the parties betrothed; the holy benediction was alſo pronounced, and for ever was Adela to be the wedded ſpouſe of Edgar. Now, with pompous ſhow and attendance, the banquet was ſerved up to dames and knights, the flower of courteſy and valour. The caſtle reſounded with minſtrelſy and the dance; when a ſtranger, in the ſimple garb of a pilgrim, entered the hall. He caſt his eyes around on the goodly company, and with an air of ſanctity and reſpect implored a bleſſing on their fellowſhip. He was received with hoſpitable welcome, and the reverence due to his holy ſemblance. He ſpake in meek and modeſt guiſe; his eyes were often fixed on Adela; they were ſometimes dimmed with a gliſtening tear; and ever and anon his boſom heaved with involuntary ſighs. He took the harp of a minſtrel; he touched the ſtrings with maſterly cunning, and accompanied the notes with a melodious voice. Tuneful, but melancholy, was the drain: he ſung the ſorrows of thoſe that are forſaken; the anguiſh of a deſponding ſpirit; and the wounds inflicted on a faithful heart, by inconſtancy and proud diſdain, He deſiſted, with marks of grief and inward contention. “Holy pilgrim,” ſaid Albert, “the ſenſe of calamity devours thy ſpirit. Inform us of thy miſhap, that, if poſſible, we may adminiſter comfort. Nor think it incompatible with bridal feſtivity, to indulge compaſſion, and aſſuage the torment of heartfelt care.”
“I am the ſon of a freeman,” replied the ſtranger; “and though my birth was not ennobled by ſplendid titles, nor my anceſtry diſtinguiſhed by the parade of blazonry, my boſom burned with the love of arms, and my heart was upright. In an unlucky hour I became enamoured of a gentle dame, the only daughter of a noble baron. My ſincere though preſumptuous ſuit ſeemed not diſpleaſing to that peerleſs beauty; and with the ardent, intemperate boldneſs of a lover, I aſked her in marriage of her ſire. ‘Go,’ ſaid he, ‘gain thee a name in arms, and then aſpire to the envied alliance of my houſe.’ I departed, not without tender inter-
