iC. IH.l tue ILMrLAIt* IN CïNlUs. 73 That I spoke scornfully !—Tis true wo pine Together on ono chain. -Sing mo, good brother, Tho song about the priest felled by tho knight, Which at nightfall tho pilgrim* *aug to un At Acre. I cannot recall it quite, The end rupecially— Norro. Neither can I. PltlOB. It sounds like fifes of Hell—tho reason I So long to hear it ! — Norro. Always tho saino song ! Still, if it gives you pleasure I will sing it. [Seise* the guitar, play* anil ring*, ttateil, during tchieh the PlilOK, tcho itand* before him, listen* icith every tign of i.irl rage. Knight Williba! I rule, at all i|ccl from tbo fight, About the uiidni.-ht | The smart of his wounds Is unceasing, and ho l'ut» spurs to his s (red through tho forest free. He speeds through the moon-ray bright, Ami thinks of his wounds all night, Nought heeding the little stars' radiant light. He came to the crossroad where midmost the wood A crucifix stood, And there stood a nebulous priest by the war, And " Greeting in God's name, Sir Knight! h did he say. •' Slay, Sir WiUibald," said, where he stood ; " Thou'sl o'er ridden thyself, 'lis not good! " " Would st thou stay me, palo speclre in hood ? • " And If I do stay thee, thy safeguard am I," Was the priest's reply. " Wounded thou wrrt 'ncath the sun-ray bright, Healing thou'It find 'neat h the cool moonlight," Was the shimmering priest's reply. " Hide not so i|iuekly by ; Thy ulies and thy \ .uns for a respite cry."