THE ROMANCE OF THE SELF. 583 



and turning his head, he saw by his side a figure his exact coun- 

 terpart in form and feature. " Away !" cried the magician, " thy 

 wish is accomplished." <e Not so fast, good sir/' answered Hubert ; 

 " I have performed my part of the covenant, and it is but just that 

 you should perform yours. Where is my promised wealth ?" " Hie 

 thee," said the wizard, " to the place where thy hut once stood, and 

 thou wilt find wealth in abundance, aye, even to satiety." 



As Hubert bent his steps homeward, his heart misgave him. 

 " How," said he ,if the villain should have played me false." " How, 

 if the villain should have played me false," echoed a voice by his 

 side. He turned, and his eyes met those of the newly-created self. 

 (( Gadso," said he, " I had forgotten I had a companion, and one, 

 too, of the wizard's creating; suppose, now this fellow should tell 



him ." He stopped short, for each word he spoke was re-ecoed 



by the figure. " Thou art a mighty impertinent varlet," said he to 

 the being ; but if thou wilt play the echo, thou shalt at least be a 

 musical one, and assist me in the trolling of a ballad. So saying, he 

 chaunted the following ditty, in which he was accompanied by the 

 self: 



THE BARON'S LOVE. 



It was Sir Hugh, the baron bold, 



Rode out at break of morn, 

 With hound, as though to chase the deer, 



And loud he blew his horn. 



He rode o'er hill, he rode o'er dale, 



He rode o'er barren moor, 

 And sprung o'er crags where horse nor hound 



Had ever been before. 



The morn was fair, the sun shone forth, 



The rivers flash'd like gold ; 

 And all was gay that met the eye 



Of the joyful baron bold. 



Oh, it was not so much to chase the deer, 



Or to brush the dew away, 

 That the baron had left his downy couch, 



And saddled his courser gray. 



The baron he lov'd a maiden bright, 



Yet she was of lowly race, 

 And he rocle to meet her at break of day, 



As though he had sought the chase. 



The baron he spurr'd his goodly steed, 



And rode with might and main ; 

 And when he had ridden a mile or two, 



A deer flew o'er the plain. 

 Then drew the baron his fatal bow, 



Swift flew the feathery dart ; 

 The arrow it miss'd the bounding deer, 



But it pierc'd his true love's heart ! 

 The knight he sprung from his foaming horse, 



And clasp'd unto his breast 

 The dying form of the lovely maid, 



And her cold, cold lips he prest. 



