It was a sight in those feudal days worthy of being recorded in a better ballad than the old one extant in the archives of the borough of Ipswich, written by old Dan Lydgate, monk of the Benedictine Abbey of St. Edmund's Bury; though he was a genuine poet of his day, and few could vie with him in allegory, or in narrative, or in words; and yet old Dan wanted that sense of feeling that meditates in love upon things passing around him. He described them with flowery colours, and now and then with a daring liberty almost approaching to licentiousness. He was seldom pathetic or reflective--yet he is a good old poet, and describes his times quite as well as Byron does his, with far less morbid selfishness. From far and near, Ipswich was like a vast fair; but there was no gambling, hooting, hallooing, cheating, drinking, bargaining, and brawling. Instead of these, there was a cheerful wedding, upon which every face smiled with delight. Beautiful indeed was the attachment between two such souls as those of the son of Sir William Latimer and the daughter of Lord De Freston, enhanced by similarity of taste, a love of truth, literature, and talent, and by every virtue which adorns or ennobles human nature. An abhorrence of anything unjust and oppressive pervaded De Freston and Sir William Latimer, and was instilled into their children. The country was alive with joyful faces, and not only the hamlets of Ipswich, but from every village down the Orwell, as far as Felixtow Beach on the one side, and Shotley Point on the other, boats ascended the tide to the gaily festive scene. Songs were got up by the village singers. One ballad, or song, or chaunt, or whatever else it may be called, is preserved, which affords not only a lively description of the feeling then felt towards the daughter of Lord De Freston, but it is not devoid of elegance or metrical beauty, though it may not be exactly accurate in rhyme:-- The Boatmen's Bridal Song. Come, row the boat, row! from Levington Creek; The boat full of roses as e'er it can stick. Row the boat, row! Yoho! yoho! For the pride of the castle, fair Ellen, we go! Come, row the boat, row! 'tis the bridal day; And woe to the maiden who stays away. Row the boat, row! Yoho! yoho! For the pride of the castle, fair Ellen, we go. Come, row the boat, row! o'er the Orwell's wave, If the youth or the maiden would happiness have. Row the boat, row! Yoho! yoho! For the pride of the castle, fair Ellen, we go. Come, row the boat, row! from the Haugh's green side, 'Neath the Wolferstone shade let our oars quick glide. Row the boat, row! Yoho! yoho! For the pride of the castle, fair Ellen, we go. Come, row the boat, row! with all your power. For the maiden is gone from De Freston's Tower. Row the boat, row! Yoho! yoho! For the pride of the castle, fair Ellen, we go.