He shut the door with all his might; He lock'd it fast, and quench'd the light: "I shall sleep here," said John. A servant to Sir Lave hied;-- "Sir John is sleeping with the bride:" "Aye, that I am," said John. Sir Lave to the chamber flew: "Arise, and straight the door undo!" "A likely thing!" said John. He struck with shield, he struck with spear-- "Come out, thou Dog, and fight me here!" "Another time," said John. "And since thou with my bride hast lain, To our good king I will complain." "That thou canst do," said John. As soon as e'er the morning shone, Sir Lave sought our monarch's throne; "I'll go there too," said John. "O King, chastise this wicked wight, For with my wife he slept last night." "'T is very true," said John. "Since ye two love one pretty face, Your lances must decide the case." "With all my heart," said John. The sun on high was shining bright, And thousands came to see the fight: "Lo! here I am:" said John. The first course that they ran so free, Sir John's horse fell upon his knee: "Now help me God!" said John. The next course that they ran, in ire, Sir Lave fell among the mire. "He's dead enough!" said John. The victor to the castle hied, And there in tears he found the bride: "Thou art my own," said John. That night, forgetting all alarms, Again she blest him in her arms. "I have her now!" said John. MAY {f:3} ASDA. FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER. May Asda is gone to the merry green wood; Like flax was each tress on her temples that stood; Her cheek like the rose-leaf that perfumes the air; Her form, like the lily-stalk, graceful and fair: She mourn'd for her lover, Sir Frovin the brave, For he had embark'd on the boisterous wave; And, burning to gather the laurels of war, Had sail'd with King Humble to Orkney afar: At feast and at revel, wherever she went, Her thoughts on his perils and dangers were bent; No joy has the heart that loves fondly and dear-- No pleasure save when the lov'd object is near! May Asda walk'd out in the bonny noon-tide, And roam'd where the beeches grew up in their pride; She sat herself down on the green sloping hill, Where liv'd the Erl-people, {f:4} and where they live still: Then trembled the turf, as she sat in repose, And straight from the mountain three maidens arose; And with them a loom, and upon it a woof, As white as the snow when it falls on the roof. Of red shining gold was the fairy-loom made; They sang and they danc'd, and their swift shuttles play'd; Their song was of death, and their song was of life, It sounded like billows in tumult and strife. They gave her the woof, with a sorrowful look, And vanish'd like bubbles that burst on the brook; But deep in the mountain was heard a sweet strain, As the lady went home to her bower again. The web was unfinish'd; she wove and she spun, Nor rested a moment, until it was done; And there was enough, when the work was complete, To form for a dead man a shirt or a sheet.