rt clings
to, which, for joy or sorrow, awaken the memories of every mind." Hence
we learn the history of a nation's heart from their songs as we learn
their martial history from their armor.

The oldest song, set to music, which is now known is the following:

"Summer is y-comen in,
Loude sing cuckoo:
Groweth seed,
And bloweth mead,
And springeth the wood now;
Sing Cuckoo!
Ewe bleateth after lamb,
Lowth after calf cow;
Bullock starteth,
Buck resteth
Merry sing cuckoo!
Cuckoo, Cuckoo!
Well sings thou cuckoo!
Ne swick thou never now."

The old ballads seem to have no paternity. They spring up like flowers,
spontaneously. Most of them are of unknown date and unknown authorship.
The structure, language, and spelling of many have been so modified, by
successive reciters, that their original form is now lost. We have a
short summary of King Arthur's history, the great hero of romance, in a
comparatively modern ballad. I will quote it:

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittane born,
King Arthur I am to name:
Through Christendome and Heathynesse
Well known is my worthy fame.
In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve;
I am a Christyan born:
The Father, Sone and Holy Gost
One God I doe adore.
In the four hundreed nintieth yeere
Over Brittaine I did rayne,
After my Savior Christ his byrth:
What time I did maintaine.
The fellowshippe of the table round
Soe famous in those days;
Whereatt a hundred noble Knights
And thirty sat alwayes;
Who for their deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes dou yet record,
Amongst all other nations
Wer feared through the world.
And in the castle of Tayntagill,
King Uther me begate
Of Agyana, a bewtyous ladye,
And come of hie estate.
And when I was fifteen yeer old,
Then was I crowned Kinge;
All Brittaine that was att an uprore
I did to quiett bring
And drove the Saxons from the realme,
Who had oppressed this land;
All Scotland then throughe manly feates
I conquered with my hand.
Ireland, Denmarke, Norway,
These countryes won I all
Iseland, Getheland and Swothland;
And mad their kings my thrall
I conquered all Galya,
That now is called France;
And slew the hardye Froll in Field
My honor to advance,
And the ugly gyant Dynabus
Soe terrible to vewe,
That in Saint Barnard's Mount did lye,
By force of armes, I