"Will the lady decide for us?" said Phil, with a smile. "Will you have the 'Silver Scarf,' madam; or 'the Knight and the Soldan of Bagdad?' They are both done into my poor English from the troubadours of Almeigne."
The lady fixed, at haphazard, on "the Knight and the Soldan of Bagdad:" and Phil prepared to obey her commands. He took a small harp in his hand, and sate down in the vacant chair next to Sir Bryan de Bareilles. The rest of the company composed themselves to listen; and, after a short prelude, Lorimer, in a fine manly voice, began—
"Oh, brightly bloom'd the orange flow'r,
And fair the roses round;
And the fountain, in its marble bed,
Leapt up with a happy sound;
And stately, stately was the hall,
And rich the feast outspread;
But the Soldan of Bagdad sigh'd full sore,
And never a word he said.