So with regard to most of the trifling details which are given; they are
taken from the record. It is greatly to be regretted that the Frankland
Mansion no longer exists. It was accidentally burned on the 23d of
January, 1858, a year or two after the first sketch of this ballad was
written. A visit to it was like stepping out of the century into the
years before the Revolution. A new house, similar in plan and
arrangements to the old one, has been built upon its site, and the
terraces, the clump of box, and the lilacs doubtless remain to bear
witness to the truth of this story.

The story, which I have told literally in rhyme, has been made
the subject of a carefully studied and interesting romance by Mr.
E. L. Bynner.



PART FIRST

THE KNIGHT

THE tale I tell is gospel true,
As all the bookmen know,
And pilgrims who have strayed to view
The wrecks still left to show.

The old, old story,--fair, and young,
And fond,--and not too wise,--
That matrons tell, with sharpened tongue,
To maids with downcast eyes.