But in sooth the morning looks so languishing and tender
that it constrains the bosom, I verily think, to its own softness."

The page seemed to throw his whole soul into the wild melody which
followed this request. We give it, with a few verbal alterations, as
follows:--

SONG.

1.

Fair star, that beamest
In my ladye's bower,
Pale ray, that streamest
In her lonely tower;
Bright cloud, when like the eye of Heaven
Floating in depths of azure light,
Let me but on her beauty gaze
Like ye unchidden. Day and night
I'd watch, till no intruding rays
Should bless my sight.

2.

Fond breeze, that rovest
Where my ladye strays,
Odours thou lovest
Wafting to her praise;
Lone brook, that with soft music bubblest,
Chaining her soul to harmony;
Let me but round her presence steal
Like ye unseen, a breath I'd be,
Content none other joy to feel
Than circling thee!

"In good sooth, thou c