by others.  She then thought of the numerous lays which she had heard, and carefully treasured in her memory.  These, she was sure, must be new to the generality of her readers; and, in this confidence, she offers to the king the fruits of her labours.  After complaining she has met with envy and persecution where she deserved praise, she declares her intention to persevere, and relate, as briefly as possible, such stories as she knows to be true, and to have been formed into lays by the Britons.

    Les contes ke jeo sai rerrais,
    Dunt li Bretun ont fait ces lais,
    Vus conterai asez briefment, &c.

The Lays are twelve in number; nine of which, with the above introduction, are extracted, with some trifling abridgment, from the Specimens of early English Metrical Romances, by George Ellis, Esq.; the two in verse from Way’s Fabliaux; and the other from the notes to Sir Tristrem, by Walter Scott, Esq.

No. 1.—­The Lay of SIR GUGEMER, or GUIGEMAR.

    While Arthur reign’d, (so chim’d, in earlier day,
    Loud to the twanging harp the Breton lay,)
    While Arthur reign’d, two kingdoms born to bless,
    Great Britain’s king, and suzerain of the less;
    A lord of Leon, one of fair report
    Among the vassal barons of his court,
    Own’d for his son a youth more bravely thew’d
    Than aught both countries yet had seen of good. 
    Dame Nature gave the mould; his sire combin’d
    Due culture, exercise of limbs and mind,
    Till the rare strippling, now no longer boy,
    Chang’d his fond parents’ fearful hope for joy.

    His name was Gugemar:  as strength grew on,
    To Arthur’s court the sire consign’d his son. 
    There soon in feats of arms the youth excell’d,
    Magnanimous, in sports, or deadly field.

    Chief of the Table-round, from time to time
    Illustrious Arthur mark’d his opening prime,
    Then dealt him noble meed; the honour high,
    From his own hand, of glorious chivalry.

    Knightly in arms he was; one grievous blot,
    So deem’d full many a courtly dame, I wot,
    Cross’d the full growth of his aspiring days,
    And dimm’d the lustre of meridian praise: 
    With bootless artifice their lures they troll’d;
    Still, Gugemer lov’d not, or nothing told. 
      The court’s accustom’d love and service done,
    To his glad sire returns the welcome son. 
    Now with his father dwelt he, and pursued
    Such pastimes as are meet for youth of noble blood. 
    The woods of Leon now would shrilly sound
    Oft with his joyous shout and choral hound
    At length, one morn his disadventurous dart,
    Lanc’d, as the game was rous’d, at hind or hart,
    Wing’d through the yielding air its weetless way,
    And pierc’d unwares a metamorphos’d fay. 
    Lo! back recoiling straight,