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STORIES FROM OLD ENGLISH POETRY.

ness, the knight’s heart sank again. Before he could speak she demanded of him her boon.

“What would you ask of me?” said Ulric, fearfully.

“My boon is only this,” answered the hag, “that in return for thy life, which my wit has preserved to thee, thou shalt make me thy true and loving wife.”

Sir Ulric was filled with horror, and would gladly have given all his goods and his lands to escape such a union. But not anything would the old crone take in exchange for his fair self; and the queen and all the court agreeing that she had the right to enforce her request, which he had promised on his knightly honor, he was at last obliged to yield and make her his wife.

Never in all King Arthur’s court were sadder nuptials than these. No feasting, no joy, but only gloom and heaviness, which, spreading itself from the wretched Sir Ulric, infected all the court. Many a fair dame pitied him sorely, and not a knight but thanked his gracious stars that he did not stand in the like ill fortune.

After the wedding ceremonies, as Ulric sat alone in his chamber, very heavy-hearted and sad, his aged bride entered and sat down near him. But he turned his back upon her, resolving that now she was his wife, he would have no more speech with her.