the king's sovereign banner; his own also was displayed in the field with his arms. The English and Gascons poured so fast upon the king's division that they broke through the ranks by force; and the French were so intermixed with their enemies that at times there were five men attacking one gentleman. The Lord de Chargny was slain, with the banner of France in his hands, by the Lord Reginald Cobham; and afterwards the Earl of Dammartin shared the same fate.

There was much pressing at this time, through eagerness to take the king; and those who were nearest to him, and knew him, cried out, " Surrender yourself, surrender yourself, or you are a dead man.” In that part of the field was a young knight from St. Omer, who was engaged by a salary in the service of the King of England; his name was Denys de Morbeque, who for five years had attached himself to the English, on account of having been banished in his younger days from France for a murder committed in an affray at St. Omer. It fortunately happened for this knight that he was at the time near to the King of France, when he was so much pulled about. He by dint of force-for he was very strong and robust-pushed through the crowd, and said to the king in good French, “Sire, sire, surrender yourself." The king, who found himself very disagreeably situated, turning to him, asked, To whom shall I surrender myself--to whom? Where is my cousin, the Prince of Wales? If I could see him, I would speak to him." Sire," replied Sir

Denys, "he is not here. But surrender yourself to me, and I will lead you to him." "Who are you?" said the king. "Sire, I am Denys de Morbeque, a knight from Artois; but I serve the King of England, because I cannot belong to France, having forfeited all I possessed there." The king then gave him his right-hand glove, and said, “I surrender myself to you." There was much crowding and pushing about, for every one was eager to cry out, "I have taken him.” Neither the king nor his youngest son Philip were able to get forward, and free themselves from the throng.

The Prince of Wales, who was as courageous as a lion, took great delight that day to combat his enemies. Sir John Chandos, who was near his person, and had never quitted it during the whole of the day, nor stopped to make prisoners, said to him towards the end of the battle, "Sir, it will be proper for you to halt here, and plant your banner on the top of this bush, which will serve to rally your forces that seem very much scattered; for I do not see any banners or pennons of the French, nor any considerable bodies able to rally against us. And you must refresh yourself a little, as I perceive you are very much heated." Upon this the banner of the prince was placed on a high bush; the minstrels began to play, and trumpets and clarions to do their duty. The prince took off his helmet, and the knights attendant on his person, and belonging to his chamber, were soon ready, and pitched a small pavilion of crimson colour, which the prince entered. Wine was then brought to him and the

other knights who were with him. They increased every moment, for they were returning from the pursuit, and stopped there, surrounded by their prisoners.

As soon as the two marshals were come back, the prince asked them if they knew anything of the King of France. They replied, "No, sir, not for a certainty; but we believe he must be either killed or made prisoner, since he has never quitted his battalion." The prince then, addressing the Earl of Warwick and Lord Cobham, said, "I beg of you to mount your horses, and ride over the field, so that on your return you may bring me some certain intelligence of him." The two barons, immediately mounting their horses, left the prince, and made for a small hillock, that they might look about them.

From their stand they perceived a crowd of menat-arms on foot, who were advancing very slowly. The King of France was in the midst of them, and in great danger; for the English and Gascons had taken him from Sir Denys de Morbeque, and were disputing who should have him the stoutest bawling out, "It is I that have got him." "No, no," replied the others; "we have him." The king, to escape from this peril, said, "Gentlemen, gentlemen, I pray you conduct me and my son in a courteous manner to my cousin the prince; and do not make such a riot about my capture, for I am so great a lord that I can make all sufficiently rich." These words, and others which fell from the king, appeased them a little; but the disputes were always beginning again, and they did not move a step without rioting.

When the two barons saw this troop of people, they descended from the hillock, and sticking spurs into their horses, made up to them.

On their arrival

they asked what was the matter. They were answered that it was the King of France, who had been made prisoner, and that upwards of ten knights and squires challenged him at the same time, as belonging to each of them. The two barons then pushed through the crowd by main force, and ordered all to draw aside. They commanded, in the name of the prince, and under pain of instant death, that every one should keep his distance, and not approach unless ordered or desired so to do. They all retreated behind the king, and the two barons, dismounting, advanced to the king with profound reverences, and conducted him in a peaceable manner to the Prince of Wales.

From Johness translation of FROISSART'S "Chronicles."

44. ISEULT'S TALE.

What tale did Iseult to the children say,
Under the hollies, that bright winter's day?

She told them of the fairy-haunted land
Away the other side of Brittany,

Beyond the heaths, edged by the lonely sea;

Of the deep forest glades of Broce-liande,

Through whose green boughs the golden sunshine creeps,
Where Merlin by the enchanted thorn-tree sleeps.

For here he came with the fay Vivian,

One April, when the warm days first began.
He was on foot, and that false fay his friend
On her white palfrey; here he met his end,

In these lone sylvan glades, that April day.
This tale of Merlin and the lovely fay

Was the one Iseult chose, and she brought clear
Before the children's fancy him and her.

Blowing between the stems, the forest air
Had loosened the brown locks of Vivian's hair,
Which played on her flushed cheek, and her blue eyes
Sparkled with mocking glee and exercise.

Her palfrey's flanks were mired and bathed in sweat,
For they had travelled far and not stopped yet.

A brier in that tangled wilderness

Had scored her white right hand, which she allows
To rest ungloved on her green riding-dress;
The other warded off the drooping boughs.
But still she chatted on, with her blue eyes
Fixed full on Merlin's face, her stately prize.
Her 'haviour had the morning's fresh clear grace,
The spirit of the woods was in her face.
She looked so witching fair, that learned wight
Forgot his craft, and his best wits took flight;
And he grew fond, and eager to obey

His mistress, use her empire as she may.

They came to where the brushwood ceased, and day
Peered 'twixt the stems; and the ground broke away,
In a sloped sward, down to a brawling brook;
And up as high as where they stood to look

On the brook's farther side was clear, but then
The underwood and trees began again.

This open glen was studded thick with thorns
Then white with blossom; and you saw the horns,
Through last year's fern, of the shy fallow deer
Who come at noon down to the water here.
You saw the bright-eyed squirrels dart along
Under the thorns on the greensward; and strong
The blackbird whistled from the dingles near,
And the weird chipping of the woodpecker