The bitterness of wounded vanity That with a fiendish hue would overcast His faint and lying smile. Nor vain her fear, Were closed at night;-that Zillah's life was foul, Shame-shame to man, Without the walls, They rose, they spread, they raged; The breath of God went forth; the ascending fire Beneath its influence bent, and all its flames In one long lightning-flash concentrating, Darted and blasted Hamuel,-him alone. Hark! what a fearful scream the multitude Pour forth!-and yet more miracles! the stake Buds out, and spreads its light green leaves, and bowers The innocent Maid, and Roses bloom around, Now first beheld since Paradise was lost, And fill with Edeu odours all the air. 1798. THE LOVER'S ROCK. De la Pena de los Enamorados. Un moço Christiano estava cautivo en Granada, sus partes y diligencia eran tales, su buen término y cortesia, que su amo hazia mucha confiança dél dentro y fuera de su casa. Una hija suya al tanto se le aficiona, y puso en él los ojos. Pero como quier que ella fuesse casadera, y el moço esclavo, no podian passar adelante como deseavan; ca el amor mal sa puede encubrir, y temian si el padre della, y amo dél, lo sabia, pagarian con las cabeças. Acordaron de huir á tierra de Christianos, resolucion que al moço venia mejor, por bolver á los suyos, que á ella por desterrarse de su patria: si ya no la movia el deseo de hazerse Christiana, lo que yo no creo. Tomaron su camino con todo secreto, hasta llegar al peñasco ya dicho, en que la moça cansada se puso á reposar. En esto vieron assomar á su padre con gente de acavallo, que venia en su seguimiento. Que podian hazer, ó á que parte bolverse? que consejo tomar ? mentirosas las esperanças de les hombres y miserables sus intentos. Acudieron á lo que solo les quedava de encumbrar aquel peñol, trepando por aquellos riscos, que era reparo assaz flaco. El padre con un semblante sañudo los mandó abaxar: amenaçavales sino obedecian de executar en ellos una muerte muy cruel. Los que acompanavan al padre los amonestaven lo mismo, pues solo les restava aquella esperança de alançar perdon de la misericordia de su padre, con hacer lo que les mandava, y echarseles á los pies. No quisieron venir en esto. Los Moros puestos á pie acometieron à subir el peñasco: pero el moço les defendió la subida con galgas, piedras y palos, y todo lo demas que le venia à la mano, y le servia de armas en aquella desesperacion. El padre visto esto, hizo venir de un pueblo alli cerca vallesteros para que de lexos los flechassen. Ellos vista su perdicion, acordaron con su muerte librarse de los denuestos y tormentos mayores que temian. Las palabras que en este trance se dixeron, no ay para que relatarlas. Finalmente abraçados entre si fuertemente, se echaron del peñol abaxo, por aquella parte en que los mirava su cruel y sañado padre. Deste manera espiraron antes de llegar à lo baxo, con lastima de los presentes, y aun con lagrimas de algunos que se movian con aquel triste espectaculo de aquellos moços desgraciados, y à pesar del padre, como estavan, los enterraron en aquel mismo lugar. Constancia que se empleara mejor en otra hazana, y les fuera bien contada la muerte, si la padecieron por la virtud y en defensa de la verdadera religion, y no por satisfacer á sus apetitos desenfrenados.-MARIANA. THE Maiden through the favouring night She bade her father's house farewell, No Moorish maid might hope to vie With Laila's cheek or Laila's eye, No maiden love with purer truth, Or ever loved a lovelier youth. In fear they fled across the plain, And now they reach the mountain's height, And she was weary with her flight, But while she slept, the passing gale Waved the maiden's flowing veil, Iler father, as he crost the height, Saw the veil so long and white. Young Manuel started from his sleep, He saw them hastening up the steep, And Laila shriek'd, and desperate now They climb'd the precipice's brow. There was never a foe in the infidel band Who against his dreadful sword could stand; And yet Count Garci's strong right hand Was shapely, and soft, and white; As white and as soft as a lady's hand Was the hand of the beautiful knight. In an evil day and an hour of woe That lady false, his bale and bane. There was feasting and joy in Count Aymerique's bower, Brought home the adult'ress like a bride: And for her dead mother she made her moan. Count Aymerique will not his daughter should wed, And Argentine with evil intent She watches the pilgrims and poor who wait For daily food at her father's gate. «I would some knight were there,» thought she, Disguised in pilgrim-weeds for me! « For Aymerique's blessing I would not stay, Nor he nor his leman should say me nay, But I with him would wend away, a She watches her handmaid the pittance deal, They took their dole and went away; But youder is one who lingers still As though he had something in his will, Some secret which he fain would say; And close to the portal she sees him go, He talks with her handmaid in accents low; Oh then she thought that time went slow, And long were the minutes that she must wait Till her handmaid came from the castle-gate. From the castle-gate her handmaid came, And told her that a Knight was there, Who sought to speak with Abba the fair, Count Aymerique's beautiful daughter and heir. She bade the stranger to her bower; His stature was tall, his features bold; A goodlier form might never maid At tilt or tourney hope to see ; And though in pilgrim-weeds arrayed, Yet noble in his weeds was he, And his arms in them enfold As they were robes of royalty. He told his name to the damsel fair, He said that vengeance led him there; « Now aid me, lady dear,» quoth he, «To smite the adult'ress in her pride; Your wrongs and mine avenged shall be, And I will take you for my pride.»> He pledged the word of a true knight, From out the weeds his hand he drew; She took the hand that Garci gave, And then she knew the tale was true, For she saw the warrior's hand so white, And she knew the fame of the beautiful Knight. II. "T is the hour of noon, The bell of the convent hath done, And the Sexts are begun ; The Count and his leman are gone to their meat. Count Aymerique look'd on his daughter down, And next to the Lady Argentine A haughty wonder felt; " My father will not frown, I ween, That Abba again at his board should be seen!»> The wine hath warm'd Count Aymerique, That mood his crafty daughter knew; She came and kiss'd her father's check, And stroked his beard with gentle hand, And winning eye and action bland, As she in childhood used to do. « A boon! Count Aymerique,» quoth she; «If I have found favour in thy sight, Let me sleep at my father's feet to-night. Grant this,» quoth she, «so I shall see That you will let your Abba be The daughter she was wont to be.»> With asking eye did Abba speak, Her voice was soft and sweet; The wine had warm'd Count Aymerique, And when the hour of rest was come, She lay at her father's feet. In Aymerique's arms the leman lay, Their talk was of the distant day, How they from Garci fled away In the silent hour of night; And then amid their wanton play They mock'd the beautiful Knight. Far, far away his castle lay, The weary road of many a day; «And travel long,» they said, « to him, It seem'd, was small delight, And he belike was loth with blood To stain his hands so white.»> They little thought that Garci then Heard every scornful word! They little thought the avenging hand Was on the avenging sword! Fearless, unpenitent, unblest, Without a prayer they sunk to rest, The adulterer on the leman's breast. Then Abba, listening still in fear, To hear the breathing long and slow, At length the appointed signal gave And Garci rose and struck the blow. One blow sufficed for Aymerique,— He made no moan, he utter'd no groan; But his death-start waken'd Argentine, And by the chamber-lamp she saw The bloody falchion shine! She raised for help her in-drawn breath, But her shriek of fear was her shriek of death. In an evil day and an hour of woe Did Garci Ferrandez wed! One wicked wife has he sent to her grave, He hath taken a worse to his bed. KING RAMIRO. 1801. The story of the following Ballad is found in the Nobiliario of the Conde D. Pedro; and also in the Livro Velho das Linhagens, a work of the 13th century. GREEN grew the alder-trees, and close To the water-side by St Joam da Foz. From the castle of Gaya the warden sees The water and the alder-trees; And only these the warden sees, No danger near doth Gaya fear, No danger nigh doth the warden spy; He sees not where the galleys lie Under the alders silently. For the galleys with green are cover'd o'er, They have crept by night along the shore, And they lie at anchor, now it is morn, Awaiting the sound of Ramiro's horn. In traveller's weeds Ramiro sate By the fountain at the castle-gate; But under the weeds was his breast-plate, And the sword he had tried in so many fights, And the horn whose sound would ring around, And he known so well by his knights. From the gate Aldonza's damsel came To fill her pitcher at the spring, And she saw, but she knew not, her master the king. In the Moorish tongue Ramiro spake, And begg'd a draught for mercy's sake, So in the water from the spring << What brings thee hither, Ramiro?» she cried : <«<Ramiro, say not this to me! I know your Moorish concubine Hath now the love which once was mine. If you had loved me as you say, You would never have stolen Ortiga away; If you had never loved another, I had not been here in Gaya to-day The wife of Ortiga's brother! But hide thee here,-a step I hear,King Alboazar draweth near.» In her alcove she bade him hide : «King Alboazar, my lord,» she cried, « What wouldst thou do, if at this hour King Ramiro were in thy power?» «This I would do,» the Moor replied, «I would hew him limb from limb, As he, I know, would deal by me, So I would deal by him.»> « Alboazar!» Queen Aldonza said, With that upspake the Christian king: Like a friend you guested me many a day, Like a foe I stole your sister away; The sin was great, and I felt its weight, All joy by day the thought opprest, And all night long it troubled my rest; Till I could not bear the burthen of care, But told my confessor in despair. And he, my sinful soul to save, This penance for atonement gave; That I before you should appear And yield myself your prisoner here, my repentance was sincere, That I might by a public death Breathe shamefully out my latest breath. If «King Alboazar, this I would do, If you were I, and I were you; I would give you a roasted capon first, And a skinful of wine to quench your thirst, And after that I would grant you the thing Which you came to me petitioning. Now this, O King, is what I crave, That I my sinful soul may save: Let me be led to your bull-ring, And call your sons and daughters all, And assemble the people both great and small, And let me be set upon a stone, That by all the multitude I may be known, And bid me then this horn to blow, And I will blow a blast so strong, And wind the horn so loud and long That the breath in my body at last shall be gone, And I shall drop dead in sight of the throng. Thus your revenge, O King, will be brave, Granting the boon which I come to crave, And the people a holiday sport will have, And I my precious soul shall save; For this is the penance my confessor gave. King Alboazar, this I would do, If you were I, and I were you.» << This man repents his sin, be sure !» To Queen Aldonza said the Moor, «He hath stolen my sister away from me, I have taken from him his wife; Shame then would it be when he comes to me, And I his true repentance see, If I for vengeance should take his life. «O Alboazar!» then quoth she, « Weak of heart as weak can be! He must die, be sure, or thou. How he ravish'd thy sister, and wouldst thou forgive him? And hast thou forgotten that I am his wife, And that now by thy side I lie like a bride, The worst shame that can ever a Christian betide? And cruel it were when you see his despair, If vainly you thought in compassion to spare, And refused him the boon he comes hither to crave; For no other way his poor soul can he save, Than by doing the Penance his confessor gave.» As Queen Aldonza thus replies, The Moor upon her fixed his eyes, And he said in his heart, unhappy is he Who putteth his trust in a woman! Thou art King Ramiro's wedded wife, And thus wouldst thou take away his life! What cause have I to confide in thee? I will put this woman away from me. These were the thoughts that past in his breast, But he call'd to mind Ramiro's might: And he fear'd to meet him hereafter in fight, And he granted the king's request. So he gave him a roasted capon first, And a skinful of wine to quench his thirst; And he call'd for his sons and daughters all, And assembled the people both great and small; And to the bull-ring he led the king; And he set him there upon a stone, Oh then his horn Ramiro wound: Louder and louder Ramiro blows, Then his good sword Ramiro drew, And he gave him one blow which cleft him through. Every Moorish soul they slew; They carried the wicked Queen aboard, THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 1802. An old writer' mentions a curious tradition which may be worth quoting. By east the Isle of May, says he, twelve miles from all land in the German seas, lyes a great bidden rock, called Inchcape, very dangerous for navigators, because it is overflowed everie tide. It is reported in old times, upon the saide rocke there was a bell, fised upon a tree or timber, which rang continually, being moved by the sea, giving notice to the saylers of the danger. This bell or clocke was put there and maintained by the Abbot of Aberbrothok, and being taken down by a sea pirate, a yeare thereafter he perished upon the same rocke, with ship and goodes, in the righteous judgement of God.-STODDART's Remarks on Scotland. No stir in the air, no stir in the sea; Without either sign or sound of their shock See a Brief Description of Scotland, etc. by J. M., 1633. The Abbot of Aberbrothok When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell, The sun in heaven was shining gay, The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen fle felt the cheering power of spring, His eye was on the Inchcape Float; And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.>> The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row, 655 Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound, Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away, He steers his course for Scotland's shore. So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky On the deck the Rover takes his stand, << Canst hear,» said one, «the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore.>> Now, where we are I cannot tell, " But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.»> They hear no sound, the swell is strong; Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; |