PANISH BALLADS; 
 
 fin'Btoi'tcal antr liomantic, 
 
 TRANSLATED, WITH NOTES, 
 
 BY J. G. LOCKHART, ESQ 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY 
 
 [THE ORIGIN, ANTIQUITY, CHARACTER, AND INFLUENCE OF THE 
 SUictrnt Urtllfitrs of Spain: 
 
 AND AN ANALYTICAL ACCOUNT, WITH SPECIMENS, OF THE 
 
 NEW- YORK: 
 
 WILEY AND PUTNAM; 161, BROADWAY. 
 
 MDCCCXLH.
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM OSBOKN, 
 \ 88 WILLIAM-STREET.
 
 RY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 SANTA EAltEABA, 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 IN reproducing the English version of the ANCIENT SPANISH 
 BALLADS, it may be proper to observe that the late London 
 edition has been strictly followed, no departure whatever 
 being made from Mr. Lockhart's text. To add to the in- 
 terest of the volume, the spirited article from the Edinburgh 
 Review is given, by way of Preliminary Essay ; an analy- 
 tical account of the ROMANCE OF THE CID, with specimen 
 passages, has been subjoined ; and at the end has been 
 placed a Bibliographical List, prepared for the present 
 edition, of the books containing the original Ballads, and of 
 writings pertaining to the whole subject. 
 
 New-York, December, 1841.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAT, - - - -- - - 1 
 
 INTRODUCTION, ... 37 
 
 f>tstoncal Balla&s. 
 
 The Lamentation of Don Roderick, .... 51 
 
 The Penitence of Don Roderick, - - - 55 
 
 The March of Bernardo del Carpio, - 58 
 
 The Complaint of the Count of Saldafia, - 61 
 
 The Funeral of the Count of Saldana, ^-\ 63 
 
 Bernardo and Alphonso, - - ... 65 
 
 The Maiden Tribute, 67 
 
 The Escape of Count Fernan Gonzalez, - 70 
 
 The Seven Heads, - - - - 75 
 
 The Vengeance of Mudara, - - 80 
 
 The Wedding of the Lady Theresa, - 82 
 
 The Young Cid, ... . 85 
 
 Ximena demands Vengeance, - * 87 
 
 The Cid and the Five Moorish Kings, - - ... 89 
 
 The Cid's Courtship, - - - - 91 
 
 The Cid's Wedding, . 93 
 
 The Cid and the Leper, - 95 
 
 Bavieca, - - 97 
 
 The Excommunication of the Cid, - - 99 
 
 Garci Perez de Varga, - - 10] 
 
 The Pounder, ... 105 
 
 The Murder of the Master, - - - - w, 107 
 
 The Death of Queen Blanche, - - * '.- 112 
 
 The Death of Don Pedro, - - - - 115 
 
 The Proclamation of King Henry, - - 12( 
 
 The Lord of Butrago, - - - 125 
 
 The King of Arragon, - 127 
 
 The Vow of Reduan, - - 129 
 
 The Flight from Granada, . - 131 
 
 The Death of Don Alonzo of Aguilar, 13? 
 
 The Departure of King Sebastian, ... 137
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Bull-Fight of Gazul, - 142 
 
 The Zegri's Bride, - 145 
 
 The Bridal of Andalla, - - 147 
 
 Zara's Ear-Rings, - - 149 
 
 The Lamentation for Celin, - - 151 
 
 l\o man tic iJallatrs. 
 
 The Moor Calaynos, - 155 
 
 The Escape of Gayferos, - 159 
 
 Melisendra, ... - 161 
 
 The Lady Alda's Dream, 163 
 
 The Admiral Guarinos, - - 165 
 
 The Lady of the Tree, 169 
 
 The Avenging Childe, ..... - 171 
 
 Count Arnaldos, . - .'. - 173 
 
 Song for the Morning of the Day of St. John the Baptist, - - 175 
 
 Juliana, 179 
 
 The Song of the Galley, ... - 180 
 
 The Wandering Knight's Song, - 182 
 
 Serenade, * - . - 183 
 
 The Captive Knight and the Blackbird, - 184 
 
 Valladolid, - - 186 
 
 Dragut the Corsair, - - 187 
 
 Count Alarcos and the Infanta Solisa, - 188 
 
 Romances of 
 
 The Romance of the Cid. Part First, - 195 
 
 The Cid. Part Second, 202 
 
 The Cid. Part Third, - - - 208 
 
 The Cid. Part Fourth, - - .' - , - 215 
 
 The Cid. Part Fifth, .... - - 220 
 
 The Cid. Part Sixth, .... 227 
 
 The Cid Part Seventh, - - 231 
 
 The Cid. Part Eighth, - 238 
 
 The Cid. Part Ninth, 246 
 
 The Cid. Part Tenth, - 254 
 
 The Cid. Part Eleventh, - 260 
 
 The Cid. Part Twelfth, .... 265

 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY 
 
 OX THE ORIGIN, ANTIQUITY, CHARACTER, AND INFLUENCE OF THE ANCIENT BALLADS OF SPAIN". 
 
 Edinburgh Review, Pio. 146. 
 
 THE sister arts of poetry and design, never so graceful as when united, 
 have here combined to enhance the previous attraction of Mr. Lockhart's 
 Spanish Ballads. A more appropriately as well as beautifully embellished 
 volume never was offered to the world. These charming records of an age 
 of chivalry and romance, are now brought out, like the restoration of some 
 historical drama of Shakspeare, with all the increased effect which results 
 from a well-directed observance of scenery and costume : the text throughout 
 is accompanied with heraldic and ornamental embellishments, with views of 
 localities and representations of subjects, which present an admirable com- 
 mentary on the stirring stanzas. The names of the artists and amateurs by 
 whom these fine illustrations are furnished, offer in themselves a guarantee 
 that truth and propriety have in nowise been sacrificed to meretricious effect, 
 or typographical speculation, which is too much the order of the day.* The 
 accessories of decoration require to be kept in strict subservience to their 
 principal, or, like melody, they will become the tyrants, not the handmaids of 
 literature. The trash of our opera librettos, and the glittering nonsense of our 
 annuals, exhibit sad examples of this tendency. The union of the pencil and 
 graver with the pen, is perfectly legitimate, provided each retains its proper 
 place and rank. A doubled impression is thereby created on the reader's 
 mind, when the abstract is invested with form and substance by the reality 
 of a drawing, into which, a portrait mute of itself, a breath of life and mean- 
 ing is inspired by immortal verse. A new power of memory is thus called 
 into action ; we see with the understanding, and read as if we were actually 
 transported to the sites, and acquainted with the heroes of Castile. Picture 
 
 These remarks refer to the English illustrated edition.
 
 and Poem act reciprocally on each other. The mind seldom forgets what has 
 been presented in a striking form to the faithful eye. Again, the increased 
 demand for these illustrated works these vehicles of purely intellectual gra- 
 tification, evinces and sustains an improved tone of public taste. Happy the 
 people which has a love for its national ballads inexhaustible springs of de- 
 light, which refresh the dry path of daily drudgery, cheap and innocent as the 
 joys of childhood. They make a stand against, and correct the encroach- 
 ments of heartless, selfish, artificial manners they elevate man above the 
 earthy tendency of over-civilization, of cold calculating materialism, by chant- 
 ing of things rare and stately, yet in that simple style which touches every 
 heart in every age, because the language and sentiments are in sympathy 
 with all the common and natural affections of man. 
 
 The ballads of Spain, albeit sometimes treating on subjects which hover on 
 the confines of fiction, present on the whole most accurate portraits of life 
 and manners during the most interesting periods of her history. The main- 
 spring of national energy, which had been kept in motion by a war of eight 
 centuries against the infidel invader, ceased to vibrate, when the great end 
 was accomplished by the subjection and final expulsion of the Moor. A re- 
 action ensued a moral and physical stagnation came over the listless con- 
 querors, when the breeze died away, which by ruffling had kept the waters 
 sweet ; civil and religious despotism saw and seized the moment, so advan- 
 tageous to itself ; and whilst the people of Spain were giving loose to the 
 disarmed intoxication of success, the giant was shorn of his strength, and 
 awoke from the lascivious dream emasculated and enslaved. Castile, like her 
 tree-stript plains, from the lack of the nutriment of wholesome institutions, 
 withered away. A curse was on her womb ; she became incapable of giving 
 birth to men who should do deeds worthy to be had in remembrance, as well 
 as to poets whose works posterity would not willingly let die. This melan- 
 choly retrogression of a noble nation increases the interest of these relics of 
 her better times, which have drifted down like the spars of a storm- wrecked 
 battle-ship. In this contrast between former pride of place and present no- 
 thingness, our sympathy is still more awakened when the change is borne 
 with uncomplaining dignity. Spain, like a Porus, dethroned yet conscious of 
 innate royalty, from which nought can derogate, looks down with self-respect 
 on the changes and chances of fickle fortune. Although now the mock of 
 Europe, which once grew pale at her name, she is still the chosen land of 
 romance, where the present is forgotten in the past ; where, although her 
 harp be unstrung and her sword pointless, the tale of ' auld langsyne' still re- 
 echoes amid her lonely sierras ; where, though her laurel- wreath be sere, the
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 3 
 
 many flowers which still enamel her uninhabited wastes attest that once a 
 garden smiled. 
 
 Spain has always been to our countrymen not merely the fancied fairy 
 ground of 
 
 Le donne, i cavalier, 1'arme, gl' amori, 
 
 Le cortesie, 1'audaci emprese : 
 
 being the nearest point of crusade against the Saracens, it was the real land 
 of adventures, antres vast, battles, sieges, fortunes. Thus, Thomas of Ercil- 
 doun recounts that his true knight, Sir Tristrem, ' had Spayne thro' seen, 
 where giantes he slew three.' Few writers of romance, from the Odyssey 
 downward, have ventured to lay the scene of their ultra-marvellous events at 
 home, where all would perceive the want of truth and probability. They se- 
 lected distant lands of which the reader knew nothing, and might believe any 
 thing. Now Spain, in the possession of ' unchristened heathen houndes,' 
 was the very spot for moving incident ; while the heroic deeds of our Derbys, 
 Salisburies, and Chaucerian knights who fought at ' Algecir,' gave to the 
 site a general air of truth and interest which the victories of the Black Prince 
 and Wellington have never allowed to die away. Even in these illusion-dis- 
 pelling days, much of the charm of Spanish travel still consists in the ideal 
 and abstract, in the pleasures of memory, which the stranger brings with him. 
 This alchemy of the mind, which separates the ore from the dross this bee- 
 like power which extracts honey from the weed neutralizes the discomforts 
 that beset, on every side, the wayfaring man. This vivifying principle, which 
 renders Spain agreeable in proportion as the traveller is imaginative, scarcely 
 exists in the idiosyncrasy of the native, who inspires, vice cotis, those feelings 
 in others, of which he has ceased to be susceptible himself. It is only by 
 observing the value attached by foreigners, that they have directed some at- 
 tention to their long-neglected ballads,* which tell, and exactly as we should 
 most wish it to be told, all that constitutes the soul of local interest, that 
 religio loci, not indeed honored in its own country, but which attracts the 
 stranger from Thule and Tanais, from the Ganges and Niagara. Those 
 whose good fortune may lead them from the beaten track of European travel 
 into the racy byeways of original Spain, must come provided beforehand with 
 
 * Don Agustin Duran, who began in 1828 to republish the Spanish ballads, states in 
 his Preface, that he was induced to do so, because the English bought up the originals, 
 a peso d'oro. He, like his compeers, seldom does more than translate the criticisms of 
 foreigners, and of the Germans especially.
 
 4 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 the talisman of knowledge, which can summon up the departed spirits : no 
 information is to be gained on the spot. Eager inquiries are chilled by the 
 universal indifference and ignorance ; the no se sabe of the Gotho-Iberian.* 
 Contemptuous when not apathetic, he stands, like the wild Arab amid the 
 palaces of Palmyra, an almost necessary foreground to the deserted Alhambra ; 
 yet there is a picturesqueness and repose in his self-contented bearing, which 
 better harmonizes with the desolation, than the chattering pretension of an 
 Italian cicerone. 
 
 Bishop Percy was the first to call our own countrymen to the rich mine of 
 their ancient popular poetry. ' The taste with which the materials were 
 ' chosen, the extreme felicity with which they were illustrated, the display at 
 ' once of antiquarian knowledge and classical reading, which the collection 
 ' indicated, render it difficult to imitate, and impossible to excel, a work which 
 ' must always be held among the first of its class in point of merit.' Such 
 was the opinion of Walter Scott, who, like his son-in-law, Mr. Lockhart, by 
 following Percy's example, has done good service to literature. Many Torsos, 
 precious as the Sappho fragments of antiquity, have been dug up from the 
 ruins of time, and restored with the feeling touch of a master hand. Poets, 
 historians, critics, and antiquarians, have united in friendly league ; and a 
 revival of a taste for simple and genuine poetry has been created in the public 
 mind. Percy, Ritson, and Ellis, led the way to Bushing, Von der Hagen, 
 and other Germans, who, having exhausted their own ballads, took up those 
 of Spain with their characteristic diligence. Bouterwek did much in his his- 
 tory of Spanish literature ; he was succeeded by Grimm and Depping, who 
 published collections in the original idiom, to which the latter contributed an 
 able dissertation and critique. Mr. Lockhart has avowedly adopted the struc- 
 ture of verse approved of by Grimm, and the classification of subjects devised 
 by Depping. He has improved on both, by rendering the best of their selec- 
 tions into English verse, with such remarkable spirit, fidelity, and energy, 
 that Mr. Hallam, a critic not prodigal of praise, hesitates not to say, ' that 
 ' the originals themselves are known to our public, but generally with incon- 
 ' ceivable advantage, by these very fine and animated translations.' Mr. 
 Lockhart's success rendered the subject fashionable : we have, however, no 
 space to bestow on the minor fry who dabbled in these Castilian (and cer- 
 
 * To wXeiov Sta rriv o\iywpiav xat TO fir/ irpoj Jiaywyjjv, (Strabo iii. 248. Ed. Amel.) 
 compare Navagiero " II Viaggio in Spagna," (1563, p. 25 et ss.) the rapid deterioration of 
 danada under Spanish neglect and a/nXoxaXia.
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. O 
 
 tainly not in their case Castalian) fountains. Those who remember their 
 number, may possibly deprecate our re-opening the floodgates of the happily 
 subsided inundation. There is, however, a cycle in literature ; human no- 
 tions and opinions come round at stated intervals, like the tunes of a barrel 
 organ, and the better they are, the more likely are they to do so multa re- 
 nascentur qua: jam cecidere. The republication of this most beautiful volume 
 seems not inaptly to suggest a recapitulation of the best opinions on the origin, 
 antiquity, character, and influence of the ancient ballads of Spain. 
 
 They exceed in number and in importance those of all Europe besides, 
 united ; they form the best heroic, as well as lyric, poetry of Spain ; and 
 certainly, to the stranger, one of the most interesting branches of her limited 
 literature. They are not merely ballads, but historical and national poems : 
 they record events and popular notions ; they give details, which the learned 
 despised or omitted, of the every-day life and habits ; of a state of things of 
 which we know little, and which has now passed away for ever ; they supply 
 that gap which at present is the most eagerly sought for. To them the im- 
 bruting Inquisition was more merciful than our ruthless Edward to the lays 
 of the Cambrian minstrels. It encouraged compositions which, like chivalrous 
 romances in prose, had a tendency to seduce thought into the impracticable 
 regions of ' La magnanima Mensogna,' the Qeio; ovetgog of Homer, in which 
 persons and things are above the ordinary level of life. It well knew that 
 the habit of building fairy fabrics in unsubstantial air, would unfit the mind 
 for the severer and dangerous questions of philosophical and constitutional 
 inquiry, which, uncongenial in themselves to southern nations, would become 
 doubly so to those who, by rioting on the lotus banquet of Alcina, forget 
 country and liberty itself. In these romances the fettered genius of the land 
 found a vent ; and there is ever a melancholy note, which gives an undertone 
 to the melody, a tear with every smile, saddening mirth and gladdening 
 sorrow. Hence they were written and read much longer in Spain than in 
 other countries of Europe. Their authors, partially exempt from the pains 
 and penalties of censorship, resembled in safety, if not in gayety, the Cicadse, 
 whom Demetrius, seated under a shady plane in Cicero's villa, thought so 
 happy, taught by the muses a song, which never subjected them to accusation 
 or calumny.* 
 
 * (Philostr. vii. 11.) The Cicadse, according to Socrates, (Plato, Phced. x. 340,) were 
 once mortal men, who, on the birth of the muses, became so enraptured with poesy that 
 they forgot to eat and drink, and were metamorphosed into these chirping denizens of 
 summer. Well did the Spanish Inquisition understand and carry out this myth.
 
 6 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 Not only in the multiplicity of her ballade, but in their antiquity, does 
 Spain surpass all other nations. Whatever, in their modern form, may be 
 owing to Teutonic, Christian, and Arabian influences operating on the cor- 
 rupted classics, their style of metrical composition had been derived long 
 antecedently from the East. There the sun of every thing arose. Thence 
 the stream of population, knowledge, and religion, flowed westwards in two 
 great branches, the northern and the southern. However the angle of separa- 
 tion widened in proportion as each diverging radius was pushed forward from 
 the starting point ; the generic oriental type has been clearly traced by phi- 
 lologists, who, by analyzing languages, have tracked the progress of thought 
 and social institutions, of which language is the certain evidence and exponent. 
 A common type runs northward through the Brahminical poems of the Hin- 
 doos ; the sacred measures taught by Zoroaster to the Persians, (Plin. N. H. 
 xxx. 1 ;) the odin saga of the Scandinavian scalds ; the versified annals of the 
 Germans, (Tacit, de Ger. 3 ;) the isoterical hymns of the Druids, too sacred 
 to be committed to writing, (Caesar, Bell. Gall. vi. 13.) And again, south- 
 wards, through the hierarchical literature of the Chaldseans, Egyptians, 
 Hebrews, and Phoenicians, to the primitive metrical poems of the aboriginal 
 Iberians. These, it is historically certain, existed before Greece emerged 
 from barbarism, or Rome was founded. When Lope de Vega observed that 
 there were Iliads in Spain without a Homer, he might also have added that 
 they existed before ' the blind old man of Scio's rocky isle' was born. The 
 ancients paid great attention to Spain, which, being their Peru, was a subject 
 of interest to their avarice. Among other things, Strabo tells us that the 
 Turdetani (the Andalusians) possessed early memorials in writing, and pre- 
 served metrical poems and laws of six thousand years old, (iii. 204.) The 
 cautious geographer qualifies, with a saving (&; (paai, this date, which would 
 carry the Turdetanian Homers many centuries beyond the creation. Since 
 Pliny, speaking of the antiquity of the similar poems of Zoroaster, uses the 
 same date, ' sex millibus annorum,' these definite terms simply refer to an 
 indefinite remoteness ; just as Spaniards say, ' diez mil reales' for any con- 
 siderable sum of money. Probably the text is corrupt ; and, although Strabo 
 did not write in Arabic numbers, an additional cipher converts 600 into 6000. 
 We would suggest the reading i^axoauav T(av for t!~axio gihcov . 
 
 One thing is quite clear, that these Spanish ballads were extremely an 
 cient. That the Andalusians of old should wish to make them out older, is 
 quite in keeping with the pedigree pretensions of their unchanged descend- 
 ants. St. Isidore and the Goths referred the invention of these 'cantilenas' 
 these canciones to Moses ; while a Spaniard, writing in 1612, positively
 
 contends that Tubal, son of Japhet, and grandson to Noah, arrived in Spain 
 140 years after the Deluge, and 2163 years before the birth of Christ, and 
 gave the natives ' a code of laws in couplets.'* From this historian's not 
 having quoted chapter and verse, we cannot determine (perhaps the Law 
 Magazine may) whether this Deuteronomy repealed or re-enacted all or any 
 of the Antediluvian Andalusian statutes at large. Those mentioned by Strabo, 
 which are the only set worthy of our present consideration, were doubtless 
 imported by the Phoenicians, who traded with Tarshish, and founded Cadiz 
 350 years before Rome.f These exporters of letters were the only people 
 with whom the Jews never quarrelled, because the granaries of Tyre were 
 supplied from the corn-fields of Judsea. Speaking a cognate language, they 
 must have known the metrical portions of the Old Testament, and the other 
 works of men who, in the words of Solomon, (the partner of their king 
 Hiram,) ' were famous of old, such as found out musical tunes, and recited 
 1 verses in writing,' (Eccles. xliv. 5.) ' Pii vates et Phcebo digna locuti,' the 
 natural authors of a primitive age. In nascent societies of mankind, as in the 
 youth of individuals, the imagination precedes the judgment Men are born 
 poets, and lisp in verse : they harden into prose into the exact sciences 
 as they get older, when the head gains on the heart. The name of the in- 
 ventor of poetry and of the plough, which is poetical, is unknown. Not so 
 that of the culprit who devised prose, Pherecydes the Syrian, (Plin. N. H. 
 vii. 56,) nor of the inventor of the steam-engine and spinning-jenny ; excel- 
 lent machines, which make every thing but verses. In the early stages of 
 society, the feelings, those inlets of ideas, are in full play : violently excited, 
 they fall into a sort of language, energetic as themselves ; thoughts are dra- 
 matized by action ; by imitation, expression, which is the essence of poetry. 
 Again, mere verse has a charm on the ear ; and, being best suited for memory, 
 becomes the natural frame of oral records, whether of law, history, or religion. 
 Hence the power of knowledge was first wielded by those who ' declared 
 prophecies,' idem rex atque sacerdos, whether a Melchisedec, a Sychseus, or 
 a David. These wise men of old added to their severer influence the charm 
 of pleasing ; they invented popular talesj which still, among the Orientals, 
 supply the want of intellectual refinement. To them (as to those of Pilpay) 
 
 * Dio les leyes en coplas. Salazar de Mendoza. Origen de las dignidades de Es- 
 pana, p. 2. 
 
 t Heeren, Hist. Researches, ii. 49. 
 
 t Compare the Arreytos or ancient ballads of the aboriginal West Indians when dis- 
 covered by Columbus, (W. Irving, ii. 124.)
 
 8 
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 many of our best-known stories may be traced, for the world gets on with a 
 small supply of originality ; and it is far easier to borrow, adapt, and exagge- 
 rate, than to invent. The most improbable romances were, are, and will be, 
 listened to with rapture by those whose inexperience is not startled by devia- 
 tions from truth and nature : thus, a painted doll affords a wilder delight to 
 the child than the masterpieces of Michael Angelo. Men are but children of 
 a larger growth, and, according to the old complaint of Jeremiah, like to be 
 deceived even with false prophecies. In truth, the constitution of the human 
 mind requires a something marvellous and savoring of a better world. This 
 yearning, if it be not gratified by legitimate practitioners, will be drugged by 
 empirics, who thrive on the craving for supernatural stimulant. This intel- 
 lectual intoxication has been regularly supplied to the Spaniards ever since 
 poetry, which one of the old fathers calls ' Devil's wine,' was introduced into 
 Tarshish, as we collect from Don Salazar, by the grandson of the first planter 
 of the real grape. 
 
 Ballads withstood the Roman occupation. The Turdetani, it is true, adopted 
 the tongue and toga of their masters, (Strabo iii. 254,) as the Andalusians did 
 the language and coats of the French, ' idque apud imperitos humanitas voca- 
 ' batur cum pars servitutis esset.' Although they were ashamed of their na- 
 tive muse, the rude Gallician continued to 'howl his national ballad after the 
 ' manner of his fathers,' (Silius Ital. iii. 346 ;) while the fastidious Quinc- 
 tilians of Rome ' balladed out of tune,' shunned these Iberian strains, as our 
 Laureat did the cacophonous Russian, ' which no man can read, no man can 
 ' spell ;' they talked of their intonation, as Erasmus did of the English, ' lat- 
 ' rare verius quam loqui videntur.' Strabo and Pliny would not even tran- 
 scribe these barbarous unmusical appellations.* Martial, nevertheless, was 
 Spaniard enough to advise Licinius, a native Romancero, to stick to them, 
 although thought by ' delicate readers' to be ' rustica,' (iv. 55,) the precise 
 term used afterwards by the erudite to designate the romance dialect. Those 
 Italians, however, who sought for the beautiful every where, were struck 
 with the oriental grandiloquence, the ' pingue quiddam atque peregrinum,' 
 which Seneca, (de Suas. i. 6,) quoting Cicero, thought characteristic of Ena, 
 one of the sons of ' Facunda' Cordoba, the birth-place of Lucan and others, 
 who sustained the declining literature of Rome itself ; and from whose works, 
 although written in Latin, a strange tongue to them, we must look for the 
 real and still unchanged diagnostics of the Iberian muse : a fragment has in- 
 deed escaped in the native idiom of the most ancient Spanish relique in exist- 
 
 Pliny, N. H. iii. 3. Strabo, iii. 234. TO 
 
 TIJS ypa 
 
 &c.
 
 ence. Humboldt, when in the Basque provinces collecting materials for his 
 work on the aboriginal inhabitants,* met with sixteen stanzas, which had been 
 discovered by Ibarguen, in MSS. at Simancas. It is a mountaineer ballad of 
 the time of Augustus, and scarcely less musical than those Burw and Bhubs, 
 Welsh rhymes, according to Mr. Conybeare, and most sweet to his ears, and 
 to those of Cadwallader and his goats. It is a lament over Lelo, a Biscayan 
 chief, murdered on his return from the wars, by his wife, who had formed a 
 connexion with Zara. It consists, like the modern Seguidilla, of couplets of 
 four verses ; the three first are pentasyllable, the fourth is shorter, and 
 serves as the 'estrevillo,' the burden or binding chorus. It contains traces 
 of both rhyme and assonant ; it is still intelligible to the Basque. Humboldt 
 found old people who remembered a song ' Leluan Lelo,' which, like the 
 4 Hie down deny down,' the modern version of the ' Hai doun is derry dauno,' 
 ' Come, let us hasten to the oaken grove.' The Druidical ((J^v?) invocation is 
 another proof how vestiges of ancient manners are every now and then to be 
 found lurking beneath conventional expressions the most frivolous, and appa- 
 rently the most unmeaning ;f but the customs of the people will outlive the 
 Pyramids. As Mr. Lockhart has not translated this ancient relique, we must 
 refer our readers to Adelung,J just remarking that it is almost a type both of 
 a modern Spanish ballad and of actual Basque warfare. The Romans, it ap- 
 pears thereby, were in possession only of the plains, while the Cantabrians 
 held the hills : they were subdued more by stratagem and want of provisions, 
 than by the superior discipline, force, and weapons of Augustus ; and even 
 then the Basque highlanders remained unconquered, while ' Rome, like an 
 4 elm bored by the continual woodpecker, was undermined.' The secret of 
 Basque independence is indeed unchanged and unchangeable : those sterile 
 hills, if defended by brave men, who have more to fear from the gold than 
 from the iron of their opponents, cannot be conquered by a small army, while 
 a larger one would be starved. 
 
 Thus we see that the native Iberian muse, delighted in her primeval and 
 always popular ballads. Meanwhile, the rise of Christianity, and the sub- 
 version of the Roman empire, by the Teutonic irruption, was preparing an 
 entire change in the manners and language ; literature, generally at a low 
 ebb, became an appanage of the Christian clergy, who, in the early struggle 
 against paganism, naturally drew a line of demarcation between sacred and 
 
 * Priifung uber die urbewohner Hispaniens. Berlin, 1821. 
 
 t Dauney Ancient Scottish Melodies, p. 43. 
 
 t Mithridates, iv. 354. Vater, Ed. Berlin, 1817.
 
 10 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 profane learning. They monopolized letters and made them ecclesiastical. 
 In the fourth century, Juvencus, a Spaniard, translated the New Testament 
 into hexameters : he was the first Christian poet ; he was succeeded by Pru- 
 dentius of Zaragoca* (or Calahorra,) whose Peristephanon, written in con- 
 tinuous octosyllabic metre, looks and reads like the redondilla of a modern 
 'cancion de devocion.' These early hymns are considered by Bouterwek to 
 be the connecting link between the ancient song and modern ballad. Saint 
 Jerome, the doctor maximus and prose translator of his age, thought these 
 new versions of the Spaniards to be somewhat bold : ' non pertinuit,' says he 
 of Juvencus, (Amos, 5,) 'evangelii majestatem sub metri leges mittere.' 
 The Spaniards, whose character has always been tinctured with the mystic 
 and superstitious, delighted and excelled in these lega fie^jj sacred melodies 
 which their dignified religion upheld : those of Calderon and of the tender 
 elegant Leon (justly called the Christian Horace) deserve the attention of 
 the gifted author of the Christian Year. So early as 1495, a devotional can- 
 cionero was published at Zarago9a, by Martin Martinez de Ampies. The 
 incongruity of developing sacred subjects in ballads and mysteries, was never 
 felt until after the Reformation, which attacked them with ridicule. The 
 rabbi Don Santo de Carrion, entitled his 'Divina Comedia' ' la doctrina Chris- 
 tiana y danza general.' A ballad then, says our Watts, signified a solemn 
 and sacred song, when Solomon's Cantilena was called the ballad of ballads. 
 Such compositions, aided by the influence which church music possesses over 
 sensitive temperaments,! animated religious feelings ; and conveyed to the 
 people, to whom the Bible was forbidden, some transcript of its grandeur, not 
 altogether stripped of the allurements of this world ; for the Roman Catho- 
 licity of Spain never was that pure Christianity which Johnson pronounced 
 to be too simple for eloquence, too sacred for fiction, too majestic for orna- 
 ment : dramatic, nay, melo-dramatic, it restored the gorgeous show, the mar- 
 
 * Juvencus, see Antonio, Bib. Vet. i. 64. Zaragosa, (Cassar Augusta) was the Gothic 
 Aberdeen, the ' ancient city of bon accord,' where, according to old Forbes, there ' was a 
 perpetual harmonious heavenly concert of as many musicians as magistrates.' Prudentius 
 gives eighteen fiddlers all in a row. 
 
 Tu decem santos revehes et octo 
 
 Cicsar Augusta, studiosa Cbristi. 
 
 t Thus Andrew Hart, in the hope of uniting religious edification with musical recrea- 
 tion, republished in 1621, ' Ane compendious booke of godly and spiritual sangs collectit 
 out of sundrie pairts of Scripture, with sundrie of other ballales changed out of profane 
 sangs for avoyding of sinne and harlotrie, with augmentation of sundrie gude and godly 
 hallates not contained in the first edition,' that of 1590.
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 11 
 
 vellous legends, the * Speciosa miracula,' the theopathy and polytheism of 
 the Pagans ; it formed in Spain from the beginning, the theme of Christian 
 minstrels. Merobantes, Draconcio, and others, tuned their harps to psalmo- 
 dies, and composed verses in base Latinity and in worse prosody ; the true 
 pronunciation and artificial rules depending on the relative position and quan- 
 tity of vowels and consonants, were too fine for their ears, and hybrid idiom. 
 A substitute was provided in alliteration, in leonine verses and rhyme, in the 
 very dfioiorehevjov which was so avoided by the ancient classics ; the laws 
 of metre afforded a matter of inquiry among the learned Goths, as those of 
 the Greek chorus did to our Porsons. San Isidore, in the seventh century, 
 'he that was so wyse,' defined them with the nicety of the Eton grammar, 
 (Origines, i. 38.) The Gothic public was too enlightened to be amused with 
 those very fine things, which required so much pointing out. Vox populi, 
 DEI vox. Accordingly, clerical learning gave way ; Valerius, a bishop of 
 Wamba's, (the Japetus of Spanish auld langsyne,) wrote a perfect octosyllabic 
 poem in rhyme. The good prelate indeed called it a ' prosa,' just as Gonzalo 
 de Berceo, in the thirteenth century, did his metrical romance. 
 
 ' Quiero fer una prosa en Roman paladino.' 
 
 If in these dark ages, (as sometimes will happen even in more enlightened,) 
 things were written in verse which would have done equally well in prose, 
 the Gothic reviewers must have felt relieved by the candor of their authors, 
 reos et confitentes. 
 
 The Saracenic invasion accelerated these prosodaical changes ; the Arabs, 
 having nothing to do with the Greek and Roman languages or scanning, had 
 long moulded their own and its forms ; Cassini has pointed out the differences 
 and resemblances between the lyric poetry of the Moor and Castilian.* The 
 latter recurred readily to their original Oriental stock. Cordova continued 
 to be the Delphi of the Peninsula ; while the sterner Goths retired to the 
 rugged Asturias, the spaniel-like Andalusians preferred, under the mild tolera- 
 tion of the Moors, their delicious south. These Mos- Arabic Christians, (mixti 
 Arabi,) ' while not one in a thousand knew their Latin,' delighted in ' Chaldean 
 ' pomps, metres, and rhymes,' to the horror of the good Goths of the old 
 school. The sorrows of Alvarus have been preserved by Flores,f how ' the 
 Christian youth, carried aloft by Oriental ' eloquence,' ' Arabico eloquio sub- 
 
 * Bib. Arabica Escurialensis, i. 83. 
 t Flares Espana Sagrada, xi. 275. 
 p. 13. 
 
 Velasquez Origen de la Poesia Castellana,
 
 12 
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 ' limati,' ' neglected the streams of paradise which flowed from the Church.' 
 St. Eulogius had carried on a ballad correspondence, ' rythmicis versibus,' 
 with Alvarus himself, and thought it sweeter than beans and honey, * melle 
 * suavius, fabis jucundius.' Pure prosody and Latinity could stand no longer ; 
 from its ruins arose the ' Romance,' the foundation of the modern languages 
 of Europe. The present limited signification is quite secondary, and origi- 
 nated from those peculiar writings, the great feature of modern literature, in 
 which the Romance was first employed. The term still continues in Spanish 
 to be synonymous with the Castilian language, nor is it inapplicable to their 
 braggadocio paper achievements ; while elsewhere, ' to romance' has become 
 equivalent to certain deviations from matter of fact. The abuse of a term 
 argues, however, its former extended use. Mr. Ellis has correctly defined it 
 to be, ' all the dialects of the European provinces of the empire, of which 
 the basis was the vulgar Latin, whatever other materials may have entered 
 into the composition.' Mr. G. C. Lewis,* (who has exhausted the subject,) 
 adopting the opinion of Schlegel, completely disproves the theory of Monsieur 
 Raynouard, that the Provensal alone was this ' Romance,' and that it was 
 one and the same language all over Europe : certainly it was every where 
 in some respects the same, being founded in the Latin and Teutonic ; but it 
 varied in each country, and often in each province of each country. The 
 common appellation referred to origin, not to identity, which diminished as 
 each nation carried out and improved their particular dialect of it : the 
 Spanish romance arose from the Gothic conquest, and not from the Proven9als, 
 by whom Spain was never subdued, and the language of a people is little 
 influenced by foreign literature. Precisely in the manner by which the Latin 
 was formed of the Hellenic, and barbarous Oscan or Italian element, so the 
 ' Romance' was begotten by the Teutonic on the Latin, which perished in 
 giving it birth. The mass of the people were called ' Romans' by their inva- 
 ders, and the new language * Roman,' from having a greater affinity to Latin ; 
 conquerors and conquered met half way ; the former, who wielded the sword 
 better than the pen, yielded to their intellectual superiors, as the Romans had 
 before to the Greeks. They made the nearest approach to the Latin in their 
 power, just as foreigners do with strange languages ; they caught at words 
 and roots, with a marvellous disregard of grammar and prosody ; a compro- 
 mise was soon effected, and a hybrid language generated a lingua Franca, 
 in which both parties could communicate. The progress of language, when 
 
 * Essay on the Origin of the Romance Language. 1835.
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 13 
 
 not fixed by a written literature, is to discard the synthetic forms, inflexions 
 by terminations, and to adopt the analytic by resolving every idea into its 
 component parts. The niceties of cases, genders, and declensions, were too 
 refined for the illiterate Goths : a change of structure and syntax ensued ; 
 cases were supplied by prepositions, declensions by auxiliary verbs, a new 
 stock of Teutonic words was introduced, the dictionary was enriched while 
 the grammar was deteriorated, the substance improved while the form was 
 broken up. This convenient middle idiom led to the neglect by either party 
 of the original language of the other ; the unwritten speech of the conquerors 
 was forgotten, while the Latin was preserved in the ritual of the Church, and 
 in the tribunals. It ceased, however, to be the spoken language of the many, 
 insomuch that, in the ninth century, the clergy were enjoined to be able to 
 itranslate their homilies into the Romance for the benefit of the laity ; hence 
 it came to be considered the vulgar in contradistinction to the learned : the 
 romantic is still opposed to the classical style, and a ' scholar' emphatically 
 means one skilled in the dead languages. The clergy, the only penmen,' 
 would not condescend to preserve the lay productions of a despised dialect ;;. 
 hence in every country the non-existence of their earliest literature, which? 
 probably was of no great merit, although suited to the age and occasion, et 
 auribus istius lemporis accommodata.* Poverty of spoken language is always 
 a bar to letters ; until the mother tongue be moulded sufficiently, learned men 
 will resort to a more adequate foreign idiom. Under these disadvantages, 
 nothing original or of a high class is likely to be produced. 
 
 The first impulse towards modern literature was given by the Provencal, 
 which is the most appropriate term for the language of the troubadour. The 
 southern province of Gaul, ' Provincia' par excellence, was exempted from 
 those wars by which Europe and Spain especially were brutalized. Peace 
 led to affluence, leisure, and those arts which humanize and civilize. The 
 Provencal language, from being the first formed, long became a standard ; it 
 was, however, but the flowerings of Spring, which die in announcing the 
 fruits of Autumn. Founded on the Latin, yet owing nothing to the Augustan 
 style, it was only for a period, not for all time ; for no soil can be permanently 
 fruitful unless enriched with the precious loam of classical lore. No Dante/ 
 arose to immortalize the language. The butterfly ephemeral prattle of courts! 
 and minstrels, has relapsed into a mere patois. It opened, however, in a ' 
 
 * An apology is prefixed by the clerical transcriber to the Bodleian copy of the Chateau 
 eC Amour, ' Et quamvis lingua Romana (Romance) coram clericos, saporem suavitatis 
 ' non babeat, tamcn pro laicis, qui minus intelligunt, opusculum illud aptum est.'
 
 14 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 poesy dedicated to Venus, rising like its patroness from the foam of the placid 
 blue Mediterranean, under a genial climate, gilded with a ray of sunshine 
 from the east. Courts of love were established, wherein amorous affairs, 
 ' tensiones,' were debated, where the Ovidian arts were revived in the gay 
 science, ' el gay saber.' This theme, grateful to all ages, which sung of 
 4 dames, and knights, of arms, and love's delights ;' where princes pleaded, 
 and beauty, dispensing golden violets, decided without appeal, appeared 
 doubly fascinating to an age awakening from the heavy slumber of long 
 hours of darkness. Poesy, with her twin sister Music, revived in her old 
 occupation of ballad. To be able to accompany verse with melody, was one 
 of the common requisites of the Athenian xahog xat, ayado? and of the 
 mediseval hidalgo. It was the relaxation of the Homeric heroes ; for the 
 really brave have always a tendency to the soft emotions which poesy sup- 
 plies. Thus Achilles, crossed in love, solaced himself with his lyre, uetde 
 d' ago. xiea avdgwv (II. i. 189,) singing the fyttes the cantos of the gests of 
 Hercules, who was to him what Achilles was to the dark ages, the beau ideal 
 of a preux chevalier. 
 
 And here we may say a word on the close connexion between modern and 
 ancient romance, new-hatched to the woful times.* Hercules and his like, 
 went about abating nuisances, destroying giants and monsters, exhibiting the 
 chivalrous mixture of virtue and vice, and of both equally exaggerated. They 
 Were Orlandb^~dressed^. la (irreque. Polyphemus was the model of Rithon, 
 who made himself a bed of kings' beards, and was killed by Arthur ; and of 
 Ferragus, the Spanish giant despatched by ' Rowlande' while taking his 
 siesta ; Calypso, Medea, Circe, and the Sirens, were the prototypes of the 
 Urgandas and Alcinas, as Pegasus was of the Hippogryphs, and Bucephalus 
 was of Babieca. The challenges of Sciron and Antaeus, shadowed out the 
 holdings at entrance, ' los pasos honrosos ;' just as the sophists of Greece led 
 the way to the scholastic wranglers, who permitted no man to pass by without 
 a logomachy, which, being interpreted into the rustica, means having a few 
 I words. History is but a succession of parallels, the Olympicjame&_erejated 
 Pindars, the tournaments created" Troubadours. The latter rendered the 
 
 * Euripides makes Theseus choose the profession of knight-errant redresser of wrongs, 
 
 E0os roJ' tij 'EXXjjvaj cc\canriv 
 An KoAacmjj riav KUKWV Kadtaravst, 
 
 Iket. 34. 
 See Letters of Chivalry, Kurd. iii. 230.
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 15 
 
 greatest service to the despised literature, which required the countenance 
 of men of arms in a rude warlike age, when personal prowess and courage 
 were the attributes most in honor. Thus Achilles was then a more popular 
 character than Hector, in whom, as civilization advances, new beauties are 
 felt, which had shone before like stars, bright but unobserved. ' Rowlande, 
 ' Alysandre, Achilles, Bevis, and Hercules,' are classed together by our earlier 
 poets, 'as good knightes and trewe, of whose dedes men make Romauns.' 
 The Gesta Alexandri, Ricardi, with the Gesta Romanorum, were the story- 
 books of the dark ages. Richard, the patron of, and patronised by the min- 
 strel, owed his liberty and life, and his subsequent renown, to his troubadour 
 accomplishments ; the grandson of his sister, Alphonso el Sabio, if not really 
 wise, did much for learning : by discarding Latin from the law tribunals, and, 
 by causing chronicles to be written in the vulgar tongue, he fixed the Spanish 
 language. This, springing from tirenorth-western provinces, was founded 
 on the Latin, with the ' Bable,' (the still spoken ' rustica' of the Asturias,) 
 and the Gallician. The pride of the Castilians rejected the softer idiom of 
 inferior provinces, while their jealousy of Arragon excluded the more perfect 
 Proven9al ; ' el Castellano' came to signify, as it still does, the language of 
 Spain, that manly eldest son of the Latin, of which the softer Italian is the 
 daughter. Alphonso, a versifier rather than a poet, wrote couplets to the 
 Virgin in the dialect of Gallicia, where he was educated, and where the 
 songs, old in the time of Hannibal, had become devotional from the pilgrim 
 influence of the shrine of Santiago. The royal bard, moreover, converted 
 his visions of alchemy into redondillas, to assist the memory of learners, on 
 the principle of Latin grammars. His ballads are among the most ancient of 
 the present form, and have been preserved more from their author's quality 
 than from their own. They, however, encouraged a deviation from the 
 monastic ' versos de arte major,' which were written with an affectation of 
 learning, in the form of the ancient pentameter. Of works of this kind, the 
 ' Poema del Cid,' an epic of the twelfth century, is considered by Schlegel, 
 Southey, Duran, and all the best judges, to be the oldest as well as the finest 
 poem in the language. It gave birth, according to Bouterwek, to the modern 
 songs of Spanish chivalry, and fixed, says Schlegel, the true old Castilian 
 character. Mr. Hallam constantly underrates the antiquity and merit of this, 
 and of other romances on the Cid, and by so doing shakes the very corner- 
 stone of this branch of literature. He, however, as constantly and candidly 
 admits his ' slight acquaintance' and imperfect knowledge of the original.* 
 
 Lit. Europe, ii. 322. Compare this with vol. i. ch. 2, ditto.
 
 16 
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 He is contented to transcribe Bouterwek with an occasional reference to 
 Sanchez* and Duran, who, to the best of our judgment, after a most careful 
 perusal, hold and make good opinions utterly at variance with those of Mr. 
 Hallam, and they must be the best judges of questions very much philological. 
 They think, and we coincide with them, that aomA nf th^ rpmancpg nf the 
 Cid preceded the Poema ; nor was jt likely that the best Spanish epic -ebouIcT 
 ^EVe~beeTTtfae~"lirsl. ITwas doubtless a rifactiamerdo, like the Iliad or the 
 Niebelungen Lied a getting together of earlier floating ballads now lost ; 
 just as our Geoffrey of Monmouth composed, about the same time, his metrical 
 history, professedly ' from songs inscribed in the memory of the people.' Mr. 
 Hallam, although he infers their comparatively recent date from the evidence 
 afforded by the text, condemns this uncertain criterion when speaking of our 
 early English ballads. 
 
 The songs of the people, passing from mouth to mouth, have every where 
 been interpolated and modernized. The first of the minstrel craft were rhap- 
 sodists, who recited their own compositions, like the bards of Strabo, (iv. 302,) 
 fiagdoi fiev fi/M>ijrai xai noiTjtai, makers, as the Scald signified the polisher, 
 Trobadores Irouveres, men who found out and invented. Highly honored, 
 they formed part of the war and peace establishment" of kings. Taillefer, 
 ' qui moult bien chantoit,' preceded the Normans at the battle of Hastings, 
 singing the ballad of Roland till he was killed a rare instance of the poetical 
 -non relictd parmuld. His strains produced on Harold's troops those effects 
 which the Jewish wind instruments did on the walls of Jericho. The Cretans, 
 according to Polybius, (iv. 20,) scared their enemies with rhymes, on the bag- 
 piping principle of our gallant Highlanders. In the piping times of peace, 
 the minstrel, omnis luxuries, interpres, as Pliny said of Menander, sang of 
 mimic war and real love to the dull barons of dungeon castles, who had ears, 
 although they could not read who, doubly steeped in the ennui of wealth 
 and want of occupation, listened greedily, like other great men, to their own 
 praises. Minstrelsy supplied the lack of a more refined intellectual enter- 
 tainment, and of rational conversation, as professional gentlemen do now at 
 civic banquets ; their harpings lulled the rude Sauls to sleep, which is now 
 done by quarto epics. The person of the minstrel was sacred, his profession 
 was a passport, he was 'high placed in hall, a welcome guest:' the assump- 
 tion of his character became the disguise of lovers of adventure. These 
 
 * Colleccion de Poesias Caslellanas anteriores al siglo xv. Thomas Antonio Sanchez, 
 vol. iv. 1779, with elaborate notes and glossary, in imitation of the ancient Reliques of 
 Percy.
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 17 
 
 advantages raised pseudo-laureates, ' idle vagabonds,' according to the act of 
 Edward I., ' who went about the country under the color of minstrelsy ;' men 
 who cared more about the supper than the song ; who for base lucre divorced 
 the arts of writing and reciting, and stole other men's thunder. Their social 
 degeneracy may be traced in the Dictionary ; the chanter of the gests of 
 kings, ' gesta ducum regumque,' dwindled into a ' gesticulator,' a jester ; 
 the honored joglar of Provence into the mountebank, the juggler, the ' jockie,' 
 or doggerel ballad-monger 
 
 Beggars they are by one consent, 
 And rogues by Act of Parliament. 
 
 They descended by the usual stages of things of mere fashion ; at first the 
 observed of all observers, and therefore then imitated ; until they became 
 common vulgar which is but one step, and the test at once of merit, uni- 
 versal acceptance, and the forerunner of disgrace ; no sooner taken up by the 
 ol noM-oi than rejected by the exclusive. This occurred very soon in Spain. 
 The really good clergy were shocked at their abuses, while the interested 
 grudged the money earned by rivals, who interfered with their monopoly of 
 instructing the people in pious prose, or of amusing them with Alexandrine 
 legends. This enmity is of all countries. Their Latin synonyme for ' scald 
 rhymers,' scurra mimus, &c., will outlive their sculptured caricatures \ 
 where mendicant monks, minstrels, fools, monkeys, and beasties, are pillo- 
 ried on pinnacle and gargoyle, in cloister and cathedral. The itinerant 
 monks and mountebanks repaid all this, like Falstaff, by showing up the 
 irregularities of regulars and seculars, ' in ballads to be sung to filthy tunes.' 
 ' Flebit et insignis totci cantabitur urbe.' They undermined their influence. 
 Preachings and songs take part in all national changes ; for doctrines precede 
 i actions. '' They were the popular press_of Jhe..time| opposed by the privileged 
 'orders and watched by statesmen, as Burleigh afterwards employed agents to 
 yisten to stregt_gongs, the thermometerj)f the people's temper. Irfall these 
 alterations for the worse, the primitive principle, ' to entertain,' remained un- 
 changed. To this the original ballad was sacrificed ; "passing from one to 
 another, each minstrel begged, borrowed, or stole from all quarters. The , 
 originals were_ corrupted and remodelled ; they got their bread by plgasiogj ^ 
 'magisler artis, ingeniiquelargUor venter.'' The people who paid had the 
 best right to be gratified even with nonsense verses if they preferred them. 
 Lope de Vega, one of the restorers of the natural style, excused his sins 
 against critical canons on that ground.
 
 8 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 Porque como las paga el vulgo, es justo, 
 Hablar le en necio, para darle gusto. 
 
 Now as novelty is enticing, and forms the essence of story-telling, each 
 ew edition had its additions or omissions according to the talent, bad 
 aste, caprice, or convenience of reciter and audience. All poetry except of 
 lomeric or Dantesque merit, which fixes its own language, suffers from the 
 vear and tear of time, the greatest of innovaters ; strains which delighted 
 tie Catos and Cethegi, were thought antiquated in the days of Horace, who 
 modernized those of Ennius ; just as Dryden and Pope did those of Chaucer 
 nd Dr. Donne. The Cid Romances, the corner-stones of the fabric of ancient 
 Spanish ballads, from being the oldest, are exactly those which have suffered 
 he most. They have come down, says Duran, like the ship of Colchos, 
 which from frequent repairs retained at last nothing but the original form and 
 ntention. They, like pieces of money worn smooth in common currency, 
 lave been re-coined and re-issued so often, that, though the metal is un- 
 changed, no trace of the first die is to be discovered. This must happen 
 every where. Bishop Percy hoped to conciliate ' his polished age,' by an as- 
 surance that he had omitted and altered much of the ' rude songs ;' insomuch 
 that the sour Ritson ' could place no confidence in his text.' Garci Ordonez 
 di Montalto,* in his re-edition of Amadis de Gaul, anticipated Percy in word 
 and deed. The fact is, that antiquarian exactness is quite of a modern date ; 
 no one now dreams of meddling with the precious cc rugo of time, nor of scour- 
 ing bright the antique shield. This is an age of recurrence to first principles. 
 Antiquated works, raked from the dust of archives, are now republished with 
 such a curiosity of obsoleteness in spelling and language, that they become 
 the playthings of black-letter bibliomaniacs and useless to the uninitiated, who 
 consider books to be valuable in proportion as they are pleasant to be read and 
 understood. The first publishers of Spanish ballads in print were of this lat- 
 ter opinion, and being neither antiquarians nor philologists, they put them 
 forth in the language of the day, without any regard for the venerable idiom 
 in which they were written : the language, therefore, only marks the epoch 
 when they were first printed. The earliest Cancionero is that of 1510, by 
 Fernando de Castillo, which does not carry a stamp of antiquity so remote as 
 the ' Chronica General' of the thirteenth century ; in which perpetual allu- 
 sions are made to the then existing ballads of the joglares. It is, nevertheless, 
 
 * ZaragcHja edition, 1521. Coligio de los antiques originales, qvitando muchas pala- 
 bras superfluas, y poniendo otras de mas polido y elegante eslilo.
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 19 
 
 the oldest collection of popular poetry, properly so called, that is to be found 
 in any European literature; and did we possess such a volume of the time of 
 Henry VIII., relating to the wars of the Conqueror and Plantagenets, what 
 illustration and annotation, exclaims Mr. Lockhart, would it not have received 
 long ago ! This and the earliest Romances bear on their very titles the ac- 
 knowledgment, that they were composed of modern and of ancient ballads of 
 which collections in manuscript previously existed. Thus in the beginning 
 of the fifteenth century, Alphonso de Baena, by order of Juan II.* transcribed 
 a ' Cancionero de Poetas Antiques,' of which specimens are given by the 
 Spanish translators of Bouterwek.f This extraordinary manuscript existed 
 in the Escurial up to the French invasion, when it disappeared. Antonio and 
 others had unfortunately, by describing where it was and its value, put the 
 plunderer on the scent. The little illustration which art and letters have 
 ever received in Spain, has caused irreparable losses. The Travels of Ponz, 
 and the Artistical Dictionary of Cean Bermudez, published in 1800, furnished a 
 catalogue to the invaders, who invariably on their arrival in towns, demanded 
 every thing worth taking, to the amazement of the natives, who were gene- 
 rally alike ignorant of the treasures they possessed, or of the books which de- 
 scribed them. 
 
 One of the early printed Cancioneros contains productions of one hundred 
 and thirty authors. Such a mellifluous swarm never could have come simul- 
 taneously over the land. They formed the aurea catena of Spanish poets ; 
 unknown indeed to fame, and when honored by print, thought worthy only of 
 its coarsest, cheapest forms ; destined for rude thumbs, these editions for the 
 people have become excessively rare, bibliographical gems of the purest water, 
 and paid for their weight in gold. Typographically speaking, they are 
 worthless beyond purposes of curiosity-collecting, and are entirely superseded 
 by the modern reprints. The editors paid no attention to chronology either of 
 author or subject ; they published them apologetically to the learned ; they 
 just printed their common-place books, into which they had copied the ballads 
 in the order in which they chanced to meet with them. Tares and corn, 
 good, bad and indifferent, meet together in chance medley, like a pack of 
 
 * Juan II. was the patron of Troubadours ; his was the golden age of Spanish poetry. 
 He resembled his cotemporary, our James I. of Scotland, who ' passed his tyme yn redyn 
 ' of Romans yn syngyng and pypyng, in harpyng and yn all other honest solaces of grete 
 ' pleasaunce and delight.' 
 
 t Don Jose Gomez dela Cortina y Don Nicolas Hugalde y Molinedo. Madrid, 1829.
 
 20 
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 shuffled cards ; yet not unpleasant to read from the constant variety and un- 
 certainty of style and subject. Few Spanish pericrania are marked with the 
 organic bump of classification : they and their progenitors were Goths in feel- 
 ing, Moors in habits, ceremonious and ' etiqueteros' in personal dealings ; but 
 satisfied, in matters and things, to take what came before them without stand- 
 ing on the order of the course. The Germans, methodical and analytical, 
 have wept over this chaos ; in which they found it impossible to trace through 
 any regular succession of strata up to the primitive formation : even the 
 Deutsche fleiss which Depping imploringly invokes, quailed before the tangled 
 web and the multiplicity of song, for every conflict had its ballad, and every 
 captain wrote his despatches in verse. The Spanish language, rich, sonorous, 
 and flexible, full of sound and promise, is a sort of blank verse of itself. 
 The commonest village alcalde pens his placards in the Cambyses vein, more 
 naturally than Pitt dictated king's speeches extemporaneously. Foreigners, 
 as in the east, must never take Castilian expressions or professions literally 
 less is meant than meets the ear. The conventional hyperbole must be dis- 
 counted, and not estimated according to the value it would bear in our busi- 
 ness-like language. We deceive ourselves ; for no Spaniard trusts the fine 
 words of his countrymen, who seldom mean or expect that he should : they 
 hold four-fifths, to be a mere song, and fit for songs ; accordingly men 
 women, and children, write and sing seguidillas, many no doubt of slender 
 merit ; for where words come without thought, much thought is commonly 
 dispensed with. The hardiest mariners are formed in the roughest seas. 
 This facility, however, accounts for the number of olden authors, and the 
 little importance attached to their works : there could be no particular merit, 
 when, in the words of one of them, ' every hill was a Parnassus, and every 
 ' fountain a Hypocrene.' A literary democracy existed among these writers 
 for the people, which prevented any one from rising above his compeers. 
 They cast their bread on the waters, and their songs to the winds ; they 
 attached no value to what flowed without effort, and often thereby deceived 
 themselves as to their relative value ; they neither thought of making a 
 name nor money, nor any thing beyond pleasing for the moment with trifles, 
 avToaxediaoTixa, made for passing events and written on the occasion : they 
 certainly were vastly unlike our hot-pressed poetasters, who expect the 
 highest price and praise for the smallest contributions ; the facility of a 
 language prodigal of verse was increased to the singing and dancing pro- 
 'pensities which the Spaniard has derived from his Iberian ancestors, who in 
 the time of Strabo (iii. 249) spent the nights as described by Silius Italicus, 
 (iii. 346 :)
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 21 
 
 Barbara nunc patriis ululantem carmina linguis ; 
 Nunc, pedis alterno percussa verbere terra, 
 Ad numerum resonas gaudentem plaudere cetras. 
 Hoc requies ludusque viris, ea sacra voluptas. 
 
 Their descendants are still musical without being harmonious, saltatory 
 without being graceful just as they are warlike without being military. The 
 guitar, seguidilla, and fandango are unchanged ; they form the repose of 
 sunburnt labor in rente and courtyard, where some black-whiskered per- 
 former, the very antithesis of Farinelli, ' screechin' out his prosaic verse,' 
 screams forth his ' coplas de zarabanda,' either at the top of his voice, or 
 drawls out his ballad, melancholy as the drone of a Lincolnshire bag-pipe, 
 both alike to the imminent danger of his own trachea, and of all un-Spanish 
 ears. So would he sing, says Lope de Vega, even in a prison, ' a costa de 
 ' garganta cantareis aunque en la prision estareis.' The audience, however, 
 are in raptures; 'all men's ears grow to his tunes as if they had eaten 
 ' ballads ;' they take part with beatings of feet, ' taconeros ;' with clapping 
 of hands, the %QOJOS, * palmeado ;' with tambarines and castanets, the Bsetica 
 crusmata and crotola of the Gaditanian 'funciones,' of which the descriptions 
 by Martial and Petronius Arbiter would serve exactly to this day. The 
 guitar is part and parcel of the Spaniard and his ballads ; he slings it across 
 his shoulder with a riband, as was depicted on the tombs of Egypt 4000 years 
 ago, (Wilkinson, ii. ch. 6.) It is the unchanged kinoor of the East, the 
 xiddQu, cithera, guitarra, githorne ; the 'guiterne Moresche' of the minis- 
 trellers, (Ducange.) With the instrument may have come down some rem- 
 nant of the primitive times, of which a want of the invention of musical 
 notation has deprived us. Melody among the Egyptians, like sculpture, was 
 never permitted to be changed, lest their fascination might interfere with the 
 severe influence of their mistress, religion. That both were invented for the 
 service of the altar is indicated in the myth of their divine origin. These 
 tunes passed into other countries ; the plaintive Maneros of the Nile became 
 the Linus of Greece, (Herod, ii. 79.) The national tunes of the Fellah, the 
 Moor, and the Spaniard, are still slow and monotonous, often in variance with 
 the sentiment of the words, which have varied, whilst the airs remained un- 
 changed. They are diatonic rather than chromatic, abounding in suspended 
 pauses, unisonous, not like our glees, yet generally provided with an ' estre- 
 1 villo,' a chorus in which the audience joins. They owe little to harmony, 
 the end being rather to affect than to please. Certain sounds seem to have 
 a mysterious aptitude to express certain moods of the mind in connexion with 
 some unexplained sympathy between the sentient and intellectual organs :
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 the simplest are by far the most ancient. Ornate melody is a modern inven- 
 tion from Italy ; and, although in lands -of greater intercourse and fastidious- 
 ness, the conventional has ejected the national, fashion has not shamed nor 
 silenced the old ballad airs of Spain those ' bowlings of Tarshish.' Indeed 
 national tunes, like the songs of birds, are not taught in orchestras, but by 
 mothers to their infant progeny in the cradling nest. The romances of Spain, 
 when not sung, are recited rather than read. Thus, among the Orientals, a 
 book is seldom understood until it is rendered vocal, by a sort of habitual 
 emphasis, which depends more on sound than on sense. Our method of 
 reading appears to them to be plain talking. This recitative is the ' canto 
 ' fermo,' the plain chant of the primitive church, and unquestionably is of 
 eastern origin. Hence, by the common process of human deterioration, it 
 passed to secular purposes. Tunes derived from heavenly spheres in the 
 lamentations of olden precentors, were sung to words devised by the sons of 
 Belial ; and, vice versa, psalms were set to hornpipes by the mistaken Stern- 
 holds, who hoped that popular tunes might lead the gay to sing godly ballads, 
 ' which,' says the quaint Wood, 'they did not.' This inveterate habit of song 
 modified the form of Spanish poetry. The long monkish pentameters were 
 cut into two lines into redondillas which suited the voice. How easily 
 this was done may be exemplified by the inverse proof : take the familiar 
 example of the translation of the ballad of ' unfortunate Miss Bailey,' in the 
 ancient mediseval form : 
 
 ' Seduxit miles yirgine?n 
 Praecipitem quse laqueo 
 
 receptus in hibernis, 
 se transtulit avernis. 
 
 Prodigality of verse was fostered by the musician, who only looked to a 
 certain number of syllables, and cared not whether they were swift iambics, 
 running trochees, cantering dactyls or anapests dimiters or trimiters. Every 
 possible license in metre was allowable : if the meaning could not be com- 
 prehended into a copla of four verses, it was carried on without the break 
 even of a comma into five or six. A similar laxity was permitted in the 
 rhymes, which were used or not at caprice, or mingled with assonants which 
 consist of the mere recurrence of the same vowels without reference to that 
 of consonants. Thus santos, llantos, are rhymes, amor and razon are asso- 
 nants ; even these, which poorly fill a foreign ear, were not always observed ; 
 a change in intonation, or a few more thumps or less on the guitar-board, did 
 the work, and superseded all difficulties. These ' morse pronunciations,' this 
 ' ictus metricus,' constitute a rude prosody, and lead to music just as gestures 
 do to dancing to ballads ' che se canta ballando ;' and which, when heard,
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 23 
 
 reciprocally inspire a tarantula desire to snap fingers and kick heels, as all 
 will admit in whose ears the ' Habas Verdes' of Seville or the Cachucha of 
 Cadiz yet ring. The words destined to set all this capering in motion were 
 not written for cold critics ; and even such as were professedly serious and 
 not saltatory, were listened to by those who were attuned to the hearing 
 vein who anticipated and re-echoed the subject who were operated on by 
 the contagious bias. Thus, a fascinated audience of otherwise sensible 
 Britons tolerate the positive presence of nonsense at an opera 
 
 ' Where rhyme with reason does dispense, 
 And sound has right to govern sense.' 
 
 The poems of an Italian improvisatore appear, like many sermons, to be 
 excellent, until tested by print. We must, however, refer our readers to the 
 entertaining work of Don N. Zamarcola* for these lower classes of Spanish 
 ballads, and confine ourselves to the more serious and romantic. The 
 mother-wit of -Andalusians and the deep feeling of Castilians, have given 
 an aroma to the former and an interest to the latter, which, like delicate 
 wines, will hardly bear transportation. Simplicity, the common, and greatest 
 charm of all ancient reliques, appears, when in a strange dress, poor, trivial, 
 and flavorless ; while some words in translation convey too much, and others 
 too little, there are several, says Southey, which are altogether untranslata- 
 ble. They are like the 'open Sesame' of the Arabian tale the meaning 
 may be retained ; but, if the word be changed, the spell is lost. This magic 
 has its effect only upon those to whom the language is familiar as their 
 mother-tongue, and hardly, indeed, upon any other but those to whom it 
 really is so. Thus many of the oldest romances (Bouterwek cites those of 
 Fontefrida and Rosafresca as perfectly untranslatable) appear to us to have 
 nothing in them ; and yet, probably from referring to some real fact or early 
 association, to something passing show, fire in the native Spaniard a train of 
 a thousand pleasing ideas. This hidden fulness of meaning, which, like 
 expression, is more beautiful than mere beauty, can only be revealed to those 
 who have a light within : tpwvavTa OVVETOKTI. It is only to be represented 
 by ideas, not words ; we have no freemasonry, no half-note which recalls and 
 explains every thing : what notion does the word Lava convey to the dull 
 boor of a Lincolnshire fen 1 It is thus that poetry preserves language ; from 
 
 * Coleccion de Seguidillas tiranas y Polos. Published at Madrid, 1799, under the 
 name of Don Precise.
 
 24 
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 feeling that the glowing stanzas cannot be adequately translated we learn 
 the original. 
 
 Mr. Lockhart has deeply imbued his mind with the spirit of these Spanish 
 ballads ; acting upon the opinion of Johnson, he has emancipated himself 
 from the drudgery of counting lines and interpreting single words 'from that 
 servility which has obscured the clearest, and deformed the most beautiful. 
 He has caught the emphatic feature, and has in so doing combined sufficient 
 fidelity in his copy without losing the freedom and unconstrained flow of his 
 original, which, as far as the English reader is concerned, he has frequently 
 improved by a judicious pruning. Mr. Lockhart has adopted the arrangement 
 of Depping, who, despairing of ascertaining priority of composition, divided 
 these ballads into the historical, chivalrous, Moorish, and the mixed. All 
 these, however differing in subject or style, bear a striking family likeness, 
 and are stamped with that character of nationality which the Spanish litera- 
 ture possesses in so eminent a degree, and which forms one of its most 
 honorable features. The earliest, and by these we mean such as preceded 
 Charles V., bear the most decided lineaments of their true old Castilian 
 parentage. They present a genuine transcript of the unadulterated rjdog, 
 the chivalrous idealization of the feudal and crusading systems. It would 
 form an interesting inquiry to trace the decline of Spanish character and 
 power, as evidenced in the altered tone of the popular records. It is not less 
 clear than the physical degeneracy of the stalwart Guzmanes and Ponce de 
 Leons of old, as exhibited in the puny frames of their dwarfed and stunted 
 descendants. 
 
 The historical and chivalrous ballads are fully entitled to those epithets. 
 They are records rather than romances, heroic and national poems rather 
 than ballads. There is scarcely any incident of importance which is not to 
 be found among them. Like the historical dramas of Shakspeare (through 
 which, like Lord Chatham, half England knows half its history) they kept up 
 the national spirit they told the tale of ancestors who never despaired, 
 never surrendered, but fought, endured, and conquered. Heard in youth, 
 they had all the advantage of priority, when the memory ^-wax to receive 
 and marble to retain never forgets what it the first remembered. More 
 engaging than dry history, they expressed the feelings of the nation, and so 
 truly, that they were listened to in spite of their almost monotonous uni* 
 formity their rudeness, and occasional rambling diffuseness and exaggera- 
 tion. In these Hotspur poems, we must not look for the elegant, delicate, or 
 refined. Dealing with facts, they are not distinguished by any great depth 
 of thought, nor by that probing into the secret workings of the human heart
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 which is the province of the philosophical poetry of advanced civilization, 
 when the pains and pleasures of the body give place to the more exquisite 
 tortures and enjoyments of the mind. They looked to effects, and not to the 
 abstract ; and in this they are infinitely supe'rTor to modern Italian poetry, 
 which, infinitely more perfect in form and art, never sustained a nation's 
 liberties and character. We must not, therefore, judge of them by the effect 
 which they now produce on us when the eye, not ear, is called to decide 
 but by the effect which was intended, and was produced, on those who heard 
 them and on their children's children. In our days of pseudo information and 
 intelligence, one novelty obliterates another, one stirring appeal is damped 
 by another. To the rude soldier Spaniard, scantiness of information was 
 made up by concentration the moral stimulant was intense they heard and 
 believed like children at a play. Imagination acted upon their untutored 
 minds, as reason does on ours r and infinitely stronger, because their hearts 
 as well as their heads were affected, and embarked in their belief. These 
 cheering songs, like the Sibyl oracles of Greece, the propitious omens of the 
 Romans, animated the powerful principle in faith, of realizing the thing 
 believed possunt, quia posse videntur. These cheering songs generated the 
 Hector-like, the best and only omen, to die if necessary for their liberties and 
 countries. 
 
 ei; oieovoj aprroj a^vvtaQai mpi mzrpijj. 
 
 It has been well remarked, that those who have the making of the people's 
 ballads may dispense with the power of enacting laws. The binding power, 
 the esprit de corps of these popular appeals, obtains not only with a simple 
 isolated uncommunicating people, (and then the strongest,) but also with the 
 most refined and philosophical. We all side with those with whom we agree. 
 These ballads speak out for the whole nation what lies in every man's heart. 
 They are the means of expression to those who want words, not feelings. 
 They sway the myriads as the breeze does the bending corn. Their power, 
 like that of communicating or disarming the electric shock, has always been 
 for good or evil, for peace or war, for loyalty or revolution. So, among our- 
 selves, the cause of the Stuarts was thus made and marred. The royalist 
 ballad, ' The King shall hae his ain again,' long upheld the crown, which the 
 Protestant ' Lillibullero' of Wharton dashed from the head of the last, and 
 not the worst of the line. The sea songs of Dibdin cheered on the honest, 
 frank, gallant tars of England to victory ; while the ' Ca ira' of France 
 goaded on a once gay, good-humored people into ferocity and revolution ; and 
 its imitation, 'Tragala,' stained the banner of Castile and San lago with 
 atheism and disloyalty.
 
 26 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 The early ballads of Spain, like those who made and sung them, were 
 engrossed by a domestic warfare, pro aris etfocis. The actors paid no atten- 
 tion to foreigners or their concerns, (to which, to this day, the Spaniards are 
 ;contemptuously indifferent.) Ultra-national and independent, they cared for 
 oio Arthurs. They honored Charlemagne and his peerage with notice, very 
 much because their Bernardo had crushed them at Roncevalles ; just as the 
 Venetian gondolier sang Tasso, because therein was embodied his republic's 
 hatred against the Ottoman, their worst foe. Ultra-christian, they denounced 
 as the devil and his works, as heathen and infidel abominations, all that 
 ' savored, whether of Jupiter and Apollo, or Mahoon and Termagaunt, all 
 allusions to the mythological machinery of the classics, or to the Oriental 
 interventions of genii and afrits. They had their own interruptive deities, 
 their own miracles, their own San lago, their own heaven-descended Palla- 
 dium on Zaragoca's Pillar. Poetry was as nothing in the scale of their 
 intolerant uncompromising orthodoxy their pure immaculate faith. This, 
 the boast of the ' Christiano viejo y rancio' involved the whole principle and 
 secret of the success of Mahomet, and it was turned by the Cross against the 
 Crescent. A lesser stimulant never could have conduced to the recovery, 
 by the sons of a handful of refugees, of long-lost kingdoms. It was this 
 single-hearted principle which animated this forlorn out-post of Europe, that 
 saved the western world from the paralysis of an eastern yoke. This re- 
 ligious distinction contributed also to keep the ancient ballads pure from any 
 Arabian tinge of literature, which only begins to appear after the conquest 
 of Granada, when the Moor had dwindled into a Morisco a term of inferi- 
 ority and contempt. No Arabian influence could predominate, while their 
 arms were feared, their manners and language unknown, and their creed a 
 subject of unutterable abhorrence. The Spaniard borrowed, indeed, from 
 the Moor his warfare and his mimic sports of war ; but his arts, letters, and 
 agriculture he despised, as enervating to the soldier and heretical to the 
 Christian. The painted windows of Gothic churches were too deeply colored 
 with the saints and martyrs of the Cross, to permit one ray of the Crescent 
 to desecrate with its glare the solemn altar. 
 
 This religious feeling tended alike to remove from their Gothic literature 
 the proportions of the classics. These rude crusaders, whose pith was 
 wasted in ' the tented field,' cared little for the set phrases of Pericles or 
 Augustus. What's Hecuba to them ! Virgil, held to be a necromancer 
 during the dark ages, was treated as a calumniator of fair Dido's fame, by 
 the soldier poet Ercilla, one of the best and soldiers have been the best- 
 authors of Spain. Poetry took the veil of a nun rather than the mask, of
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 27 
 
 Euterpe. Berceo, (Loor. 40,) one of the older writers, denounces those 
 wicked joglers who do religion an injury by neglecting the Virgin for the 
 gods and goddesses of Paganism. Thus we find their Cids, though brave, 
 noble, and hidalgos, were not descended from deities, but from Christian 
 parents ; and their swords were good and sharp, though not tempered in the 
 forges of Vulcan. ' They had no occasion to borrow heroes from Greece or 
 Rome, when real ones occurred in their own eventful annals and times. 
 Foreign invasion and civil war called forth spirits from the deep, and inspired 
 the serious Milton-like tone which breathes throughout The Castilian's was 
 a battle existence ; he knew not of the luxuries _or _rich harvests of the Moor, 
 but to lay them waste ; the constant setting his life on the cast in holy 
 crusade inspired an indifference to this world's goods. It fed that Spanish 
 feeling wliich has always peopled their cloisters from all classes, from the 
 king to the peasant, their peculiar ' desengano,' the finding out the cheat of 
 life of its flat, stale, and unprofitable vanities. Their early ballads dwell 
 on the overthrow of the Gothic monarchy, on domestic misfortunes, the tale 
 of unrequited love ; and in the later, the Morisco laments over fallen Granada. 
 A dwelling on the past has a thoughtful saddening influence. There are 
 more tender elements in the sere Autumnal leaf than in the blossom promise 
 of Spring ; and a sojourn at Rome leaves a deeper impression than a season 
 at Naples. There are more hearse-like airs than carols on David's harp, and 
 the sorrows of Job are more vividly delineated than the felicity of Solomon. 
 So said Bacon. The sadness at the bottom of these nightingale songs of 
 Spain is one of the secrets of their success ; for calamity, the common un- 
 changeable lot of man, is understood by all, while humor and mirth depend, 
 to be fully enjoyed, on a thousand accidents. This retrospective habit, which 
 is fostered in England by our classical education, was kept alive in Spain by 
 the never-forgotten fall of Roderick, the last of the Goths. Though the 
 tendency to moralize became occasionally sententious, yet it never became 
 gloomy nor austere it was never unmanned by affected sentimentality nor 
 morbid misanthropy ; it was healthy, vigorous, and religious, such as became 
 a Christian soldier who trusted in God and his good sword. This was evi- 
 denced in every line which recorded every deed. They relied on their own 
 resources. Eyewitnesses of broils and battles, they sung of men whom they 
 knew and of armies of which they formed part. Hence their versatility in 
 transferring themselves to the feelings of the actors. Like delightful Frois- 
 sart, there is a daylight in their sketches which no in-door painting ever 
 possesses. They, like Walter Scott, whose romances are poems, owed their 
 popularity ' to writing with that military artlessness, that hurried frankness,
 
 2H 
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 
 which pleases soldiers and young people of bold action and disposition.' 
 There is no vain self-portraiture : their genius was simple and modest, their 
 >ravery unimpeached. They could well leave boasting and braggadocio to 
 their degenerate successors ; occupied with realities, they told a plain un- 
 varnished tale, one more touching than any fiction, and which, being true to 
 nature, has pleased learned and unlearned, the gentlest and the bravest. 
 These old masters, like Giotto or Cimabue, painted what they saw ; and the 
 Castilians fell as naturally into battle array, as the innately picturesque 
 Italians did into sacred groups. Without looking to the rules of Grecian or 
 foreign art, they trusted to the expression of sentiment which they deeply 
 r elt. They flourished without the encumbrance of academies, and under 
 circumstances apparently the most unfavorable. They studied in the school 
 of nature ; and their transcripts, true as the most polished of the classics, 
 although trodden down for a time by the heel of conventional critics, have 
 revived again, and will revive, like the flowers of the field over which an 
 army has passed spring up again, when the crushing dead-weight is re- 
 moved. Eloquent, but not rhetorical, there was no labored production of the 
 midnight lamp. They wrote, like Burns, in the field ; they fought their 
 battles o'er again, while their swords communicated energy to their pens. 
 They looked_to events, not style ; there was no attempt to be fine, nor to 
 write for effect. The rouglT diamond retained its salient angles; they de- 
 scribed single situations, simply and forcibly, without effort or much delicacy, 
 yet the rudeness lay more in the words than in the sentiments ; they left 
 their downright tale to make its own impression ; they never diluted it by 
 verbiage, nor injured the air of history by overstating ; they preferred the 
 naked energetic chiaroscuro of Michael Angelo to the tinselly drapery of 
 Paul Veronese. Abrupt, they went at once into the subject ; they placed 
 the reader without preface on the scene. They dealt not with dry general 
 facts, but brought reality forward in detail. The actors came on without 
 introduction ; they moved and lived in bold relief ; the audience were sup- 
 posed to know them and their story. This was handled briefly, with much 
 dramatic skill, and the event graphically told, with remarkable precision of 
 expression. The thing done, all was ended as abruptly as it began. Written 
 by gentlemen, they obtained a currency, and that high tone of court and 
 camp which still pervades the national character. Religion and chivalry 
 were the ' pivots ;' they inculcated a noble simplicity, a contempt for death, 
 a generous support of others, a high-spirited disregard of self, a devotion to 
 the sex, not licentious, although rather energetic than tender ; a magnifi- 
 cence, liberality, and hospitality ; a delight in adventure and life of action ;
 
 PBELIMINART ESSAY. 29 
 
 a pride to man, but humility to God ; a blind obedience to king and priest ; 
 a sense of individual honor and prowess, a hatred and undervaluing of 
 foreigners. 
 
 This nationality is evinced alike by what their ballads are, as by what they 
 are not. How little they owed to foreign sources is proved by their rudeness, 
 by the absence of those diagnostics by which, as in painting, other schools 
 may be recognized. They have none of the Hebrew grand conceptions, of 
 Jehovah his thunders and lightnings ; none of the allusions to natural ob- 
 jects ; to the vine, the fig, the lilies of the field, and the water brook. They 
 have none of the Attic images of the sea, the voluptuous yearning after and 
 the perception of the beautiful nothing of nature idealized, none of that re- 
 gret for the shortness and loss of sweet life that praise of the pleasures of 
 love, wine, and the rose chaplet. They were more like Lacedemonian than 
 Athenian, and still more like the early Roman, in love of country and its 
 greatness ; yet there is nothing of the laying down the sword for the plough, 
 no fondness for the Georgics, no drawing of landscape ; they soared higher, 
 and painted subjects of history. Neither did the early Romanceros borrow 
 the purple of the prelate ; nor the ingots of the princely (though by them de- 
 spised) merchants of modern Italy. They shunned the infidelity of her scof- 
 fers, who, living under the shadow of St. Peter's, were enabled to estimate 
 its grossness ; neither had they the Ariosto careless-minded pleasantry the 
 persiflage which concealed secret triumph over surrounding commonplace 
 the irony which revealed to the initiated what was meant to be hidden from 
 the herd. Neither did they borrow from the muse of Provence ; she was too 
 gay, too amorous for celibate warriors who had crucified their flesh ; her 
 strain was too much a song, a thing of fashion and frivolity, and too wanting 
 in principle ; and even had the Spaniard been seduced by her fascinations, the 
 Inquisition would have struck out every taint of infidelity or indecency, which 
 never disgraces the pages of the chaste and moral literature of Spain. Though 
 grave, the Spaniard never fell into the supernatural, into the wood-demons of 
 haunted forests, the skull-formed goblets of blood, the ghosts and tales of 
 terror of the North, which chill like their long nights of winter. Night, to the 
 Andalusian, is the hour when pleasure awakes to the cool breeze, the guitar, 
 and rendezvous. Yet not for the boisterous joyousness of merry old England 
 the school-boy love of mischief for mischiefs sake the lawless freebooting 
 of Diana's foresters the nomade Anglo-Saxon life in the country, opposed to 
 the city and castle of the domineering Norman. With all the English hatred 
 for foreign oppression, the early Spaniard had less of his ridicule for humbug, 
 lay or clerical he was too temperate to care much for flagons of nut-brown
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 ale, and the venison-pasty, flavored with the poaching relish of opposition to 
 hateful game-laws. The Spaniard, fighting on his native plains, had no songs 
 of the sea, of ancient mariners, whose deck was their field, whose joy the 
 battle and the breeze. 
 
 Thus far they had remained original, both positively and negatively, when 
 an increased intercourse with Italy in the fifteenth and sixteenth century 
 introduced the Dantesque, the allegorical, mythological, and metaphysical 
 styles, and the native raciness began to evaporate. The poet merged in the 
 scholar, who was willing to injure the purity of his mother-tongue, in the 
 vain hope of rendering it more classical. A subsequent decline brought on 
 euphuism, with conceit, mannerism, bad taste, and affectation. Critics and 
 courtiers waged war against honest nature ; they played about the head, but 
 never touched the heart ; they fell into verbal subtleties, into anagrams, in- 
 genious combinations, things of words, not mind, the tricks of a puny litera- 
 ture. Devoid of originality, they now ' glossed' the older ballads of sterner 
 stuff just as simple tunes are frittered away by unmeaning variations ; 
 they diluted instead of condensing. Poetry became the trade of pedants, who 
 wrote to show their learning, not -from an irresistible necessity of giving vent 
 to what was bursting within. They spun out in their libraries a sham-fight 
 of metaphors, iron sleets and arrowy showers the mincing of metre ballad- 
 mongers popinjays who knew less of war and wounds, God save the mark ! 
 than of parmaceti. Stuff which would have grated in the ears of the old 
 Cid ' we must have knocks, ha ! must we not ]' Venus fared worse than 
 Mars. Sonneteers warbled amatory nothings to phantoms of shadows. Love 
 was made but to be told by vain babblers, who knew not that real love never 
 stops to define nor analyse, never trumpets forth its tale, but, deeply sensitive, 
 hides its sweet secret, dreading never to meet with full sympathy from un- 
 congenial hearts. The Platonisms of Petrarch without his delicacy, were ill- 
 suited to the real fierce passion which burned and burns in Southern bosoms 
 for a real concentrating object 
 
 Meanwhile, a sad change for the worse was silently taking place in the 
 character of Spaniards. Their literature, its exponent, partook of the dete- 
 rioration. The civil and religious tyranny of the Austrian brooded over the 
 land ; the once-free Castilians no longer fought for their faith and country, but 
 for ambition and foreign conquest : slaves at home, and conquerors abroad, 
 their ancient good qualities became the sources of the most cruel deeds of 
 butchery and bigotry which have ever disgraced a nation. With the same 
 implicit obedience to king and priest, they executed the bloody orders of des- 
 pots and the Inquisition. Their poesy, which had shone bright in their an-
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 31 
 
 cient ballads, now shared in the decline ; it still glittered on the theatre, yet 
 devoid of ancient honesty and simplicity. It now inculcated doctrines of ser- 
 vility, of bad morality, laxness in principle, false honor, selfishness, and skulk- 
 ing assassination. 
 
 The discredit into which the old system had fallen produced Don Quixote. 
 The success of this inimitable performance contributed to hasten the general 
 change for the worse. No man, however, had more of the true chivalrous 
 spirit than Cervantes ; nor do we think that he originally contemplated the 
 full effect which his work produced, and which he appears to have tried to 
 counteract in his second part ; where (excepting the monomania,) the high 
 rjdog of his hero rises very much, and in fact became the portrait of the 
 author. Chivalry had served its turn, and had had its day ; from being all in 
 all, it had become useless, powerless, and necessarily was held cheap, by all 
 those who kick at the fallen lion : ' du sublime au ridicule il n'y a qu' un 
 pas.' Knowledge blew romance to the winds, as gunpowder reduced the 
 knight errant to the ranks. The clay-footed colossus was laughed at and 
 travestied. The germ of a Don Quixote budded first among the practical 
 English, who soon, with their genius for caricature, depicted the absurdity 
 and weak side in their Sir Topaz their mock tournament of Tottenham, 
 their Reeves Daughter, their Dragon of Wantley. More of Morehall was the 
 type of the Knight of La Mancha a glimmering of this had appeared in the 
 Satirical Minho Rebulgo. The ridicule, however, which pleased the frivolous 
 Juan II. was not in sympathy with the nation, nor with the reality of the 
 Moorish contest. Spanish romance was destined to fall, like Csesar, with 
 greater dignity. There is nothing, however, new under the sun. The same 
 causes led to similar effects many centuries before. ' The Pythian sibyl,' 
 says Plutarch,* ' descended from her car of metre, melodies, and ballads, to 
 ' distinguish in prose the true from the mythological, and stooped with dis- 
 ' enchanted wings to truth.' Prose alas ! as we know to our cost in the 
 march of intellect follows the funeral of poesy, as naturally as physicians and 
 undertakers do once-animated remains. When the world fancied itself get- 
 ting wiser, it considered poetry to be a fiction, and, mistaking form for sub- 
 stance, gave credit to the same stories when made honest in prose, the pre- 
 sumed garb of respectable matter of fact, which it rejected in verse. The 
 metrical romances led to those ponderous folios, those Amadis de Gauls in 
 
 * Plutarch de Pyth. Or. vii. 601. Reisk. perpoif pcXeat <rat axJaij Kareffri ficv am TWV 
 ptTput/ utnrtp o^j/iora)v, ij 'loropia iroi ra> Trtfco (sermone pedestri) fcaXiara TOW pvQuSov; 
 TO aArj0.
 
 32 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 which Spain took the lead, the perusal of which drove Don Quixote mad ; 
 the process of conversion is old and simple, it merely consisted in removing 
 the final rhymes, when the prose became complete. The rule holds good to 
 this day, and the experiment may be verified on any of the best poems of last 
 year's publication. 
 
 The Moorish conquest which preceded these later deteriorations in national 
 character and literature, effected some change in both ; more, however, in 
 form than in substance. The Arabian influence lighted up the native flowers 
 of Castilian romance with the gorgeous brilliancy of an eastern sun : a more 
 figurative, ornate, oriental tinge was communicated, from which the older 
 ballads are remarkably exempt : the two people were now brought into imme- 
 diate, and at first into amicable contact They felt, what so often happens, 
 the softening explanatory influence of intercourse, and a better acquaintance, 
 under which even the fallen angels appear less black. They found that the 
 hated Moors resembled themselves in pride and martial chivalry, and were 
 their masters in arts, luxuries, and refinement. The Moor, a subject of 
 national interest and triumph, became in consequence a vehicle for novels and 
 poesy ; which professed, on the captandum principle, to be translated from 
 Arabian originals, done into choice Castilian by eminent authors ; and no 
 doubt, in many instances, much was actually adopted from an originally cognate 
 literature ; as had occurred before in the times of Alvarua and St. Eulogius. 
 It was thus that the most delightful of tales, ' Las Guerras de Granada,'* 
 originated ; a work which, in the opinion of Schlegel, contains some of the 
 finest ballads in the Spanish, or in any other language. It was the prototype 
 of the ' Waverley novels.' It was a Moorish tale of ' sixty years since,' pub- 
 lished about a hundred years after the conquest of Granada. It professed to 
 be a translation taken from the original of Abenhanum of Granada, by Gines 
 Perez of Murcia, and to give the history of the intrigues of the Alhambra, 
 and the Moorish account of that period. It was a mixture of history and fiction, 
 with just enough of the former to stamp a color of credit on the details. Its 
 success was prodigious ; it rivalled in number of editions the Arnadis of 
 
 * No lover of Spanish romance should be without this charming novel, for a fiction it 
 undoubtedly is. A vast number of editions are enumerated by Brunei, (Nouv. Res. ii. 
 178,) and by Hallam, (Lit. Eur., iii. 438.) Neither, however, mention those editions 
 now before us. Parte Prima, (the second edition,) Valencia, 1597. Part Secunda, 
 Cuenca, 1619. The second part is rarer than the first. The French translation by Sane, 
 Paris, 1809, in general inaccuracy and sins of omission and commission, rivals the worthless 
 translation of Conde's History of the Moors, by Mons. Maries : has tu, Romane r caveto.
 
 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 33 
 
 Gaul, the Orlando Furioso, and the novels of Scott. It was translated into 
 foreign languages. It called forth a sympathy for the Moor, whose plaintive 
 tale was told in most touching ballads, interspersed with the prose narrative. 
 This kindly tone toward a fallen enemy gave offence to many of the stern old 
 Spaniards, who were indignant that their Bernardos and Cids should be set 
 aside by those Ganzuls and Abenhamers ; forgetting that to extol them was 
 the greatest, although an indirect, compliment to those by whom they had 
 been conquered. This book created a pseudo-Arabian style ; for the fiery 
 zeal of the bigot Ximenes prevented any real cultivation of Arabian literature. 
 By burning every book on the absurd supposition that it was the Koran, and 
 by deterring Talavera and others from translating Spanish works into the 
 Arabic, the language of the Moors in less than half a century ceased to be 
 understood in Spain ; where it has ever since been less investigated and ap- 
 preciated than in any other kingdom of Europe. Its real influence on Spanish 
 literature has been very much overrated, nor do we imagine that one tithe of 
 the so-called Moorish ballads were ever composed by Moors. But we must 
 conclude. 
 
 We trust that those who have done us the honor to peruse these remarks, 
 will now turn with increased zest to the captivating volume which has given 
 rise to them ; they will then reverse the hard lot of the Sybil, and reascend 
 into the gorgeous and pleasing car of poesy, from the dry and grovelling path 
 of prose. Far more easy and more agreeable would it have been to us, to 
 have adorned our pages with a nosegay, culled from these no longer exotic 
 flowers of Castilian romance; they are now rendered indigenous ; transplanted 
 by the genius of Mr. Lockhart, they have taken deep root and flourish in our 
 harder climate ; and in truth the soil is congenial. Their manly tone of lib- 
 erty and independence, their reflective, somewhat saddened turn, their sincere 
 religious character, their sterling loyalty, patriotism, and love of country, 
 never will find a truer echo than in honest English hearts. Confidently do 
 we invite our readers to the entire volume, in the assurance that they will 
 . better judge of the spirit of the whole, than by any selections of ours, which 
 at best show rather the turn of mind of the selector than of the original. Mr. 
 Lockhart has conjured up a boundless succession of scenes and actors, who 
 pass before our view in a Banquo glass ; Bernardo, the hero of Roncevalles, 
 the personified principle of the immemorial, inveterate resistance of Spaniards , 
 against the invading Gaul when Christian and Moor forgot their own mutual 
 hatred and death struggle, in the more absorbing common abhorrence of France. ' 
 The Cid ' My Cid, he who was born in a good hour,' ' the honor of Spain' 
 the type and epitome of her national character, whose horse, sword, beard,
 
 34 PRELIMINARY ESSAY. 
 
 every part, parcel and particular, has been made the theme of a poem. Poor 
 Blanche ! in her lonely prison, sighing like Mary Stuart for her lost, her 
 much loved France, and murdered by her wayward husband, Don Pedro 
 then comes his hour of retribution, the fratricidal wrestling at Montiel; the 
 bloody civil wars, the Roses and Bosworth of Spain anon the scene shifts to 
 Granada, to the fairy Alhambra, to the banquet of beauty, the fountain, 
 jereed, and tournament. Then dark-coming calamities cast their shadows 
 over joy and pomp ; a cry of wo from Alhama, a hurrying and stirring in the 
 city, a saddling of steeds, a buckling on of armor, a riding up and down ; 
 the contest, the defeat, the triumph of the cross, the fall of the crescent, never 
 to rise again. Then is heard the ' last sigh of the Moor,' as descending from 
 the hillock of Padul, his water-standing eyes looked their last farewell at 
 those red towers, his paradise on earth, now lost forever. Then murmur out 
 the plaintive ditties of fallen Granada, those Morisco wails which were for- 
 bidden to be sung, lest the tear that they called up should be brushed away 
 by the clenched hand, which passed rapidly over the brow to grasp the sword 
 of revenge. 
 
 Such is the treat which awaits our readers. We speak with the fond re- 
 membrance of bygone years, when we pored over these ballads on the scenes 
 themselves ; and now, * e'en in their ashes, glow the wonted fires,' fanned 
 and rekindled by these delightful translations. ' I never heard,' says the 
 Arcadian Sydney, ' the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my 
 ' heart moved more than with a trumpet ; and yet it is sung by some blinde 
 ' crowder with no rougher voice than rude stile ; which, beeing so eville ap- 
 ' parelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivill age, what would it work, 
 ' trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare V Not, think we, so much 
 as in its own simple voice which is that of our Shakspeare ' nature's own 
 ' darling' ' who loved a ballad e'en too well ;' and who has embalmed in his 
 own never-dying pages many a gem of our own precious popular poetry. 
 Just as Cervantes, the Shakspeare of Spain, influenced by a kindred feeling, 
 interwove into his immortal Don Quixote a rich tissue of the native songs of 
 his land. Those great searchers into the heart of man well knew how much 
 this class of simple poesy can refresh the bright spark within us, when 
 dimmed by the cares and earthy necessities of our mortal coil. 
 
 ' Now good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
 That old and antique song we had last night : 
 Methought it did relieve my passion much 
 More than the light airs, and recollected terms, 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.'
 

 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE intention of this publication is to furnish the English reader with 
 some notion of that old Spanish minstrelsy, which has been preserved in the 
 different Cancioneros and Romanceros of the sixteenth century. That great 
 mass of popular poetry has never yet received in its own country the atten- 
 tion to which it is entitled. While hundreds of volumes have been written 
 about authors who were, at the best, ingenious imitators of classical or Italian 
 models, not one, of the least critical merit, has been bestowed upon those old 
 and simpler poets who were contented with the native inspirations of Casti- 
 lian pride. No Spanish Percy, or Ellis, or Ritson, has arisen to perform what 
 no one but a Spaniard can entertain the smallest hope of achieving. 
 
 Mr. Bouterwek, in his excellent History of Spanish Literature (Book i., 
 Sect. 1,) complained that no attempt had ever been made even to arrange 
 the old Spanish ballads in any thing like chronological order. An ingenious 
 countryman of his own, Mr. Depping, has since, in some measure, supplied 
 this defect. He has arranged the historical ballads according to the chrono- 
 logy of the persons and events which they celebrate ; for even this obvious 
 matter had not been attended to by the original Spanish collectors ; but he 
 has modestly and judiciously refrained from attempting the chronological 
 arrangement of them as compositions ; feeling, of course, that no person can 
 ever acquire such a delicate knowledge of a language not his own, as might 
 enable him to distinguish, with accuracy, between the different shades of an- 
 tiquity, or even perhaps to draw, with certainty and precision, the broader 
 line between that which is of genuine antiquity, and that which is mere mo- 
 dern imitation. By far the greater part of the following translations are from 
 pieces which the reader will find in Mr. Depping's Collection, published at 
 Leipsig in 1817. 
 
 It seems, therefore, in the present state of things, impossible to determine 
 to what period the composition of the oldest Spanish ballads now extant ought 
 to be referred. The^first Cancionero, that of Ferdinand de Castillo, was pub-
 
 38 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lished so early as 1510. In it, a considerable number, both of the historical 
 and of the romantic class of ballads, are included : and as the title of the 
 book itself bears ' Obras de todos o de los mas principales Trobadores de 
 Espana, assi anliguos como modernos,' it is clear that at least a certain 
 number of these pieces were considered as entitled to the appellation of 
 ' ancient,' in the year 1510. 
 
 The Cancionero de Romances, published at Antwerp in 1555, and after- 
 wards often reprinted under the name of Romancero, was the earliest collec- 
 tion that admitted nothing but ballads. The Romancero Historiado of Lucas 
 Rodriguez appeared at Alcala, in 1579 ; the Collection of Lorenzo de Sepul- 
 veda, at Antwerp, in 1566. The ballads of the Cid were first published in a 
 collected form in 1615, by Escobar. 
 
 But there are not wanting circumstances which would seem to establish, 
 for many of the Spanish ballads, a claim to antiquity much higher than is to 
 be inferred from any of these dates. In the oldest edition of the Cancionero 
 General, for example, there are several pieces which bear the name of Don 
 Juan Manuel. If they were composed by the celebrated author of Count 
 Lucanor (and it appears very unlikely that any person of less distinguished 
 rank should have assumed that style without some addition or distinction,) 
 we must carry them back at least as far as the year 1362, when the Prince 
 Don Juan Manuel died. But this is not all. The ballads bearing the name 
 of that illustrious author are so far from appearing to be among the most an- 
 cient in the Cancionero, that even a very slight examination must be sufficient 
 to establish exactly the reverse. The regularity and completeness of their 
 rhymes alone are, in fact, quite enough to satisfy any one who is acquainted 
 with the usual style of the redondillas, that the ballads of Don Juan Manuel 
 are among the most modern in the whole collection.* 
 
 But, indeed, whatever may be the age of the ballads now extant, that the 
 Spaniards had ballads of the same general character, and on the same sub- 
 
 * A single stanza of one of them will be enough : 
 
 ' Gritando va el caballero publicando su gran mal, 
 
 Vestidas ropas de luto, aforradas en sayal ; 
 , For las monies sin camino con dolor y suspirar, 
 Llorando a pie desa^o, jurando de no tornar. ' 
 
 Compare this with such a ballad as 
 
 ' No te espantes, cabarello, ni tengas tamaiia grima ; 
 Hija soy del buen Rey y de la Reyna de Castilla.'
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 39 
 
 jects, at a very early period of their national history, is quite certain. In the 
 General Chronicle of Spain, which was compiled in the thirteenth century, 
 at the command of Alphonso the Wise, allusions are perpetually made to the 
 popular songs of the Minstrels, or Joglares. Now, it is evident that the 
 phraseology of compositions handed down orally from one generation to an- 
 other, must have undergone, in the course of time, a great many alterations ; 
 yet, in point of fact, the language of by far the greater part of the Historical 
 Ballads in the Romancero, does appear to carry the stamp of an antiquity 
 quite as remote as that used by the compilers of the General Chronicle them- 
 selves. Nay, some of those very expressions from which Mr. Southey would 
 seem to infer that the CHRONICLE OF THE CID is a more ancient composition 
 than the GENERAL CHRONICLE OF SPAIN (which last was written before 
 1384,) are quite of common occurrence in these same ballads, which Mr. 
 Southey considers as of comparatively modern origin.* 
 
 All this, however, is a controversy in which few English readers can be 
 expected to take much interest And, besides, even granting that the 
 Spanish ballads were composed but a short time before the first Cancioneros 
 were published, it would still be certain that they form by far the oldest, as 
 well as largest, collection of popular poetry, properly so called, that is to be 
 found in the literature of any European nation whatever. Had there been 
 published at London, in the reign of our Henry VIII., a vast collection of 
 English ballads about the wars of the Plantagenets, what illustration and 
 annotation would not that collection have received long ere now ! 
 
 How the old Spaniards should have come to be so much more wealthy in 
 this sort of possession than any of their neighbors, it is not very easy to say. 
 They had their taste for warlike song in common with all the other members 
 of the great Gothic family ; and they had a fine climate, affording, of course 
 more leisure for amusement than could have been enjoyed beneath the 
 rougher sky of the north. The flexibility of their beautiful language, and 
 the extreme simplicity of the versification adopted in their ballads, must, no 
 doubt, have lightened the labor, and may have consequently increased the 
 number of their professional minstrels. 
 
 To tell some well-known story of love or heroism, in stanzas of four octo- 
 syllabic lines, the second and the fourth terminating in the same rhyme, or 
 in what the musical accompaniment could make to have some appearance of 
 being the same, this was all that the art of the Spanish coplero, in its most 
 perfect state, ever aspired to. But a line of seven or of six syllables was 
 
 * Sec the Introduction to Mr. Southey's Chronicle of the Cid, p. v. (Note.)
 
 40 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 admitted whenever that suited the maker better than one of eight : the 
 stanza itself varied from four to six lines, with equal ease ; and, as for the 
 matter of rhyme, it was quite sufficient that the two corresponding syllables 
 contained the same vowel.* In a language less abundant in harmonious 
 vocables, such laxity could scarcely have satisfied the ear. But, the Spanish 
 is, like the sister Italian, music in itself, though music of a bolder character. 
 
 I have spoken of the structure of the redondillas, as Spanish writers gene- 
 rally speak of it, when I have said that the stanzas consist of four lines. But 
 a distinguished German antiquary, Mr. Grimm, who published, a few years 
 ago, a little sylva of Spanish ballads, expresses his opinion that the stanza 
 was composed in reality of two long lines, and that these had subsequently 
 been cut into four, exactly as we know to have been the case in regard to 
 our own old English ballad-stanza. Mr. Grimm, in his small, but very ele- 
 gant collection, prints the Spanish verses in what he thus supposes to have 
 been their original shape ;f and I have followed his example in the form of 
 the stanza which I have for the most part used in my translations, as well as 
 in quoting occasionally from the originals. 
 
 So far as I have been able, I have followed Mr. Depping in the classifica- 
 tion of the specimens which follow. 
 
 The reader will find placed together at the beginning those ballads which 
 treat of persons and events known in the authentic history of Spain. A few 
 concerning the unfortunate Don Roderick, and the Moorish conquest of the 
 eighth century, form the commencement ; and the series is carried down, 
 though of course with wide gaps and intervals, yet so as to furnish something 
 like a connected sketch of the gradual progress of the Christian arms, until 
 the surrender of Granada, in the year 1492, and the consequent flight of the 
 last Moorish sovereign from the Peninsula. 
 
 Or,- 
 
 * For example : 
 
 ' Y arrastrando luengos lutos 
 Entraron treyntajidalgos 
 Escuderos de Ximena 
 Hija del conde Lo$ano.' 
 
 ' A Don Alvaro de Luna 
 Condestable de Castillo, 
 El rey Don Juan el Segundo 
 Con mal semblante lo mira.' 
 
 But, indeed, even this might be dispensed with. 
 
 t ' Sylva de Viejos Romances, publicada por Jacobo Grimm. Vienna, 1815.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 41 
 
 Throughout that very extensive body of historical ballads from which 
 these specimens have been selected, there prevails an uniformly high tone of 
 sentiment, -such as might have been expected to distinguish the popular 
 poetry of a nation proud, haughty, free, and engaged in continual warfare 
 against enemies of different faith and manners, but not less proud and not 
 less warlike than themselves. Those petty disputes and dissensions which 
 so long divided the Christian princes, and, consequently, favored and main- 
 tained the power of the formidable enemy whom they all equally hated ; 
 those struggles between prince and nobility, which were productive of similar 
 effects after the crowns of Leon and Castile had been united ; those domestic 
 tragedies which so often stained the character and weakened the arms of the 
 Spanish kings ; in a word, all the principal features of the old Spanish 
 history may be found, more or less distinctly shadowed forth, among the pro- 
 ductions of these unflattering minstrels. 
 
 Of the language of Spain, as it existed under the reign of the Visigoth 
 kings, we possess no monuments. The laws and the chronicles of the period 
 were equally written in Latin ; and although both, in all probability, must 
 have been frequently rendered into more vulgar dialects, no traces of any 
 such versions have survived the many storms and struggles of religious and 
 political dissension, of which this interesting region has since been made the 
 scene. To what precise extent, therefore, the language and literature of the 
 Peninsula felt the influence of that great revolution which subjected the far 
 larger part of her territory to the sway of a Mussulman sceptre, and how 
 much or how little of what we at this hour admire or condemn in the poetry 
 of Portugal, Arragon, Castile, is really not of Spanish, but of Moorish 
 origin, these are matters which have divided all the great writers of literary 
 history, and which we, in truth, have little chance of ever seeing accurately 
 decided. No one, however, who considers of what elements the Christian 
 population of Spain was originally composed, and in what shapes the mind 
 of nations, every way kindred to that population, was expressed during the 
 middle ages, can have any doubt that great and remarkable influence was 
 exerted over Spanish thought and feeling and, therefore, over Spanish 
 language and poetry --by the influx of those Oriental tribes that occupied, 
 for seven long centuries, the fairest provinces of the Peninsula. 
 
 Spain, although of all the countries which owned the authority of the 
 Caliphs she was the most remote from the seat of their empire, appears to 
 have been the very first in point of cultivation ; tier governors having, for at 
 least two centuries, emulated one another in affording every species of en- 
 couragement and protection to all those liberal arts and sciences which first
 
 42 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 flourished at Bagdad under the sway of Haroon Al-Raschid, and his less cele- 
 brated, but, perhaps, still more enlightened son, Al-Mamoun. Beneath the 
 wise and munificent patronage of these rulers, the cities of Spain, within 
 three hundred years after the defeat of King Roderick, had been every where 
 penetrated with a spirit of elegance, tastefulness, and philosophy, which 
 afforded the strongest of all possible contrasts to the contemporary condition 
 of the other kingdoms of Europe. At Cordova, Granada, Seville, and many 
 now less considerable towns, colleges and libraries had been founded and 
 endowed in the most splendid manner, where the most exact and the most 
 elegant of sciences were cultivated together with equal zeal. Averroes 
 translated and expounded Aristotle at Cordova ; Ben-Zaid and Aboul-Mander 
 wrote histories of their nation at Valencia ; Abdel-Maluk set the first ex- 
 ample of that most interesting and useful species of writing, by which Moreri 
 and others have since rendered services so important to ourselves ; and even 
 an Arabian Encyclopaedia was compiled, under the direction of Mohammed- 
 Aba-Abdallah, at Granada. Ibn-el-Beither went forth from Malaga to search 
 through all the mountains and plains of Europe for every thing that might 
 enable him to perfect his favorite sciences of botany and lithology, and his 
 works still remain to excite the admiration of all who are in a condition to 
 comprehend their value. The Jew of Tudela was the worthy successor of 
 Galen and Hippocrates : while chemistry, and other branches of medical sci- 
 ence, almost unknown to the ancients, received their first astonishing de- 
 velopments from Al-Rasi and Avicenna. Rhetoric and poetry were not less 
 diligently studied ; and, in a word, it would be difficult to point out, in the 
 whole history of the world, a time or a country where the activity of the 
 human intellect was more extensively, or usefully, or gracefully exerted, than 
 in Spain, while the Mussulman sceptre yet retained any portion of that vigor 
 which it had originally received from the conduct and heroism of Tarifa. 
 
 Although the difference of religion prevented the Moors and their Spanish 
 subjects from ever being completely melted into one people, yet it appears 
 that nothing could, on the whole, be more mild than the conduct of the 
 Moorish government towards the Christian population of the country, during 
 this their splendid period of undisturbed dominion. Their learning and their 
 arts they liberally communicated to all who desired such participation ; and 
 the Christian youth studied freely and honorably at the feet of Jewish physi- 
 cians and Mahommedan philosophers. Communication of studies and acquire- 
 ments, continued through such a space of years, could not have failed to 
 break down, on both sides, many of the barriers of religious prejudice, and to 
 nourish a spirit of kindliness and charity among the more cultivated portions
 
 INTRODUCTION. 43 
 
 of either people. The intellect of the Christian Spaniards could not be un- 
 grateful for the rich gifts it was every day receiving from their misbelieving 
 masters : while the benevolence with which instructors ever regard willing 
 disciples, must have tempered in the minds of the Arabs the sentiments of 
 haughty superiority natural to the breasts of conquerors. 
 
 By degrees, however, the scattered remnants of unsubdued Visigoths, who 
 had sought and found refuge among the mountains of Asturias and Gallicia, 
 began to gather the strength of numbers and of combination, and the Mussul- 
 men saw different portions of their empire successively wrested from their 
 hands by leaders whose descendants assumed the titles of KINGS in Oviedo 
 and Navarre ; and of COUNTS in Castile, Soprarbia, Arragon, and Barcelona. 
 From the time when these principalities were established, till all their 
 strength was united in the persons of Ferdinand and Isabella, a perpetual 
 war may be said to have subsisted between the professors of the two reli- 
 gions ; and the natural jealousy of Moorish governors must have gradually, 
 but effectually, diminished the comfort of the Christians who yet lived under 
 their authority. Were we to seek our ideas of the period only from the 
 events recorded in its chronicles, we should be led to believe that nothing 
 could be more deep and fervid than the spirit of mutual hostility which pre- 
 vailed among all the adherents of the opposite faiths : but external events 
 are sometimes not the surest guides to the spirit whether of peoples or of 
 ages, and the ancient popular poetry of Spain may be referred to for proofs, 
 which cannot be considered as either of dubious or of trivial value, that the 
 rage of hostility had not sunk quite so far as might have been imagined into 
 the minds and hearts of very many that were engaged in the conflict. 
 
 There is, indeed, nothing more natural, at first sight, than to reason in 
 some measure from a nation as it is in our own day, back to what it was a 
 few centuries ago ; but nothing could tend to the production of greater mis- 
 takes than such a mode of judging applied to the case of Spain. In the erect 
 and high-spirited peasantry of that country, we still see the genuine and. 
 uncorrupted descendants of their manly forefathers ; but in every other part 
 of the population, the progress of corruption appears to have been not less 
 powerful than rapid : and the higher we ascend in the scale of society, the 
 more distinct and mortifying is the spectacle of moral not less than of phy- 
 sical deterioration. This universal falling off of men may be traced very 
 easily to an universal falling off in regard to every point of faith and feeling 
 most essential to the formation and preservation of a national character. We 
 have been accustomed to consider the modern Spaniards as the most bigoted, 
 and enslaved, and ignorant of Europeans ; but we must not forget, that the
 
 Spaniards of three centuries back were, in all respects, a very different set 
 of beings. Castile, in the first regulation of her constitution, was as free as 
 any nation needs to be, for all the purposes of social security and individual 
 happiness. Her kings were her captains and her judges, the chiefs and the 
 models of a gallant nobility, and the protectors of a manly and independent 
 peasantry : but the authority with which they were invested was guarded by 
 the most accurate limitations ; nay in case they should exceed the boundary 
 of their legal power the statute-book of the realm itself contained exact 
 rules for the conduct of a constitutional insurrection to recall them to their 
 duty, or to punish them for its desertion. Every order of society had, more 
 or less directly, its representatives in the national council; every Spaniard, 
 of whatever degree, was penetrated with a sense of his own dignity as a 
 freeman his own nobility as a descendant of the Visigoths. ""And it is well 
 remarked by an elegant historian of our day,* that, even to this hour, the 
 influence of this happy order of things still continues to be felt in Spain, 
 where manners, and language, and literature, have all received indelibly a 
 stamp of courts, and aristocracy, and proud feeling, which affords a striking 
 contrast to what may be observed in modern Italy, where the only freedom 
 that ever existed had its origin and residence among citizens and merchants. 
 The civil liberty of the old Spaniards could scarcely have existed so long 
 as it did, in the presence of any feeling so black and noisome as the bigotry 
 of modern Spain ; but this was never tried ; for down to the time of Charles 
 V. no man has any right to say that the Spaniards were a bigoted people- 
 One of the worst features of their modern bigotry their extreme and servile 
 subjection to the authority of the Pope is entirely a-wanting in the picture 
 of their ancient spirit In the 12th century, the Kings of Arragon were the 
 protectors of the Albigenses ; and their Pedro II. himself died in 1213, fight, 
 ing bravely against the red cross, for the cause of tolerance. In 1268, two 
 brothers of the King of Castile left the banners of the Infidels, beneath which 
 they were serving at Tunis, with eight hundred Castilian gentlemen, for the 
 purpose of coming to Italy and assisting the Neapolitans in their resistance 
 to the tyranny of the Pope and Charles of Anjou. In the great schism of 
 the West, as it is called (1378,) Pedro IV. embraced the party which the 
 Catholic Church regards as schismatic. That feud was not allayed for more 
 than a hundred years, and Alphonso V. was well paid for consenting to lay it 
 aside ; while, down to the time of Charles V., the whole of the Neapolitan 
 Princes of the House of Arragon may be said to have lived in a state of open 
 
 * Sismondi's Literature du Midi.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 45 
 
 enmity against the Papal See ; sometimes excommunicated for generations 
 together seldom apparently never cordially reconciled. When, finally, 
 Ferdinand the Catholic made his first attempt to introduce the Inquisition 
 into his kingdom, almost the whole nation took up arms to resist him. The 
 Grand Inquisitor was killed, and every one of his creatures was compelled to 
 leave, for a season, the yet free soil of Arragon. 
 
 But the strongest and best proof of the comparative liberality of the old 
 Spaniards is, as I have already said, to be found in their Ballads. Throughout 
 the far greater part of those compositions, there breathes a certain spirit of 
 charity and humanity towards those Moorish enemies with whom the combats 
 of the national heroes are represented. The Spaniards and the Moors lived 
 together in their villages beneath the calmest of skies, and surrounded with 
 the most beautiful of landscapes. In spite of their adverse faiths, in spite of 
 their adverse interests, they had much in common. Loves, and sports, and 
 recreations, nay, sometimes their haughtiest recollections, were in common, 
 and even their heroes were the same. Bernardo del Carpio, Fernan Gonzalez, 
 the Cid himself, almost every one of the favorite heroes of the Spanish na- 
 tion, had, at some period or other of his life, fought beneath the standard of 
 the Crescent, and the minstrels of either nation might, therefore, in regard to 
 some instances at least, have equal pride in the celebration of their prowess. 
 The praises which the Arab poets granted to them in their Mouwachchdh, or 
 girdle verses, were repaid by liberal encomiums on Moorish valor and gene- 
 rosity in Castilian and Arragonese Redondillas. Even in the ballads most 
 exclusively devoted to the celebration of feats of Spanish heroism, it is quite 
 common to find some redeeming compliment to the Moors mixed with the 
 strain of exultation. Nay, even in the more remote and ideal chivalries cele- 
 brated in the Castilian Ballads, the parts of glory and greatness are almost 
 as frequently attributed to Moors as to Christians ; Calaynos was a name as 
 familiar as Gayferos. At a somewhat later period, when the conquest of 
 Granada had mingled the Spaniards still more effectually with the persons 
 and manners of the Moors, we find the Spanish poets still fonder of cele- 
 brating the heroic achievements of their old Saracen rivals ; and, without 
 doubt, this their liberality towards the ' Knights of Granada, Gentlemen, 
 albeit Moors,' 
 
 ' Caballeros Granadinos 
 Aunque Moros hijos d'algo,' 
 
 must have been very gratifying to the former subjects of ' The Baby King.' 
 It must have counteracted the bigotry of Confessors and Mollahs, and tended 
 to inspire both nations with sentiments of kindness and mutual esteem.
 
 46 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Bernard of Carpio, above all the rest, was the common property and pride 
 of both peoples. Of his all-romantic life, the most romantic incidents be- 
 longed equally to both. It was with Moors that he allied himself when he 
 rose up to demand vengeance from King Alphonso for the murder of his 
 father. It was with Moorish brethren in arms that he marched to fight 
 against the Frankish army for the independence of the Spanish soil. It was 
 in front of a half-Leonese, half- Moorish host, that Bernard couched his lance, 
 victorious alike over valor and magic : 
 
 ' When Rowland brave and Olivier, 
 And every Paladin and Peer 
 On Ror.cesvalles died.' 
 
 A few ballads, unquestionably of Moorish origin, and apparently rather of 
 the romantic than of the historical class, are given in a section by themselves. 
 The originals are valuable, as monuments of the manners and customs of a 
 most singular race. 
 
 Composed originally by a Moor or a Spaniard, (it is often very difficult to 
 determine by which of the two,) they were sung in the villages of Andalusia 
 in either language, but to the same tunes, and listened to with equal pleasure 
 by man, woman, and child, Mussulman and Christian. In these strains, 
 whatever other merits or demerits they may possess, we are, at least, pre- 
 sented with a lively picture of the Hfe of the Arabian Spaniard. We see 
 him as he was in reality, ' like steel among weapons, like wax among 
 
 women,' 
 
 ' Fuerte qual azero entre armas, 
 Y qual cera entre las damas.' 
 
 There came, indeed, a time when the fondness of the Spaniards for their 
 Moorish Ballads was made matter of reproach, but this was not till long 
 after the period when Spanish bravery had won back the last fragments of 
 the Peninsula from Moorish hands. It was thus that a Spanish poet of the 
 after day expressed himself : 
 
 ' Vayase con Dios Gazul ! 
 Lleve el diablo a Celindaxa ! 
 Y buelvan estas marlotas 
 A quien se las dio prestadas ! 
 
 ' Que quiere Dona Maria 
 Ver baylar a Dona Juana, 
 Una gallarda espanola, 
 Que no ay dan<;a mas gallarda :
 
 INTRODUCTION. 47 
 
 ' Y Don Pedro y Don Rodrigo 
 
 Vestir otras mas galenas, 
 Ver quien son estos danzantes 
 Y conocer estas datnas ; 
 
 ' Y el Sefior Alcayde quiere 
 Saber quien es Abenamar, 
 Estos Zegris y Aliatares, 
 Adulces, Zaydes, y Andallas ; 
 
 ' Y de que repartimiento 
 Son Celinda y Guadalara, 
 Estos Moros y Estas Moras 
 Que en todas las bodas danzan ; 
 
 ' Y por hablarlo mas claro, 
 Assi tenguan buena pascua, 
 Ha venido a su noticia 
 Que ay Cristianos en Espafia.' 
 
 These sarcasms were not without their answer ; for, says another poem in 
 the Romancero General : 
 
 ' Si es Espanol Don Rodrigo, 
 Espanol fue el fuerte Atidalla ; 
 Y sepa el Senor Alcayde 
 Que tambien lo es Guadalara.' 
 
 But the best argument follows : 
 
 ' No es culpa si de los Moros 
 Los valientes hechos cantan, 
 Pues tanto mas resplendecen 
 Nuestras celebras hazanas.' 
 
 The greater part of the Moorish Ballads refer to the period immediately 
 preceding the downfall of the throne of Granada the amours of that splendid 
 court the bull-feasts and other spectacles in which its lords and ladies de- 
 lighted no less than those of the Christian courts of Spain the bloody feuds 
 of the two great families of the Zegris and the Abencerrages, which contri- 
 buted so largely to the ruin of the Moorish cause and the incidents of that 
 last war itself, in which the power of the Mussulman was entirely overthrown 
 by the arms of Ferdinand and Isabella. To some readers it may, perhaps, 
 occur, that the part ascribed to Moorish females in these Ballads is not always 
 exactly in the Oriental taste ; but the pictures still extant on the walls of the
 
 Alhambra contain abundant proofs how unfair it would be to judge from the 
 manners of any Mussulman nation of our day, of those of the refined and 
 elegant Spanish Moors. 
 
 The specimens of which the third and largest section consists, are taken 
 from amongst the vast multitude of miscellaneous and romantic ballads in the 
 old Cancioneros. The subjects of a number of these are derived from the 
 fabulous Chronicle of Turpin ; and the Knights of Charlemagne's Round- 
 Table appear in all their gigantic lineaments. But the greater part are formed 
 precisely of the same sort of materials which supplied our own ancient bal- 
 lad-makers, both the English and the Scottish. 
 
 In the original Spanish collections, songs, both of the serious and of the 
 comic kind, are mingled without scruple among their romantic ballads ; and 
 one or two specimens of these also have been attempted towards the conclu- 
 sion of the following pages.
 
 HISTOBICA1L
 
 STije ILamentattott of Bon 
 
 THE treason of Count Julian, and, indeed, the whole history of King 
 Roderick, and the downfall of the gothic monarchy in Spain, have been so 
 effectually made known to the English reader by Mr. Southey and Sir Walter 
 Scott, that it would be impertinent to say any thing of these matters here. 
 The ballad, a version of which follows, appears to be one of the oldest among 
 the great number relating to the Moorish conquest of Spain. One verse of 
 it is quoted, and several parodied, in the Second Part of Don Quixote, in the 
 inimitable chapter of the Puppet-show : ^ 
 
 ' The general rout of the puppets being over, Don Quixote's fury began to 
 abate ; and, with a more pacified countenance, turning to the company, 
 Well, now, said he, when all is done, long live knight-errantry ; long let it 
 live, I say, above all things whatsoever in this world ! Ay, ay, said Master 
 Peter, in a doleful tone, let it live long for me, so I may die ; for why should 
 I live so unhappy as to say with King Rodrigo, Yesterday I was lord of Spain, 
 to-day have not a foot of land I can call mine ? It is not half an hour, nay, 
 scarce a moment, since I had kings and emperors at command. I had horses 
 in abundance, and chests and bags full of fine things ; but now you see me 
 a poor, sorry, unflone man, quite and clean broke and cast down, and, in short, 
 a mere beggar. What is worst of all, I have lost my ape too, who, I am 
 sure, will make me sweat ere I catch him again.'
 
 1 BUT still where through the press of war he went, 
 Half-armed, and like a lover seeking death, 
 The arrows passed him by ; and right and left, 
 The spear-point pierced him not ; the scymitar 
 Glanced from his helmet : he, when he beheld 
 The rout complete, saw that the shield of heaven 
 Had been extended over him once more, 
 And bowed before its will. Upon the banks 
 Of Sella was Orelio found, his legs 
 And flanks incarnadined, his poitrel smeared ' 
 With froth and foam and gore, his silver mane 
 Sprinkled with blood, which hung on every hair 
 Aspersed like dew-drops : trembling there h'e stood 
 From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth 
 His tremulous cry, far echoing loud and shrill, 
 A frequent, anxious cry, with which he seemed 
 To call the master he had loved so well.' SOUTHEY.
 
 Hamentatiou of lion lioftn-fcit. 
 
 THE hosts of Don Rodrigo were scattered in dismay, 
 When lost was the eighth battle, nor heart nor hope had they ; 
 He, when he saw that field was lost, and all his hope was flown, 
 He turned him from his flying host, and took his way alone. 
 
 His horse was bleeding, blind, and lame, he could no farther go ; 
 Dismounted, without path or aim, the king stepped to and fro ; 
 It was a sight of pity to look on Roderick, 
 For, sore athirst and hungry, he staggered, faint and sick. 
 
 All stained and strewed with dust and blood, like to some smouldering brand 
 Plucked from the flame, Rodrigo showed : his sword was in his hand, 
 But it was hacked into a saw of dark and purple tint ; 
 His jewelled mail had many a flaw, his helmet many a dint 
 
 He climbed unto a hill-top, the highest he could see, 
 Thence all about of that wide rout his last long look took he ; 
 He saw his royal banners, where they lay drenched and torn, 
 He heard the cry of victory, the Arab's shout of scorn. 
 
 He looked for the brave captains that led the hosts of Spain, 
 
 But all were fled except the dead, and who could count the slain ? 
 
 Where'er his eye could wander, all bloody was the plain, 
 
 And, while thus he said, the tears he shed run down his cheeks like rain : 
 
 Last night I was the King of Spain, to-day no king am I ; 
 Last night fair castles held my train, to-night where shall I lie 1 
 Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee, 
 To-night not one I call mine own : not one pertains to me.
 
 54 
 
 THE LAMENTATION OF BON RODERICK. 
 
 ' Oh, luckless, luckless was the hour, and cursed was the day, 
 When I was born to have the power of this great signiory ! 
 Unhappy me, that I should see the sun go down to-night ! 
 O Death, why now so slow art thou, why fearest thou to smite V
 
 3f entttnc* of ZBon 
 
 THIS ballad also is quoted in Don Quixote. 'And let me tell you again, 
 (quoth Sancho Panza to the Duchess,) if you don't think fit to give me an 
 island because I am a fool, I will be so wise as not to care whether you do or 
 no. It is an old saying, The Devil lurks behind the cross. All is not gold 
 that glisters. From the tail of the plough, Bamba was made King of Spain ; 
 and from his silks and riches was Rodrigo cast to be devoured by the snakes, 
 if the old ballads say true, and sure they are too old to tell a lie. That they 
 are indeed, (said Dona Rodriguez, the old waiting woman, who listened among 
 the rest,) for I remember, one of the ballads tells us how Don Rodrigo was 
 shut up alive in a tomb full of toads, snakes, and lizards ; and how, after two 
 days, he was heard to cry out of the tomb in a loud and doleful voice, Now 
 they eat me, now they gnaw me, in the part where I sinned most. And accord- 
 ing to this the gentleman is in the right in saying he had rather be a poor 
 laborer than a king, to be gnawed to death by vermin.' 
 
 Cervantes would scarcely have made this absurd story the subject of con- 
 versation between any more intelligent personages than Sancho Panza and 
 the venerable Dona Rodriguez. Nevertheless, there is something very pecu- 
 liar in the old ballad to which these interlocutors allude, enough, perhaps, to 
 make it worth the trouble of translation. There is a little difference between 
 the text of the Cancionero, and the copy which Dona Rodriguez quotes ; but 
 I think the effect is better when there is only one snake, than when the tomb 
 is full of them. 
 
 Several chapters of the Ancient Chronicle of Spain, translated in the Ap- 
 pendix to Mr. Southey's Roderick, relate to the adventures of the King ' after 
 he left the battle and arrived at a hermitage.'
 
 <Tfjc lUmtcnce of Bon liottmctt. 
 
 IT was when the King Rodrigo had lost his realm of Spain,' 
 In doleful plight he held his flight o'er Guadalete's plain ; 
 Afar from the fierce Moslem he fain would hide his wo, 
 And up among the wilderness of mountains he would go. 
 
 There lay a shepherd by the rill, with all his flock beside him ; 
 He asked him where upon his hill a weary man might hide him. 
 ' Not far,' quoth he, ' within the wood, dwells our old Eremite ; 
 He in his holy solitude will hide ye all the night.' 
 
 ' Good friend,' quoth he, ' I hunger.' 'Alas !' the shepherd said, . 
 1 My scrip no more containeth but one little loaf of bread. 
 The weary King was thankful, the poor man's loaf he took ; 
 He by him sate, and, while he ate, his tears fell in the brook. 
 
 From underneath his garment, the King unlocked his chain, 
 A golden chain with many a link, and the royal ring of Spain ; 
 He gave them to the wondering man, and, with heavy steps and slow 
 He up the wild his way began, to the hermitage to go. 
 
 The sun had just descended into the western sea# 
 And the holy man was sitting in the breeze beneath his tree ; 
 ' I come, I come, good father, to beg a boon from thee : 
 This night within thy hermitage give shelter unto me.' 
 
 The old man looked upon the King, he scanned him o'er and o'er, 
 He looked with looks of wondering, he marvelled more and more. 
 With blood and dust distained was the garment that he wore, 
 And yet in utmost misery a kingly look he bore.
 
 THE PENITENCE OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 4 Who art thou, weary stranger '! This path why hast thou ta'en V 
 ' I am Rodrigo ,'-~-yesterday men called me King of Spain ; 
 I come to make my penitence within this lonely place ; 
 Good father take thou no offence, for God and Mary's grace.' 
 
 The hermit looked with fearful eye upon Rodrigo's face, 
 
 Son, mercy dwells with the Most High, not hopeless is thy case ; 
 
 Thus far thou well hast chosen ; I to the Lord will pray ; 
 
 He will reveal what penance may wash thy sin away.' 
 
 Now, God us shield ! it was revealed that he his bed must make 
 Within a tomb, and share its gloom with a black and living snake. 
 Rodrigo bowed his humble head, when God's command he heard 
 And with the snake prepared his bed, according to the word. 
 
 The holy Hermit waited till the third day was gone, 
 
 Then knocked he with his finger upon the cold tombstone ; 
 
 ' Good King, good King,' the Hermit said, ' an answer give to me, 
 
 How fares it with thy darksome bed and dismal company V 
 
 ' Good father,' said Rodrigo, ' the snake hath touched me not ; 
 Pray for me, holy Hermit, I need thy prayers, God wot ; 
 Because the Lord his anger keeps, I lie unharmed here ; 
 The sting of earthly vengeance sleeps, a worser pain I fear.' 
 
 The Eremite his breast did smite when thus he heard him say ; 
 He turned him to his cell, that night he loud and long did pray : 
 At morning hour he came again, then doleful moans heard he ; 
 From out the tomb the cry did come of gnawing misery. 
 
 He spake, and heard Rodrigo's voice ; ' O Father Eremite, 
 He eats me now, he eats me now, I feel the adder's bite ; 
 The part that was most sinning my bedfellow doth rend ; 
 There had my curse beginning, God grant it there may end f 
 
 The holy man made answer in words of hopeful strain ; 
 He bade him trust the body's pang would save the spirit's pain. 
 Thus died the good Rodrigo, thus died the King of Spain, 
 Washed from offence, his spirit hence to God its flight hath ta'en.
 
 of JSeruarfco tot (fcarpfo. 
 
 OF Bernardo del Carpio, we find little or nothing in the French romances 
 of Charlemagne. He belongs exclusively to Spanish History, or rather, per- 
 haps, to Spanish romance. The continence which procured for Alphonso 
 (who succeeded to the precarious throne of the Christians in the Austrias 
 about 795) the epithet of ' The Chaste,' was not universal in his family. By 
 an intrigue with Sancho Diaz, Count of Saldana, or Saldena, Dona Ximena, 
 sister of this virtuous Prince, bore a son. Some chroniclers attempt to gloss 
 over this incident, by alleging that a private marriage had taken place between 
 the lovers : but King Alphonso, who was well nigh sainted for living only in pla- 
 tonic union with his wife Bertha, took the scandal greatly to heart. He shut 
 up the peccant Princess in a cloister, and imprisoned her gallant in the castle 
 of Luna, where he caused him to be deprived of sight. Fortunately, his 
 wrath did not extend to the offspring of their stolen affections, Bernardo del 
 Carpio. When the youth had grown up to manhood, Alphonso, according to 
 the Spanish chroniclers, invited the Emperor Charlemagne into Spain, and 
 having neglected to raise up heirs for the kingdom of the Goths in the ordi- 
 nary manner, he proposed the inheritance of his throne as the price of the 
 alliance of Charles. But the nobility, headed by Bernardo, remonstrated 
 against the King's choice of a successor, and would on no account consent to 
 receive a Frenchman as the heir of their crown. Alphonso himself repented 
 of the invitation he had given Charlemagne, and when that champion of 
 Christendom came to expel the Moors from Spain, he found the conscientious 
 and chaets Alphonso had united with the infidels against him. An engage- 
 ment took place in the renowned pass of Roncesvalles, in which the French 
 were defeated, and the celebrated Roland, or Orlando, was slain. The victory 
 was ascribed chiefly to the prowess of Bernardo del Carpio. 
 
 The following ballad describes the enthusiasm excited among the Leonese, 
 when Bernardo first raised his standard to oppose the progress of Charle- 
 magne's army. [ *
 
 of Eftnartro trel 
 
 WITH three thousand men of Leon, from the city Bernard goes, 
 To protect the soil Hispanian from the spear of Frankish foes : 
 From the city which is planted in the midst between the seas, 
 To preserve the name and glory of old Pelayo's victories. 
 
 The peasant hears upon his field the trumpet of the knight, 
 He quits his team for spear and shield and garniture of might ; 
 The shepherd hears it 'mid the mist, he flingeth down his crook, 
 And rushes from the mountain like a tempest-troubled brook. 
 
 The youth who shows a maiden's chin, whose brows have ne'er been bound 
 
 The helmet's heavy ring within, gains manhood from the sound ; 
 
 The hoary sire beside the fire forgets his feebleness, 
 
 Once more to feel the cap of steel a warrior's ringlets press. 
 
 As through the glen his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills, 
 They swelled his host, as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills ; 
 They round his banner flocked, in scorn of haughty Charlemagne, 
 And thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain. 
 
 ' Free were we born,' 'tis thus they cry, ' though to our King we owe 
 The homage and the fealty behind his crest to go ; 
 By God's behest our aid he shares, but God did ne'er command 
 That we should leave our children heirs of an enslaved land. 
 
 ' Our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak, 
 
 Nor are our veins so bloodless, that we our vow should break, 
 
 To sell our freedom for the fear of Prince or Paladin ; 
 
 At least we'll sell our birthright dear, no bloodless prize they'll win.
 
 60 THE MARCH OF BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 
 
 ' At least King Charles, if God decrees he must be Lord of Spain, 
 Shall witness that the Leonese were not aroused in vain ; 
 He shall bear witness that we died as lived our sires of old, 
 Nor only of Numantium's pride shall minstrel tales be told. 
 
 ' The LION that hath bathed his paws in seas of Lybian gore, 
 Shall he not battle for the laws and liberties of yore 1 
 Anointed cravens may give gold to whom it likes them well, 
 But steadfast heart and spirit bold, Alphonso ne'er shall sell.'
 
 Complaint of tfjt (otmt of Saltrana. 
 
 THIS ballad is intended to represent the feelings of Don Sancho, Count of Saldana, 
 while imprisoned by King Alphonso, and, as he supposed, neglected and forgotten, both 
 by his wife, or rather mistress, Dona Ximena, and by his son, Bernardo del Carpio. 
 
 [ THE Count Don Sancho Diaz, the Signior of Saldane, 
 
 Lies weeping in his prison, for he cannot refrain : 
 ' King Alphouso and his sister, of both doth he complain, 
 
 But most of bold Bernardo, the champion of Spain. 
 
 ' The weary years I durance brook, how many they have been, 
 When on these hoary hairs I look, may easily be seen ; 
 When they brought me to this castle, my curls were black I ween, 
 Wo worth the day ! they have grown grey these rueful walls between. 
 
 ' They tell me my Bernardo is the doughtiest lance in Spain, 
 
 But if he were my loyal heir, there 's blood in every vein 
 
 Whereof the voice his heart would hear, his hand would not gainsay ; 
 
 Though the blood of kings be mixed with mine, it would not have all the sway. 
 
 ' Now all the tliree have scorn of me ; unhappy man am I ! 
 
 They leave me without pity ; they leave me here to die. 
 
 A stranger's feud, albeit rude, were little dole or care, 
 
 But he 's my own, both flesh and bone ; his scorn is ill to bear. 
 
 1 From Jailer and from Castellain I hear of hardiment 
 And chivalry in listed plain on joust and tourney spent ; 
 I hear of many a battle, in which thy spear is red, 
 But help from thee comes none to me where I am ill bestead.
 
 (52 
 
 THE COMPLAINT OF THE COUNT OF SALDANA. 
 
 ' Some villain spot is in thy blood to mar its gentle strain, 
 Else would it show forth hardihood for him from whom 't was ta'en ; 
 Thy hope is young, thy heart is strong, but yet a day may be 
 When thou shalt weep in dungeon deep, and none thy weeping see.'
 
 of tlje <ount of 
 
 ACCORDING to the Chronicle, Bernardo, being at last wearied out of all 
 patience by the cruelty of which his father was the victim, determined to 
 quit the court of his King and seek an alliance among the Moors. Having 
 fortified himself in the Castle of Carpio, he made continual incursions into 
 the territory of Leon, pillaging and plundering wherever he came. The 
 King at length besieged him in his stronghold ; but the defence was so 
 gallant, that there appeared no prospect of success ; whereupon many of the 
 gentlemen in Alphonso's camp entreated the King to offer Bernardo imme- 
 diate possession of his father's person, if he would surrender his castle. 
 
 Bernardo at once consented ; but the King gave orders to have Count 
 Sancho Diaz taken off instantly in his prison. ' When he was dead, they 
 clothed him in splendid attire, mounted him on horseback, and so led him 
 towards Salamanca, where his son was expecting his arrival. As they drew 
 nigh the city, the King and Bernardo rode out to meet them ; and when 
 Bernardo saw his father approaching, he exclaimed, O God !- is the Count 
 of Saldana indeed coming 1 Look where he is, replied the cruel King ; and 
 now go and greet him whom you so long desired to see. Bernardo went 
 forward and took his father's hand to kiss it ; but when he felt the dead 
 weight of the hand, and saw the livid face of the corpse, he cried aloud, and 
 said, Ah, Don San Diaz, in an evil hour didst thou beget me ! Thou art 
 dead, and I have given my stronghold for thee, and now I have lost all.
 
 
 jFuueral ot tf>e <<wnt of Saltrana, 
 
 ALL in the centre of the choir Bernardo's knees are bent, 
 Before him, for his murdered sire, yawns the old monument. 
 
 His kinsmen of the Carpio blood are kneeling at his back, 
 
 With knightly friends and vassals good, all garbed in weeds of black. 
 
 He comes to make the obsequies of a basely-slaughtered man, 
 
 And tears are running down from eyes whence ne'er before they ran. 
 
 His head is bowed upon tiie stone ; his heart, albeit full sore, 
 
 Is strong as when in days by-gone he rode o'er Frank and Moor ; 
 
 And now between his teeth he mutters, that none his words can hear ; 
 And now the voice of wrath he utters, in curses loud and clear : 
 
 He stoops him o'er his father's shroud, his lips salute the bier ; 
 He communes with the corse aloud, as if none else were near. 
 
 His right hand doth his sword unsheath, his left doth pluck his beard ; 
 And while his liegemen held their breath, these were the words they heard : 
 
 * Go up, go up, thou blessed ghost, into the hands of God ; 
 
 Go, fear not lest revenge be lost, when Carpio's blood hath flowed ; 
 
 ' The steel that drank the blood of France, the arm thy foe that shielded, 
 Still, father, thirsts that burning lance, and still thy son can wield it.'
 
 1 
 
 ISecnarfco antr 
 
 THE incident recorded in this ballad may be supposed to have occurred immediately 
 after the funeral of the Count of Saldana. As to what was the end of the knight's his- 
 tory, we are almost left entirely in the dark, both by the Chronicle and by the Romancero. 
 It appears to be intimated that, after his father's death, he once more ' took service' 
 among the Moors, who are represented in several of the ballads as accustomed to ex- 
 change offices of courtesy with Bernardo. 
 
 WITH some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo hath appeared 
 Before them all in the palace hall, the lying King to beard ; 
 With cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise, 
 But ever and anon he frowned, and flame broke from his eyes. 
 
 ' A curse upon thee,' cries the King, who comest unhid to me ; 
 But what from traitor's blood should spring, save traitors like to thee 
 His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart ; perchance our champion brave 
 May think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho's grave.' 
 
 ' Whoever told this tale the King hath rashness to repeat,' 
 Cries Bernard, ' here my gage I fling before THE LIAR'S feet ! 
 No treason was in Sancho's blood, no stain in mine doth lie : 
 Below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny 1 
 
 The blood that I like water shed, when Roland did advance, 
 By secret traitors hired and led, to make us slaves of France ; 
 The life of King Alphonso I saved at Roncesval, 
 Your words* Lord King, are recompense abundant for it all.
 
 66 BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO. 
 
 ' Your horse was down, your hope was flown, I saw the falchion shine, 
 
 That soon had drunk your royal blood, had I not ventured mine ; 
 
 But memory soon of service done deserteth the ingrate ; 
 
 You 've thanked the son for life and crown by the father's bloody fate. 
 
 ' Ye swore upon your kingly faith, to set Don Sancho free ; 
 But, curse upon your paltering breath, the light he ne'er did see ; 
 He died in dungeon cold and dim, by Alphonso's base decree, 
 And visage blind, and stiffened limb, were all they gave to me. 
 
 ' The King that swerveth from his word hath stained his purple black ; 
 No Spanish lord will draw the sword behind a liar's back ; 
 But noble vengeance shall be mine, an open hate I '11 show, 
 The King hath injured Carpi^s line, and Bernard is his foe.' 
 
 ' Seize, seize him !' loud the King doth scream : 'There are a thousand here ! 
 Let his foul blood this instant stream : What ! caitiffs, do ye fear 1 
 Seize, seize the traitor !' But not one to move a finger dareth ; 
 Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth. 
 
 He drew the falchion from the sheath, and held it up on high, 
 And all the hall was still as death : cries Bernard, ' Here am I, 
 And here is the sword that owns no lord, excepting heaven and me ; 
 Fain would I know who dares his point, King, Conde, or Grandee.' 
 
 Then to his mouth the horn he drew, (it hung below his cloak ;) 
 His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke ; 
 With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake, 
 And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false King to quake. 
 
 Ha ! Bernard,' quoth Alphonso, ' what means this warlike guise ? 
 Ye know full well I jested, ye know your worth I prize.' 
 But Bernard turned upon his heel, and smiling passed away : 
 Long rued Alphonso and his realm the jesting of that day.
 
 grrftttte. 
 
 THE reign of King Ramiro wars short, but glorious. He had not been 
 many months seated on the throne, when Abderahman, the second of that 
 name, sent a formal embassy to demand payment of an odious and ignomini- 
 ous tribute, which had been agreed to in the days of former and weaker 
 princes, but which, it should seem, had not been exacted by the Moors while 
 such men as Bernardo del Carpio and Alphonso the Great headed the forces 
 of the Christians. This tribute was a hundred virgins per annum. King 
 Ramiro refused compliance, and marched to meet the army of Abderahman. 
 The battle was fought near Albayda, (or Alveida,) and lasted for two entire 
 days. On the first day, the superior discipline of the Saracen chivalry had 
 nearly accomplished a complete victory, when the approach of night separated 
 the combatants. During the night, Saint lago stood in a vision before the 
 King, and promised to be with him next morning in the field. Accordingly, 
 the warlike apostle made his appearance, mounted on a milk-white charger, 
 and armed cap-a-pee in radiant mail, like a true knight The Moors sus- 
 tained a signal defeat, and the Maiden Tribute was never afterwards paid, 
 although often enough demanded. Such is, in substance, the story, as nar- 
 rated by Mariana, (see Book vii. chap. 13,) who fixes the date of the battle of 
 Alveida in the year 844, being the second year after the accession of King 
 Ramiro. 
 
 Mr. Soothey says that there is no mention of this battle of Alveida in the 
 three authors who lived nearest the time ; but adds, that the story of Santi- 
 ago's making his first appearance in a field of battle on the Christian side is 
 related at length by King Ramiro himself, in a charter granting a perpetual 
 tribute of wine, corn, &c., to the Church of Compostella. Mr. Southey says 
 that the only old ballad he has seen in the Portuguese language is founded 
 upon a story of a Maiden Tribute. See the Notes to his " Cid," p. 377.
 
 
 JUattren 
 
 THE noble King Ramiro within the chamber sate, 
 One day, with all his barons, in council and debate, 
 When, without leave or guidance of usher or of groom, 
 There came a comely maiden into the council-room. 
 
 She was a comely maiden, she was surpassing fair ; 
 All loose upon her shoulders hung down her golden hair ; 
 From head to foot her garments were white as white may be ; 
 And while they gazed in silence, thus in the midst spake she, 
 
 ' Sir King, I crave your pardon, if I have done amiss 
 In venturing before ye, at such an hour as this ; 
 But I will tell my story, and when my words ye hear, 
 I look for praise and honor, and no rebuke I fear. 
 
 ' I know not if I 'rn bounden to call thee by the name 
 Of Christain, King Ramiro ; for though thou dost not claim 
 A heathen realm's allegiance, a heathen sure thou art ; 
 Beneath a Spaniard's mantle thou hidest a Moorish heart. 
 
 ' For he who gives the Moor-King a hundred maids of Spain, 
 Each year when in its season the day comes round again, 
 If he be not a heathen, he swells the heathen's train ; 
 'Twere better burn a kingdom than suffer such disdain. 
 
 ' If the Moslem must have tribute, make men your tribute-money, 
 Send idle drones to teaze them within their hives of honey ; 
 For when 'tis paid with maidens, from every maid there spring 
 Some five or six strong soldiers to serve the Moorish King.
 
 THE MAIDEN TRIBUTE. 
 
 69 
 
 ' It is but little wisdom to keep our men at home, 
 They serve but to get damsels, who, when their day is come, 
 Must go, like all the others, the heathen's bed to sleep in ; 
 In all the rest they're useless, and no wise worth the keeping. 
 
 ' And if it is fear of battle that makes ye bow so low, 
 And suffer such dishonor from God our Saviour's foe, 
 I pray you, sirs, take warning, ye '11 ha've as good a fright, 
 If e'er the Spanish damsels arise themselves to right. 
 
 ' 'Tis we have manly courage within the breasts of women, 
 But ye are all hare-hearted, both gentlemen and yeomen.' 
 Thus spake that fearless maiden ; I wot when she was done, 
 Uprose the King Ramiro and his nobles every one. 
 
 The King called God to witness, that come their weal or wo, 
 Thenceforth no Maiden Tribute from out Castile should go ; 
 ' At least I will do battle on God our Saviour's foe, 
 And die beneath my banner before I see it so.' 
 
 A cry went through the mountains when the proud Moor drew near, 
 And trooping to Ramiro came every Christian spear ; 
 The blessed Saint lago, they called upon his name ; - 
 That day began our freedom, and wiped away our shame.
 
 THE story of Fernan Gonzalez is detailed in the Coronica Antigua de 
 Espana with so many romantic circumstances, that certain modern critics 
 have been inclined to consider it as entirely fabulous. Of the main facts 
 recorded, there seems, however, to be no good reason to doubt ; and ft is 
 quite certain that, from the earliest times, the name of Fernan Gonzalez has 
 been held in the highest honor by the Spaniards themselves, of every degree. 
 He lived at the beginning of the tenth century. It was under his rule, 
 according to the chronicles, that Castile first became an independent Chris- 
 tian state, and it was by his exertions that the first foundations were laid of 
 that system of warfare, by which the Moorish power in Spain was at last 
 overthrown. 
 
 He was so fortunate as to have a wife as heroic as himself, and both in the 
 chronicles, and in the ballads, abundant justice is done to her merits. 
 
 She twice rescued Fernan Gonzalez from confinement, at the risk of her 
 own life. He had asked, or designed to ask, her hand in marriage of her 
 father, Garcias, King of Navarre, and was on his way to that prince's court, 
 when he was seized and cast into a dungeon, in consequence of the machina- 
 tions of his enemy, the Queen of Leon, sister to the King of Navarre. 
 Sancha, the young princess, to whose alliance he had aspired, being informed 
 of the cause of his journey, and of the sufferings to which it had exposed 
 him, determined, at all hazards, to effect his liberation ; and having done so, 
 by bribing his jailer, she accompanied his flight to Castile. 
 
 Many years after, he fell into an ambush prepared for him by the same 
 implacable enemy, and was again a fast prisoner in Leon. His countess, 
 feigning a pilgrimage to Compostella, obtained leave, in the first place, to 
 pass through the hostile territory, and afterwards, in the course of her pro- 
 gress, to spend one night in the castle where her husband was confined. She 
 exchanged clothes with him ; and he was so fortunate as to pass in his dis-
 
 THE ESCAPE OF COUNT FERNAN GONZALEZ. 
 
 guise through the guards who attended on him his courageous wife remain- 
 ing in his place exactly in the same manner in which the Countess of 
 Nithsdale effected the escape of her lord from the Tower of London, on the 
 23d of February, 1715. 
 
 There is, as might be supposed, a whole body of old ballads, concerning 
 the adventures of Fernan Gonzalez. I shall, as a specimen, translate one of 
 the shortest of these, that in which the first of his romantic escapes is 
 described. 

 
 Escape of (ount dFernan 
 
 THEY have carried afar into Navarre the great Count of Castile, 
 And they have bound him sorely, they have bound him hand and heel ; 
 The tidings up the mountains go, and down among the valleys, 
 1 To the rescue ! to the rescue, ho ! they have ta'en Fernan Gonzalez !' 
 
 A pilgrim knight of Normandy was riding through Navarre* 
 For Christ his hope he came to cope with the Moorish scymitar ; 
 To the Alcayde of the Tower, in secret thus said he, 
 1 These bezaunts fair with thee I '11 share, so I this lord may see.' 
 
 The Alcayde was full joyful, he took the gold full soon ; 
 He brought him to the dungeon, ere the rising of the moon ; 
 He let him out at morning, at the gray light of the prime ; 
 But many words between these lords had passed within that time. 
 
 The Norman knight rides swiftly, for he hath made him bowne 
 To a King that is full joyous, and to a feastful town ; 
 For there is joy and feasting, because that lord is ta'enj 
 King Garci in his dungeon holds the doughtiest lord in Spain. 
 
 The Norman feasts among the guests, but, at the evening tide, 
 He speaks to Garci 's daughter, within her bower, aside ; 
 ' Now God forgive us, lady, and God his mother dear, 
 For on a day of sorrow we have been blithe of cheer. 
 
 1 The Moors may well be joyful, but great should be our grief, 
 For Spain has lost her guardian, when Castile has lost her chief; 
 The Moorish host is pouring like a river o'er the land, 
 Curse on the Christian fetters that bind Gonzalez' hand !
 
 THE ESCAPE OF COUNT FERNAN GONZALEZ. 73 
 
 Gonzalez loves thee, lady, he loved thee long ago, 
 
 But little is the kindness that for his love you show ; 
 
 The curse that lies on Cava's* head, it may he shared by thee ; 
 
 Arise, let love with love be paid, and set Gonzalez free.' 
 
 The lady answered little, but at the mirk of night, 
 
 When all her maids are sleeping, she hath risen and ta'en her flight ; 
 
 She hath tempted the Alcayde with her jewels and her gold, 
 
 And unto her his prisoner that Jailer false hath sold. 
 
 She took Gonzalez by the hand, at the dawning of the day, 
 
 She saidf ' Upon the heath you stand, before you lies your way ; 
 
 But if I to my father go, alas ! what must I do ? 
 
 My father will be angry, I fain would go with you.' 
 
 He hath kissed the Infanta, he hath kissed her brow and cheek, 
 And lovingly together the forest-path they seek ; 
 Till in the greenwood hunting they met a lordly priest* 
 With his bugle at his girdle, and his hawk upon his wrist. 
 
 ' Now stop ! now stop !' the priest he said, (he knew them both right well,) 
 
 ' Now stop, and pay your ransom, or I your flight will tell ; 
 
 Now stop, thou fair Infanta, for, if my words you scorn, 
 
 I '11 give warning to the foresters with the blowing of my horn.' 
 
 #*##** 
 
 The base priest's word Gonzalez heard ; ' Now, by the rood !' quoth he, 
 ' A hundred deaths I '11 suffer, or ere this thing shall be.' 
 But in his ear she whispered, she whispered soft and slow, 
 And to the priest she beckoned within the wood to go. 
 
 It was ill with Count Gonzalez, the fetters pressed his knees ; 
 Yet as he could he followed within the shady trees ; 
 ' For help, for help, Gonzalez ! for help,' he hears her cry, 
 ' God aiding, fast I '11 hold thee, until my lord come nigh.' 
 
 * Caba, or Cava, the unfortunate daughter of Count Julian. No child in Spain was 
 ever christened by that ominous name after the downfall of the Gothic kingdom. 
 
 10
 
 74 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF COUNT FERNAN GONZALEZ. 
 
 He has come within the thicket, there lay they on the green, 
 And he has plucked from off the grass the false priest's javelin ; 
 Firm by the throat she held him bound, down went the weapon sheer, 
 Down through his body to the ground, even as the boar ye spear. 
 
 They wrapped him in his mantle, and left him there to bleed, 
 And all that day they held their way, his palfrey served their need ; 
 Till to their ears a sound did come, might fill their hearts with dread, 
 A steady whisper on the breeze, and horsemen's heavy tread. 
 
 The Infanta trembled in the wood, but forth the Count did go, 
 And, gazing wide, a troop descried upon the bridge below ; 
 ' Gramercy !' quoth Gonzalez, 'or else my sight is gone, 
 Methinks I know the pennon yon sun is shining on. 
 
 ' Come forth, come forth, Infanta, mine own true men they be, 
 Come forth, and see my banner, and cry Castile ! with me ; 
 My merry men draw near me, I see my pennon shine, 
 Their swords shine bright, Infanta, and every blade is thine.'
 
 ' IT was,' says Mariana, 'in the year 986, that the seven most noble brothers, 
 commonly called the Infants of Lara, were slain by the treachery of Ruy 
 Velasquez, who was their uncle, for they were the sons of his sister, Dona 
 Sancha. By the father's side, they were sprung from the Counts of Castile, 
 through the Count Don Diego Porcellos, from whose daughter, and Nuno 
 Pelchides, there came two sons, namely, Nuno Rasura, great-grandfather of 
 the Count Garci Fernandez, and Gustio Gonzalez. The last-named gentle- 
 man was father of Gonzalo Gustio, Lord of Salas of Lara ; and his sons were 
 those seven brothers famous in the history of Spain, not more by reason of 
 their deeds of prowess, than of the disastrous death which was their fortune. 
 They were all knighted in the same day by the Count Don Garcia, according 
 to the fashion which prevailed in those days, and more especially in Spain. 
 
 ' Now it happened that Ruy Velasquez, Lord of Villaren, celebrated his 
 nuptials in Burgos with Dona Lambra, a lady of very high birth, from the 
 country of Briviesca, and, indeed, a cousin-german to the Count Garci Fer- 
 nandez himself. The feast was splendid, and great was the concourse of 
 principal gentry ; and among others were present the Count Garci Fernan- 
 dez, and those seven brothers, with Gonzalo Gustio, their father. 
 
 ' From some trivial occasion, there arose a quarrel between Gonzalez, the 
 youngest of the seven brothers, on the one hand, and a relation of Dona 
 Lambra, by name Alvar Sanchez, on the other, without, however, any very 
 serious consequences at the time. But Dona Lambra conceived herself to 
 have been insulted by the quarrel, and, in order to revenge herself, when the 
 seven brothers were come as far as Barvadiello, riding in her train the more 
 to do her honor, she ordered one of her slaves to throw at Gonzalez a wild 
 cucumber soaked in blood, a heavy insult and outrage, according to the then 
 existing customs and opinions of Spain. The slave, having done as he was 
 bid, fled for protection to his lady, Dona Lambra ; but that availed him 
 nothing, for they slew him within the very folds of her garment.
 
 76 THE SEVEN HEADS. 
 
 ' Ruy Velasquez, who did not witness these things with his own eyes, no 
 sooner returned, than, filled with wrath on account of this slaughter, and of 
 the insult to his bride, he began to devise how he might avenge himself of 
 the seven brothers. 
 
 'With semblances of peace and friendship, he concealed his mortal hatred ; 
 and, after a time, Gonzalo Gustio, the father, was sent by him, suspecting 
 nothing, to Cordova. The pretence was to bring certain moneys which had 
 been promised to Ruy Velasquez by the barbarian King, but the true purpose, 
 that he might be put to death at a distance from his own country ; for Ruy 
 Velasquez asked the Moor to do this, in letters written in the Arabic tongue, 
 of which Gonzalo was made the bearer. The Moor, however, whether 
 moved to have compassion on the gray hairs of so principal a gentleman, or 
 desirous of at least making a show of humanity, did not slay Gonzalo, but 
 contented himself with imprisoning him. Nor was his durance of the strictest, 
 for a certain sister of the Moorish King found ingress, and held communica- 
 tion with him there ; and from that conversation, it is said, sprung Mudara 
 Gonzalez, author and founder of that most noble Spanish lineage of the 
 Manriques. 
 
 ' But the fierce spirit of Ruy Velasquez was not satisfied with the tribula- 
 tions of Gonzalo Gustio ; he carried his rage still farther. Pretending to 
 make an incursion into the Moorish country, he led into an ambuscade the 
 seven brothers, who had, as yet, conceived no thought of his treacherous in- 
 tentions. It is true that Nuno Sallido, their grandfather, had cautioned them 
 with many warnings, for he, indeed, suspected the deceit ; but it was in vain, 
 for so God willed or permitted. They had some two hundred horsemen with 
 them, of their vassals, but these were nothing against the great host of Moors 
 that set upon them from the ambuscade ; and although, when they found how 
 it was, they acquitted themselves like good gentlemen, and slew many, they 
 could accomplish nothing except making the victory dear to their enemies. 
 They were resolved to avoid the shame of captivity, and were all slain, to- 
 gether with their grandfather Sallido. Their heads were sent to Cordova, an 
 agreeable present to that King, but a sight of misery to their aged father, 
 who, being brought into the place where they were, recognized them in spite 
 of the dust and blood with which they were disfigured. It is true, neverthe- 
 less, that he derived some benefit therefrom ; for the King, out of the com- 
 passion which he felt, set him at liberty to depart to his own country. 
 
 ' Mudara, the son born to Gonzalo (out of wedlock) by the sister of the 
 Moor, when he had attained the age of fourteen years, was prevailed on by 
 his mother to go in search of his father ; and he it was that avenged the
 
 THE SEVEN HEADS. 
 
 death of his seven brothers, by slaying with his own hand Ruy Velasquez, 
 the author of that calamity. Dona Lambra likewise, who had been the ori- 
 ginal cause of all those evils, was stoned to death by him and burnt. 
 
 ' By this vengeance which he took for the murder of his seven brothers, he 
 so won to himself the good-liking of his father's wife, Dona Sancha, and of 
 all the kindred, that he was received and acknowledged as heir to the signio- 
 ries of his father. Dona Sancha herself adopted him as her son, and the 
 manner of the adoption was thus, not less memorable than rude : The same 
 day that he was baptized and stricken knight, by Garci Fernandez, Count oi 
 Castile, the lady made use of this ceremony : she drew him within a very 
 wide smock by the sleeve, and thrust his head forth at the neck-band, 
 and then kissing him on the face, delivered him to the family as her own 
 child. 
 
 4 In the cloister of the monastery of Saint Peter of Arlanza, they show the 
 sepulchre of Mudara. But concerning the place where his seven brothers 
 were buried, there is a dispute between the members of that house and those 
 of the Monastery of Saint Millan at Cogolla.' (Mariana, Book viii., Chap. 9.) 
 
 Such is Mariana's edition of the famous story of the Infants of Lara, a 
 story which, next to the legends of the Cid, and of Bernardo del Carpio, 
 appears to have furnished the most favorite subjects of the old Spanish min- 
 strels. 
 
 The ballad, a translation of which follows, relates to a part of the history 
 briefly alluded to by Mariana. In the Chronicle, we are informed more 
 minutely, that, after the Seven Infants were slain, Almanzor, King of Cor- 
 dova, invited his prisoner, Gonzalo Gustio, to feast with him in his palace 
 but when the Baron of Lara came, in obedience to the royal invitation, he 
 found the heads of his sons set forth in chargers on the table. The old man 
 reproached the King bitterly for the cruelty and baseness of this proceeding 
 and suddenly snatching a sword from the side of one of the royal attendants 
 sacrificed to his wrath, ere he could be disarmed and fettered, thirteen of the 
 Moors who surrounded the person of Almanzor. 
 
 Forty highly spirited engravings of scenes in this romantic history, by 
 Tempesta, after designs of Otto Van Veen, were published at Antwerp, in 
 1612.
 
 ' WHO bears such heart of baseness r a king I'll never call, ' 
 
 Thus spake Gonzalo Gustos within Almanzor's hall ; 
 
 To the proud Moor Almanzor, within his kingly hall, 
 
 The gray-haired Knight of Lara thus spake before them all : 
 
 ' In courteous guise, Almanzor, your messenger was sent, 
 
 And courteous was the answer with which from me he went ; 
 
 For why 1 I thought the word he brought of a knight and of a king ; 
 
 But false Moor henceforth never me to his feast shall bring. 
 
 ' Ye bade me to your banquet, and I at your bidding came ; 
 Accursed be the villany, eternal be the shame ; 
 For ye have brought an old man forth, that he your sport might be : 
 Thank God, I cheat you of your joy, thank God, no tear you see. 
 
 ' My gallant boys,' quoth Lara, ' it is a heavy sight 
 These dogs have brought your father to look upon this night ; 
 Seven gentler boys, nor braver, were never nursed in Spain, 
 And blood of Moors, God rest your souls, ye shed on her like rain. 
 
 ' Some currish plot, some trick (God wot !) hath laid you all so low, 
 
 Ye died not all together in one fair battle so ; 
 
 Not all the misbelievers ever pricked upon yon plain 
 
 The seven brave boys of Lara in open field had slain. 
 
 ' The youngest and the weakest, Gonzalez dear ! wert thou, 
 Yet well this false Almanzor remembers thee, I trow ; 
 Oh, well doth he remember how on his helmet rung 
 Thy fiery mace, Gonzalez ! although thou wert so young.
 
 THE SEVEN HEADS. 79 
 
 ' Thy gallant horse had fallen, and thou hadst mounted thee 
 Upon a stray one in the field, his own true barb had he ; 
 Oh, hadst thou not pursued his flight upon that runaway, 
 Ne'er had the caitiff 'scaped that night, to mock thy sire to-day ! 
 
 ' False Moor, I am thy captive thrall ; but when thou badest me forth, 
 To share the banquet in thy hall, I trusted in the worth 
 Of kingly promise. Think'st thou not my God will hear my prayer 1 
 Lord ! branchless be (like mine) his tree, yea, branchless, Lord, and bare !' 
 
 So prayed the baron in his ire, but when he looked again, 
 Then burst the sorrow of the sire, and tears ran down like rain ; 
 Wrath no more could check the sorrow of the old and childless man, 
 And like waters in a furrow, down his cheeks the salt tears ran. 
 
 He took their heads up one by one, he kissed them o'er and o'er, 
 And aye ye saw the tears down run, I wot that grief was sore. 
 He closed the lids on their dead eyes all with his fingers frail, 
 And handled all their bloody curls, and kissed their lips so pale. 
 
 ' Oh, had ye died all by my side upon some famous day, 
 
 My fair young men, no weak tears then had washed your blood away ! 
 
 The trumpet of Castile had drowned the misbelievers' horn, 
 
 And the last of all the Lara's line a Gothic spear had borne.' 
 
 With that it chanced a Moor drew near, to lead him from the place, 
 Old Lara stooped him down once more, and kissed Gonzalez' face ; 
 But ere the man observed him, or could his gesture bar, 
 Sudden he from his side had grasped that Moslem's scymitar. 
 
 Oh ! swiftly from its scabbard the crooked blade he drew, 
 And, like some frantic creature, among them all he flew ; 
 'Where, where is false Almanzor? back, bastards of Mahoun !' 
 And here and there, in his despair, the old man hewed them down. 
 
 A hundred hands, a hundred brands, are ready in the hall, 
 
 But ere they mastered Lara, thirteen of them did fall ; 
 
 He has sent, I ween, a good thirteen of dogs that spurned his God, 
 
 To keep his children company beneath the Moorish sod.
 
 Vengeance of 
 
 THIS is another of the many ballads concerning the Infants of Lara. One verse of it 
 
 -El espera que tu diste a los Infantes de Lara! 
 
 Aqui moriras traydor cucmigo de Donna Sancha, 
 -is quoted by Sancho Fanza, in one of the last chapters of Don Quixote. 
 
 To the chase goes Rodrigo with hound and with hawk ; 
 But what game he desires is revealed in his talk : 
 ' Oh, in vain have I slaughtered the Infants of Lara : 
 There 's an heir in his hall, there 's the bastard Mudara. 
 There 's the son of the renegade, spawn of Mahoun, 
 If I meet with Mudara, my spear brings him down.' 
 
 While Rodrigo rides on in the heat of his wrath, 
 
 A stripling, armed cap-a-pee, crosses his path : 
 
 ' Good morrow, young esquire.' ' Good morrow, old knight.'- 
 
 ' Will you ride with our party, and share our delight V 
 
 ' Speak your name, courteous stranger,' the stripling replied ; 
 
 ' Speak your name and your lineage, ere with you I ride.' 
 
 ' My name is Rodrigo,' thus answered the knight ; 
 
 ' Of the line of old Lara, though barred from my right ; 
 
 For the kinsman of Salas proclaims for the heir 
 
 Of our ancestor's castles and forestries fair, 
 
 A bastard, a renegade's offspring Mudara 
 
 Whom I '11 send, if I can, to the Infants of Lara.'
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF MUDARA. 
 
 ' I behold thee, disgrace to thy lineage ! with joy, 
 ' I behold thee, thou murderer !' answered the boy. 
 ' The bastard you curse, you behold him in me ; 
 But his brothers' avenger that bastard shall be ; 
 Draw ! for I am the renegade's offspring, Mudara ; 
 We shall see who inherits the life-blood of Lara !' 
 
 81 
 
 ' I am armed for the forest-chase, not for the fight ; 
 
 Let me go for my shield and my sword,' cries the knight ;- 
 
 ' Now the mercy you dealt to my brothers of old, 
 
 Be the hope of that mercy the comfort you hold 5 
 
 Die, foeman to Sancha die, traitor to Lara !' 
 
 As he spake, there was blood on the spear of Mudara.
 
 THE following passage occurs in Mariana's History (Book viii. Chap. 5 :) 
 ' There are who affirm that this Moor's name was Abdalla, and that he had to 
 wife Dona Theresa, sister to Alphonso, King of Leon, with consent of that 
 prince. Great and flagrant dishonor ! The purpose was to gain new strength 
 to his kingdom by this Moorish alliance ; but some pretences were set forth 
 that Abdalla had exhibited certain signs of desiring to be a Christian, that in 
 a short time he was to be baptized, and the like. 
 
 'The Lady Theresa, deceived with these representations, was conducted to 
 Toledo, where the nuptials were celebrated in great splendor, with games and 
 sports, and a banquet, which lasted until night. The company having left the 
 tables, the bride was then carried to bed ; but when the amorous Moor drew 
 near to her, Away, (said she ;) let such heavy calamity, such baseness, be 
 far from me ! One of two things must be, either be baptized, thou with thy 
 people, and then come to my arms, or, refusing to do so, keep away from me 
 forever. If otherwise, fear the vengeance of men, who will not overlook my 
 insult and suffering ; and the wrath of God, above all, which will follow the 
 violation of a Christian lady's chastity. Take good heed, and let not luxury, 
 that smooth pest, be thy ruin. But the Moor took no heed of her words, and 
 lay with her against her will. The Divine vengeance followed swiftly, for 
 there fell on him a severe malady, and he well knew within himself from what 
 cause it arose. Immediately he sent back Dona Theresa to her brother's 
 house, with great gifts which he had bestowed on her ; but she made herself 
 a nun, in the Convent of Las Huelgas (near Burgos,) and there passed the 
 remainder of her days in pious labors and devotions, in which she found her 
 consolation for the outrage which had been committed on her.' 
 
 The ballad of which a translation follows, tells the same story : 
 
 ' En los reynos de Leon el quinto Alfonso reynava,' &c.
 
 of tlje ILatfg ftfjeresa. 
 
 'TWAS when the fifth Alphonso in Leon held his sway, 
 King Abdalla of Toledo an embassy did send ; 
 He asked his sister for a wife, and in an evil day 
 Alphonso sent her, for he feared Abdalla to offend ; 
 He feared to move his anger, for many times before 
 He had received in danger much succor from the Moor. 
 
 Sad heart had fair Theresa when she their paction knew ; 
 
 With streaming tears she heard them tell she 'mong the Moors must go ; 
 
 That she, a Christian damosell, a Christian firm and true, 
 
 Must wed a Moorish husband, it well might cause her wo ; 
 
 But all her tears and all her prayers they are of small avail ; 
 
 At length she for her fate prepares, a victim sad and pale. 
 
 The King hath sent his sister to fair Toledo town, 
 
 Where then the Moor Abdalla his royal state did keep ; 
 
 When she drew near, the Moslem from his golden throne came down, 
 
 And courteously received her, and bade her cease to weep ; 
 
 With loving words he pressed her to come his bower within ; 
 
 With kisses he caressed her, but still she feared the sin. 
 
 ' Sir King, Sir King, I pray thee,' 't was thus Theresa spake, 
 
 ' I pray thee have compassion, and do to me no wrong ; 
 
 For sleep with thee I may not, unless the vows I break 
 
 Whereby I to the holy church of Christ my Lord belong ; 
 
 But thou hast sworn to serve Mahoun, and if this thing should be, 
 
 The curse of God it must bring down upon thy realm and thee.
 
 84 THE WEDDING OF THE LADY THERESA. 
 
 ' The angel of Christ Jesu, to whom my heavenly Lord 
 
 Hath given my soul in keeping, is ever by my side ; 
 
 If thou dost me dishonor, he will unsheath his sword, 
 
 And smite thy body fiercely, at the crying of thy bride. 
 
 Invisible he standeth ; his sword, like fiery flame, 
 
 Will penetrate thy bosom, the hour that sees my shame.' 
 
 The Moslem heard her with a smile ; the earnest words she said 
 He took for bashful maiden's wile, and drew her to his bower. 
 In vain Theresa prayed and strove, she pressed Abdalla's bed, 
 Perforce received his kiss of love, and lost her maiden flower. 
 A woful woman there she lay, a loving lord beside, 
 And earnestly to God did pray her succor to provide. 
 
 The Angel of Christ Jesu her sore complaint did hear, 
 
 And plucked his heavenly weapon from out his sheath unseen ; 
 
 He waved the brand in his right hand, and to the King came near, 
 
 And drew the point o'er limb and joint, beside the weeping Queen. 
 
 A mortal weakness from the stroke upon the King did fall. 
 
 He could not stand when daylight broke, but on his knees must crawl 
 
 Abdalla shuddered inly, when he this sickness felt, 
 
 And called upon his barons, his pillow to come nigh ; 
 
 ' Rise up,' he said, ' my liegemen,' as round his bed they knelt, 
 
 ' And take this Christian lady, else certainly I die ; 
 
 Let gold be in your girdles, and precious stones beside, 
 
 And swiftly ride to Leon, and render up my bride.' 
 
 When they were come to Leon, Theresa would not go 
 
 Into her brother's dwelling, where her maiden years were spent ; 
 
 But o'er her downcast visage a white veil she did throw, 
 
 And to the ancient nunnery of Las Huelgas went. 
 
 There long, from worldly eyes retired, a holy life she led ; 
 
 There she, an aged saint, expired, there sleeps she with the dead.
 
 THE ballads in the collection of Escobar, entitled ' Romancero e Historia del muy 
 valeroso Cavallero El Cid Ruy Diaz de Bivar,' are said by Mr. Southey to be in general 
 possessed of but little merit. Notwithstanding the opinion of that great scholar and 
 poet, I have had much pleasure in reading them ; and have translated a very few, which 
 may serve, perhaps, as a sufficient specimen. 
 
 The following is a version of that which stands fifth in Escobar : 
 
 'Cavalga Diego Laynez al buen Rey besar la mano,' &c. 
 
 Now rides Diego Laynez to kiss the good King's hand ; 
 Three hundred men of gentry go with him from his land ; 
 Among them, young Rodrigo, the proud Knight of Bivar ; 
 The rest on mules are mounted, he on his horse of war. 
 
 They ride in glittering gowns of soye, he harnessed like a lord ; 
 There is no gold about the boy, but the crosslet of his sword ; 
 The rest have gloves of sweet perfume, he gauntlets strong of mail ; 
 They broidered cap and flaunting plume, he crest untaught to quail. 
 
 All talking with each other thus along their way they passed, 
 But now they've come to Burgos, and met the King at last ; 
 When they came near his nobles, a whisper through them ran, 
 ' He rides amidst the gentry that slew the Count Lozan.' 
 
 With very haughty gesture Rodrigo reined his horse, 
 
 Right scornfully he shouted, when he heard them so discourse ; 
 
 ' If any of his kinsmen or vassals dare appear, 
 
 The man to give them answer, on horse or foot, is here.'
 
 86 THE YOUNG C1D. 
 
 4 The devil ask the question !' thus muttered all the band ; 
 With that they all alighted, to kiss the good King's hand, 
 All but the proud Rodrigo, he in his saddle stayed, 
 Then turned to him his father (you may hear the words he said.) 
 
 1 Now, 'light, my son, I pray thee, and kiss the good King's hand, 
 He is our Lord, Rodrigo ; we hold of him our land.' 
 But when Rodrigo heard him, he looked in sulky sort, 
 I wot the words he answered, they were both cold and short. 
 
 4 Had any other said it, his pains had well been paid, 
 But thou, sir, art my father, thy word must be obeyed.' 
 With that he sprung down lightly, before the King to kneel, 
 But as the knee was bending, out leapt his blade of steel. 
 
 The King drew back in terror, when he saw the sword was bare ; 
 4 Stand back, stand back, Rodrigo ! in the devil's name, beware ! 
 Your looks bespeak a creature of father Adam's mould, 
 But in your wild behavior you're like some lion bold.' 
 
 When Rodrigo heard him say so, he leapt into his seat, 
 
 And thence he made his answer, with visage nothing sweet, 
 
 4 I'd think it little honor to kiss a kingly palm, 
 
 And if my father's kissed it, thereof ashamed I am.' 
 
 When he these words had uttered, he turned him from the gate, 
 His true three hundred gentles behind him followed straight ; 
 If with good gowns they came that day, with better arms they went ; 
 And if their mules behind did stay, with horses they're content.
 
 Xfntena trcmantrs 
 
 THIS ballad represents Ximena Gomez as, in person, demanding of the King vengeance 
 for the death of her father, whom the young Rodrigo de Bivar had fought and slain. 
 
 ' Grande rumor se levanta 
 
 De gritos, armas, y vozes, 
 
 En el Palacio de Burgos 
 
 Donde son los buenos homes. 
 
 Baxa el Rey de su aposento, y con el toda la Corte ; 
 Y a las puertas de Palacio hallau a Ximena Gomez, 
 Desmelenado el cabello, llorando a su padre el Condc, 
 Y a Rodrigo de Bivar ensangreutado el cs toque. ' 
 
 WITHIN the court at Burgos a clamor doth arise, 
 
 Of arras on armor clashing, of screams, and shouts, and cries ; 
 
 The good men of the King, that sit his hall around, 
 
 All suddenly upspring, astonished at the sound. 
 
 The King leans from his chamber, from the balcony on high : 
 ' What means this furious clamor my palace-porch so nigh ]' 
 But when he looked below him, there were horsemen at the gate, 
 And the fair Ximena Gomez, kneeling in woful state. 
 
 Upon her neck, disordered, hung down the lady's hair, 
 And floods of tears were streaming upon her bosom fair ; 
 Sore wept she for her father, the Count that had been slain ; 
 Loud cursed she Rodrigo, whose sword his blood did stain. 
 
 They turned to bold Rodrigo, I wot his cheek was red ; 
 With haughty wrath he listened to the words Ximena said : 
 ' Good King, I cry for justice. Now, as my voice thou hearest, 
 So God befriend the children, that in thy land thou rearest.
 
 88 XIMENA DEMANDS VENGEANCE. 
 
 ' The King that doth not justice hath forfeited his claim, 
 Both to his kingly station, and to his knightly name ; 
 He should not sit at banquet, clad in the royal pall, 
 Nor should the nobles serve him on knee within the hall. 
 
 ' Good King, I am descended from barons bright of old, 
 Who with Castilian pennons Pelayo did uphold ; 
 But if my strain were lowly, as it is high and clear, 
 Thou still shouldst prop the feeble, and the afflicted hear. 
 
 ' For thee, fierce homicide ! draw, draw thy sword once more, 
 And pierce the breast which wide I spread thy stroke before ; 
 Because I am a woman, my life thou need'st not spare : 
 I am Ximena Gomez, my slaughtered father's heir. 
 
 ' Since thou hast slain the knight that did our faith defend, 
 And still to shameful flight all the Almanzors did send, 
 'Tis but a little matter that I confront thee so : 
 Come, traitor, slay his daughter, she needs must be thy foe.' 
 
 Ximena gazed upon him, but no reply could meet ; 
 
 His fingers held the bridle, he vaulted to his seat. 
 
 She turned her to the nobles, I wot her cry was loud, 
 
 But not a man durst follow ; slow rode he through the crowd.
 
 <ttr mtt tfje jpftoe JfcoorCsf) 
 
 THE reader will find the story of this ballad in Mr. Southey's Chronicle (Book i., 
 Sect. 4.) ' And the Moors entered Castile in great power, for there came with them five 
 kings,' &c. 
 
 WITH fire and desolation the Moors are in Castile, 
 
 Five Moorish kings together, and all their vassals leal ; 
 
 They 've passed in front of Burgos, through the Oca-Hills they 've run, 
 
 They 've plundered Belforado, San Domingo's harm is done. 
 
 In Najara and Logrono there 's waste and disarray : 
 And now with Christian captives, a very heavy prey, 
 With many men and women, and boys and girls beside, 
 In joy and exultation to their own realms they ride. 
 
 For neither king nor noble would dare their path to cross, 
 Until the good Rodrigo heard of this skaith and loss ; 
 In old Bivar the castle he heard the tidings told 
 (He was as yet a stripling, not twenty summers old.) 
 
 He mounted Bavieca, his friends he with him took,. 
 He raised the country round him, no more such scorn to brook j 
 He rode to the hills of Oca, where then the Moormen lay, 
 He conquered all the Moormen, and took from them their prey. 
 
 To every man had mounted he gave his part of gain, 
 Dispersing the much treasure the Saracens had ta'en ; 
 The kings were all the booty himself had from the war, 
 Them led he to the castle, his stronghold of Bivar. 
 
 IS
 
 90 THE CID AND THE FIVE MOORISH KINGS. 
 
 He brought them to his mother, proud dame that day was she :- 
 They owned him for their Signior, and then he set them free ; 
 Home went they, much commending Rodrigo of Bivar, 
 And sent him lordly tribute, from their Moorish realms afar.
 
 nr'a Courtaijfp. 
 
 [See Mr. Southey's Chronicle (Book i., Sect. 5,) for this part of the Cid's story, as 
 given in the General Chronicle of Spain.] 
 
 Now, of Rodrigo de Bivar great was the fame that run, 
 How he five kings had vanquished, proud Moormen every one ; 
 And how, when they consented to hold of him their ground, 
 He freed them from the prison wherein they had been bound. 
 
 To the good King Fernando, in Burgos where he lay, 
 Came then Ximena Gomez, and thus to him did say : 
 ' I am Don Gomez' daughter, in Gormaz Count was he ; 
 Him slew Rodrigo of Bivar in battle valiantly. 
 
 ' Now am I come before you, this day a boon to crave, 
 And it is that I to husband may this Rodrigo have ; 
 Grant this, and I shall hold me a happy damosell, 
 Much honored shall I hold me, I shall be married welL 
 
 * I know he 's born for thriving, none like him in the land ; 
 I know that none in battle against his spear may stand ; 
 Forgiveness is well pleasing in God our Saviour's view, 
 And I forgive him freely, for that my sire he slew.' 
 
 Right pleasing to Fernando was the thing she did propose ; 
 He writes his letter swiftly, and forth his foot-page goes ; 
 I wot, when young Rodrigo saw how the king did write, 
 He leapt on Bavieca, I wot his leap was light.
 
 92 THE CID'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 With his own troop of true men forthwith he took the way, 
 Three hundred friends and kinsmen, all gently born were they ; 
 All in one color mantled, in armor gleaming gay, 
 New were both scarf and scabbard, when they went forth that day. 
 
 The King came out to meet him, with words of hearty cheer ; 
 Quoth he, ' My good Rodrigo, right welcome art thou here ; 
 This girl Ximena Gomez would have thee for her lord, 
 Already for the slaughter her grace she doth accord. 
 
 ' I pray thee be consenting, my gladness will be great ; 
 Thou shalt have lands in plenty, to strengthen thine estate.' 
 ' Lord King,' Rodrigo answers, ' in this and all beside, 
 Command, and I '11 obey thee. The girl shall be my bride !' 
 
 But when the fair Ximena came forth to plight her hand, 
 Rodrigo gazing on her, his face could not command ; 
 He stood and blushed before her ; thus at the last said he, 
 ' I slew thy sire, Ximena, but not in villany : 
 
 ' In no disguise I slew him, man against man I stood ; 
 There was some wrong between us, and I did shed his blood. 
 I slew a man, I owe a man ; fair lady, by God's grace ! 
 An honored husband thou shalt have in thy dead father's place.'
 
 (Eft's 
 
 THE following ballad, which contains some curious traits of rough and antique man- 
 ners, is not included in Escobar's collection. There is one there descriptive of the same 
 event, but apparently executed by a much more modern hand. 
 
 WITHIN his hall of Burgos the King prepares the feast ; 
 
 He makes his preparation for many a noble guest. 
 
 It is a joyful city, it is a gallant day, 
 
 'Tis the Campeador's wedding, and who will bide away"? 
 
 Layn Calvo, the Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate ; 
 Behind him comes Ruy Diaz, in all his bridal state ; 
 The crowd makes way before them as up the street they go ; 
 For the multitude of people their steps must needs be slow. 
 
 The King had taken order that they should rear an arch, 
 From house to house all over, in the way that they must march ; 
 They have hung it all with lances, and shields, and glittering helms, 
 Brought by the Campeador from out the Moorish realms. 
 
 They have scattered olive branches and rushes on the street, 
 And the ladies fling down garlands at the Campeador's feet ; 
 With tapestry and broidery their balconies between, 
 To do his bridal honor, their walls the burghers screen. 
 
 They lead the bulls before them all covered o'er with trappings ; 
 The little boys pursue them with hootings and with clappings ; 
 The fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing, 
 Amidst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing.
 
 94 THE CID'S WEDDING. 
 
 With antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter, 
 They fill the streets of Burgos and The Devil he comes after ; 
 For the King has hired the horned fiend for twenty maravedis, 
 And there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies. 
 
 Then comes the bride Ximena, the King he holds her hand ; 
 And the Queen ; and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land. 
 All down the street the ears of wheat are round Ximena flying, 
 But the King lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there is lying. 
 
 Quoth Suero, when he saw it, (his thought you understand,) 
 ' 'Tis a fine thing to be a King, but Heaven make me a Hand !' 
 The King was very merry, when he was told of this, 
 And swore the bride, ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss. 
 
 The King went always talking, but she held down her head, 
 And seldom gave an answer to any thing he said ; 
 It was better to be silent, among such a crowd of folk, 
 Than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke.
 
 anti tfje 
 
 LIKE our own Robert the Bruce, the great Spanish hero is represented as exhibiting, 
 on many occasions, great gentleness of disposition and compassion. But while old Bar- 
 bour is contented with such simple anecdotes as that of a poor laundress being suddenly 
 taken ill with the pains of child-birth, and the King stopping the march of his army 
 rather than leave her unprotected, the minstrels of Spain, never losing an opportunity of 
 gratifying the superstitious propensities of their audience, are sure to let no similar inci- 
 dent in their champion's history pass without a miracle. 
 
 HE has ta'en some twenty gentlemen, along with him to go, 
 For he will pay that ancient vow he to Saint James doth owe ; 
 To Compostella, where the shrine doth by the altar stand, 
 The good Rodrigo de Bivar is riding through the land. 
 
 Where'er he goes, much alms he throws, to feehle folk and poor ; 
 Beside the way for him they pray, him blessings to procure ; 
 For, God and Mary Mother, their heavenly grace to win, 
 His hand was ever bountiful : great was his joy therein. 
 
 ! 
 
 And there, in middle of the path, a leper did appear ; 
 In a deep slough the leper lay ; to help would none come near, 
 Though earnestly he thence did cry, ' For God our Saviour's sake, 
 From out this fearful jeopardy a Christian brother take.' 
 
 When Roderick heard that piteous word, he from his horse came down ; 
 For all they said, no stay he made, that noble champioun ; 
 He reached his hand to pluck him forth, of fear was no account, 
 Then mounted on his steed of worth, and made the leper mount.
 
 96 THE CID AND THE LEPER. 
 
 Behind him rode the leprous man ; when to their hostelrie 
 They came, he made him eat with him at table cheerfully ; 
 While all the rest from that poor guest with loathing shrunk away, 
 To his own bed the wretch he led, beside him there he lay. 
 
 All at the mid-hour of the night, while good Rodrigo slept, 
 
 A breath came from the leprosite, which through his shoulders crept ; 
 
 Right through the body, by the heart, passed forth that breathing cold ; 
 
 I wot he leaped up with a start, in terrors manifold. 
 
 He groped for him in the bed, but him he could not find, 
 Through the dark chamber groped he, with very anxious mind ; 
 Loudly he lifted up his voice, with speed a lamp was brought, 
 Yet nowhere was the leper seen, though far and near they sought. 
 
 He turned him to his chamber, God wot ! perplexed sore 
 With that which had befallen when lo ! his face before, 
 There stood a man all clothed in vesture shining white : 
 Thus said the vision, Sleepest thou, or wakest thou, Sir Knight V 
 
 I 1 sleep not,' quoth Rodrigo ; ' but tell me who art thou, 
 For, in the midst of darkness, much light is on thy brow ]' 
 ' I am the holy Lazarus, I come to speak with thee ; 
 
 I am the same poor leper thou savedst for charity. 
 
 4 Not vain the trial, nor in vain thy victory hath been ; 
 God favors thee, for that my pain thou didst relieve yestreen. 
 There shall be honor with thee, in battle and in peace, 
 Success in all thy doings, and plentiful increase. 
 
 ' Strong enemies shall not prevail thy greatness to undo ; 
 
 Thy name shall make men's cheeks full pale Christians and Moslem too ; 
 
 A death of honor shalt thou die, such grace to thee is given, 
 
 Thy soul shall part victoriously, and be received in heaven.' 
 
 When he these gracious words had said, the spirit vanished quite. 
 Rodrigo rose and knelt him down, he knelt till morning light ; 
 Unto the heavenly Father, and Mary Mother dear, 
 He made his prayer right humbly, till dawned the morning clear.
 
 ttnutcca. 
 
 MONTAIGNE, in his curious Essay, entitled ' Des Destriers," says that all the world 
 knows every thing about Bucephalus. The name of the favorite charger of the Cid Ruy 
 Diaz is scarcely less celebrated. Notice is taken of him in almost every one of the hun- 
 dred ballads concerning the history of his master, and there are some among them, of 
 which the horse is more truly the hero than his rider. In one of these ballads, the Cid is 
 giving directions about his funeral ; he desires that they shall place his body ' in full 
 armor upon Bavieca,' and so conduct him to the church of San Pedro de Cardena. This 
 was done accordingly ; and, says another ballad : 
 
 Truxeron pues a Eabieca; 
 Y en mirandole se puso 
 Tan triste cnmo si fuera 
 Mas rasonable que bruto. 
 
 In the Cid's last will, mention is also made of his noble charger. ' When ye bury Ba- 
 vieca, dig deep,' says Ruy Diaz ; ' for shameful thing were if, that he should be eaten by 
 curs, who hath trampled down so much currish flesh of Moors.' He was buried near his 
 master) under the trees in front of the convent of San Pedro of Cardefla. 
 
 THE King looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true ; 
 Then to the King Ruy Diaz spake after reverence due* 
 ' O King, the thing is shameful, that any man beside 
 The liege lord of Castile himself should Bavieca ride : 
 
 4 For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring 
 
 So good as he, and certes, the best befits my king. 
 
 But that you may behold him, and know him to the core, 
 
 I'll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor.' 
 
 13
 
 BAVIECA. 
 
 With that, the Cid, clad'as he was in mantle furred and wide, 
 On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side ; 
 And up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career, 
 Streamed like a pennon on the wind Ruy Diaz' minivere. 
 
 And all that saw them praised them, they lauded man and horse, 
 As matched well, and rivalless for gallantry and force ; 
 Ne'er had they looked on horseman might to this knight come near, 
 Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier. 
 
 Thus, to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed, 
 He snapped in twain his hither rein : ' God pity now the Cid ! 
 God pity Diaz !' cried the Lords, but when they looked again, 
 They saw Ruy Diaz ruling him, with the fragment of his rein ; 
 They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm, 
 Like a true lord commanding, and obeyed as by a lamb. 
 
 And so he led him foaming and panting to the King, 
 But ' No !' said Don Alphonso, ' it were a shameful thing 
 That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid 
 By any mortal but Bivar, mount, mount again, my Cid !'
 
 ^communication of tty 
 
 THE last specimen I shall give of the Cid-ballads, is one, the subject of which is evi- 
 dently of the most apocryphal cast. It is, however, so far as 1 recollect, the only one of 
 all that immense collection that is quoted or alluded to in Don Quixote. ' Sancho,' cried 
 the knight, ' I am afraid of being excommunicated for having laid violent hands upon a 
 man in holy orders, Juxta illud; si quis suacLetite diabolo, (fee. But yet, now I think 
 better on it, I never touched him with my hands, but only with my lance ; besides, I 
 did not in the least suspect I had to do with priests, whom I honor and revere as every 
 good Catholic and faithful Christian ought to do, but rather took them to be evil spirits. 
 Well, let the worst come to the worst, I remember what befel the Cid Ruy Diaz, when 
 he broke to pieces the chair of a king's ambassador in the Pope's presence, for which he 
 was excommunicated ; which did not hinder the worthy Rodrigo de Bivar from behaving 
 himself that day like a valorous knight, and a man of honor.' 
 
 IT was when from Spain across the main the Cid had come to Rome, 
 He chanced to see chairs four and three beneath Saint Peter's dome : 
 4 Now tell, I pray, what chairs be they ]' ' Seven kings do sit thereon, 
 As well doth suit, all at the foot of the holy Father's throne. 
 
 4 The Pope he sitteth above them all, that they may kiss his toe, 
 Below the keys the Flower-de-lys doth make a gallant show ; 
 For his great puissance, the King of France next to the Pope may sit, 
 The rest more low, all in a row, as doth their station fit.' 
 
 ' Ha !' quoth the Cid, 4 now, God forbid ! it is a shame, I wiss, 
 To see the Castle planted below the Flower-de-lys. 
 No harm, I hope, good Father Pope, although I move thy chair.' 
 In pieces small he kicked it all ('twas of the ivory fair) :
 
 100 
 
 THE EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE CID. 
 
 The Pope's own seat he from his feet did kick it far away, 
 And the Spanish chair he planted upon its place that day ; 
 Above them all he planted it, and laughed right bitterly ; 
 Looks sour and bad I trow he had, as grim as grim might be. 
 
 Now when the Pope was aware of this, he was an angry man, 
 His lips that night, with solemn rite, pronounced the awful ban : 
 The curse of God, who died on rood, was on that sinner's head ; 
 To hell and woe man's soul must go if once that curse be said. 
 
 I wot, when the Cid was aware of this, a woful man was he, 
 At dawn of day he came to pray at the blessed Father's knee : 
 Absolve me, blessed Father ! have pity on my prayer, . jHt , 
 Absolve my soul, and penance I for my sin will bear. .- 
 
 ' Who is this sinner,' quoth the Pope, ' that at my foot doth kneel 1 
 
 ' I am Rodrigo Diaz a poor baron of Castile,' 
 
 Much marvelled all were in the hall, when that name they heard him say ; 
 
 ' Rise up, rise up !' the Pope he said, ' I do thy guilt away ; 
 
 ' I do thy guilt away,' he said, ' my curse I blot it out : 
 God save Rodrigo Diaz, my Christian champion stout ; 
 I trow, if I had known thee, my grief it had been sore, 
 To curse Ruy Diaz de JJivar, God's scourge upon the Moor,'
 
 13m; tre 
 
 THE crowns of Castile and Leon being at length joined in the person of 
 King Ferdinand, surnamed El Santo, the authority of the Moors in Spain 
 was destined to receive many severe blows from the united efforts of two 
 Christian states, which had in former times too often exerted their vigor 
 against each other. The most important event of King Ferdinand's reign 
 was the conquest of Seville, which great city yielded to his arms in the year 
 1248, after sustaining a long and arduous siege of sixteen months. 
 
 Don Garci Perez de Vargas was one of the most distinguished warriors 
 who on this occasion fought under the banners of Ferdinand ; and accord- 
 ingly there are many ballads of which he is the hero. The incident cele- 
 brated in that which follows, is thus told, with a few variations, in Mariana, 
 (Book xiii., Chap. 7.) 
 
 ' Above all others, there signalized himself in these affairs that Garci Perez 
 de Vargas, a native of Toledo, of whose valor so many marvellous, and almost 
 incredible achievements are related. One day, about the beginning of the 
 siege, this Garci, and another with him, were riding by the side of the river, 
 at some distance from the outposts, when, of a sudden, there came upon them 
 a party of seven Moors on horseback. The companion of Perez was for 
 returning immediately, but he replied, that, Never, even though he should lose 
 his life for it, would he consent to the baseness of flight. With that, his 
 companion riding off, Perez armed himself, closed his visor, and put his lance 
 in the rest. But the enemies, when they knew who it was, declined the 
 combat. 
 
 ' He had therefore pursued his way by himself for some space, when he 
 perceived, that in lacing the head-piece and shutting the visor, he had, by 
 inadvertence, dropped his scarf. He immediately returned upon his steps 
 that he might seek for it. The King,*as it happened, had his eyes upon 
 Perez all this time, for the royal tent looked towards the place where he was 
 riding ; and he never doubted that the knight had turned back for the pur- 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
 
 102 
 
 GARCI PEREZ DE VARGAS. 
 
 pose of provoking the Moors to the combat. But they avoided him as before, 
 and he, having regained his scarf, came in safety to the camp. 
 
 ' The honor of the action was much increased by this circumstance, that, 
 although frequently pressed to disclose the name of the gentleman who had 
 deserted him in that moment of danger, Perez would never consent to do so, 
 for his modesty was equal to his bravery.' 
 
 A little farther on, Mariana relates, that Garci Perez had a dispute with 
 another gentleman, who thought proper to assert that Garci had no right to 
 assume the coat-of-arms which he wore. ' A sally having been made by the 
 Moors, that gentleman, among many more, made his escape, but Garci stood 
 firm to his post, and never came back to the camp until the Moors were driven 
 again into the city. He came with his shield all bruised and battered to the 
 place where the gentleman was standing, and pointing to the effaced bearing 
 which was on it, said, Indeed, sir, it must be confessed that you show more 
 respect than I do to this same coat-of-arms; for you keep yours bright and un- 
 sullied, while mine is sadly discolored. The gentleman was sorely ashamed, 
 and thenceforth Garci Perez bore his achievment without gainsaying or dis- 
 pute.'
 
 
 (Scarce pere? tre Vargas. 
 
 KING FERDINAND [alone did stand one day upon the hill, 
 Surveying all his leaguer, and the ramparts of Seville ; 
 The sight was grand, when Ferdinand by proud Seville was lying, 
 O'er tower and tree far off to see the Christian banners flying. 
 
 * 
 
 Down chanced the King his eye to fling, where far the camp below 
 
 Two gentlemen along the glen were riding soft and slow ; 
 
 As void of fear each cavalier seemed to be riding there, 
 
 As some strong hound may pace around the roebuck's thicket lair. 
 
 It was Don Garci Perez, and he would breathe the air, 
 And he had ta'en a knight with him, that as lief had been elsewhere ; 
 For soon this knight to Garci said, ' Ride, ride we, or we 're lost ! 
 I see the glance of helm and lance, it is the Moorish host !' 
 
 The Lord of Vargas turned him round, his trusty squire was near, 
 The helmet on his brow he bound, his gauntlet grasped the spear ; 
 With that upon his saddle-tree he planted him right steady, 
 ' Now come,' quoth he, ' whoe'er they be, I trow they '11 find us ready.' 
 
 By this the knight who rode with him had turned his horse's head, 
 And up the glen in fearful trim unto the camp had fled. 
 ' Ha ! gone ]' quoth Garci Perez ; he smiled, and, said no more, 
 But slowly, with his esquire, rode as he rode before. 
 
 It was the Count Lorenzo, just then it happened so, 
 
 He took his stand by Ferdinand, and with him gazed below ; 
 
 My liege,' quoth he, ' seven Moors I see a-coming from the wood, 
 
 Now bring they all the blows they may, I trow they '11 find as good ;
 
 104 GABCI PEREZ DE VARGAS. 
 
 But it is Don Garci Perez, if his cognizance they know, 
 I guess it will be little pain to give them blow for blow.' 
 
 The Moors from forth the greenwood came riding one by one, 
 A gallant troop with armor resplendent in the sun ; 
 Full haughty was their bearing, as o'er the sward they came, 
 While the calm Lord of Vargas his march was still the same. 
 
 They stood drawn up in order, while past them all rode he, 
 For when upon his shield they saw the sable blazonry, 
 And the wings of the Black Eagle, that o'er his crest were spread, 
 They knew Don Garci Perez, and never word they said. 
 
 He took the casque from off his head, and gave it to the squire, 
 ' My friend,' quoth he, ' no need I see why I my brows should tire.' 
 But as he doffed the helmet, he saw his scarf was gone, 
 ' I've dropped it sure,' quoth Garci, ' when I put my helmet on.' 
 
 He looked around and saw the scarf, for still the Moors were near, 
 And they had picked it from the sward, and looped it on a spear ; 
 ' These Moors,' quoth Garci Perez, ' uncorteous Moors they be, 
 Now, by my soul, the scarf they stole, yet durst not question me ! 
 
 ' Now, reach once more my helmet.' The esquire said him nay, 
 ' For a silken string why should ye fling perchance your life away ]' 
 ' I had it from my lady,' quoth Garci, ' long ago, 
 And never Moor that scarf, be sure, in proud Seville shall show.' 
 
 But when the Moslem saw him they stood in firm array, 
 
 He rode among their armed throng, he rode right furiously ; 
 
 ' Stand, stand, ye thieves and robbers, lay down my lady's pledge !' 
 
 He cried, and ever as he cried they felt his faulchion's edge. 
 
 That day the Lord of Vargas came to the camp alone ; 
 The scarf, his lady's largess, around his breast was thrown J 
 Bare was his head, his sword was red, and from his pommel strung, 
 Seven turbans green, sore hacked I ween, before Don Garci hung.
 
 A BALLAD concerning another doughty knight of the same family, and most probably, 
 considering the date, a brother of Garci Perez de Vargas. Its story is thus alluded to in 
 Don ^Quixote, in the chapter of the Windmills : 
 
 ' However, the loss of his lance was no small affliction to him ; and as he was making 
 his complaint about it to his squire, I have read, said he, friend Sancho, that a certain 
 Spanish knight, whose name was Diego Perez de Vargas, having broken his sword in the 
 heat of an engagement, pulled up by the roots a wild olive-tree, or at least, tore down a 
 massy branch, and did such wonderful execution, crushing and grinding so many Moors 
 with it that day, that he won himself and his posterity the surname of The Pounder, or 
 Bruiser. \_Machuca, from Machucar, to pound as in a mortar.] I tell this, because I 
 intend to tear up the next oak, or holm-tree, we meet; with the trunk whereof I hope to 
 perform such wondrous deeds that thou wilt esteem thyself particularly happy in having 
 had the honor to behold them, and been the ocular witness of achievements which pos- 
 terity will scarce be able to believe. Heaven grant you may ! cried Sancho : I believe it 
 all, because your worship says it.' 
 
 THE Christians have beleaguered the famous walls of Xeres, 
 Among them are Don Alvar and Don Diego Perez, 
 And many other gentlemen, who, day succeeding day, 
 Give challenge to the Saracen and all his chivalry. 
 
 When rages the hot battle before the gates of Xeres, 
 
 By trace of gore ye may explore the dauntless path of Perez. 
 
 No knight like Don Diego, no sword like his is found 
 
 In all the host, to hew the boast of Paynims to the ground, 
 
 It fell one day when furiously they battled on the plain, 
 Diego shivered both his lance and trusty blade in twain ; 
 The Moors that saw it shouted, for esquire none was near, 
 To serve Diego at his need with falchion, mace, or spear. 
 
 11
 
 106 THE POUNDER. 
 
 Loud, loud he blew his bugle, sore troubled was his eye, 
 But by God's grace before his face there stood a tree full nigh, 
 An olive-tree with branches strong, close by the wall of Xeres, 
 ' Yon goodly bough will serve, I trow,' quoth Don Diego Perez. 
 
 A gnarled branch he soon did wrench down from that olive strong, 
 Which o'er his head-piece brandishing, he spurs among the throng. 
 God wot ! full many a Pagan must in his saddle reel ! 
 What leech may cure, what beadsman shrive, if once that weight ye feel ] 
 
 But when Don Alvar saw him thus bruising down the foe, 
 Quoth he, ' I've seen some flail-armed man belabor barley so, 
 Sure mortal mould did ne'er enfold such mastery of power ; 
 Let's call Diego Perez THE POUNDER, from this hour.'
 
 of tije 
 
 THE next four ballads relate to the history of DON PEDRO, King of Castile, 
 called THE CRUEL. 
 
 An ingenious person not long ago published a work, the avowed purpose 
 of which was to prove that Tiberius was a humane and contemplative prince, 
 who retired to the Island of Capreae only that he might the better indulge in 
 the harmless luxury of philosophic meditation : and, in like manner, Pedro 
 the Cruel has found, in these latter times, his defenders and apologists ; above 
 all, Voltaire. 
 
 There may be traced, without doubt, in the circumstances which attended 
 his accession, something to palliate the atrocity of several of his bloody acts. 
 His father had treated his mother with contempt : he had not only entertained, 
 as his mistress, in her lifetime, a lady of the powerful family of Guzman, but 
 actually proclaimed that lady his queen, and brought up her sons as princes 
 in his palace ; nay, he had even betrayed some intentions of violating, in their 
 favor, the order of succession, and the rights of Pedro. And, accordingly, 
 no sooner was Alphonso dead, and Pedro acknowledged by the nobility, than 
 Leonora de Guzman, and her sons, whether from consciousness of guilt, or 
 from fear of violence, or from both of these causes, betook themselves to 
 various places of strength, where they endeavored to defend themselves 
 against the authority of the new king. After a little time, matters were 
 accommodated by the interference of friends, and Donna Leonora took up 
 her residence at Seville ; but Pedro was suddenly, while in that city, seized 
 with a distemper which his physicians said must, ifl. all probability, have a 
 mortal termination ; and during his confinement, (which lasted for several 
 weeks,) many intrigues were set afoot, and the pretensions of various candi- 
 dates for the throne openly canvassed among the nobility of Castile. 
 
 Whether the king had, on his recovery, discovered any thing indicative of 
 treasonous intentions in the recent conduct of Leonora and her family (which, 
 all things considered, seems not improbable,) or whether he merely suffered 
 himself, as was said at the time, to be over-persuaded by the vindictive argu-
 
 108 THE MURDER OF THE MASTER. 
 
 merits of his own mother, the queen-dowager, the fact is certain, that in the 
 course of a few days, Donna Leonora was arrested, and put to death by 
 Pedro's command, in the Castle of Talaveyra. Don Fadrique, or Frederick, 
 one of her sons, who had obtained the dignity of Master of the Order of St. 
 lago, fled upon this into Portugal, and fortified himself in the city of Coimbra ; 
 while another of them, Don Enrique, or Henry, Lord of Trastamara, took 
 refuge at the Court of Arragon, openly renouncing his allegiance to the crown 
 of Castile, and professing himself henceforth, in all things, the subject and 
 vassal of the prince who gave him protection. 
 
 Henry of Trastamara was, from this time, the declared and active enemy 
 of his brother ; and in consequence of his influence, and that of his mother's 
 kindred, but most of all, in consequence of Don Pedro's own atrocious pro- 
 ceedings, Castile itself was filled with continual tumults and insurrections. 
 
 Don Fadrique, however, made his peace with Pedro. After a lapse of many 
 months, he was invited to come to the court at Seville, and take his share in 
 the amusements of an approaching tournament. He accepted the invitation, 
 but was received with terrible coldness, and immediately executed within the 
 palace. The friends of Pedro asserted that the king had that very day de- 
 tected Don Fadrique in a correspondence with his brother Henry and the 
 Arragonese ; while popular belief attributed the slaughter of the Master to 
 the unhappy influence which the too-celebrated Maria de Padilla had long 
 ere this begun to exercise over Pedro's mind. 
 
 Maria was often, in consequence of her close intimacy with Jews, called 
 by the name of their hated race ; but she was in reality not only of Christian, 
 but of noble descent in Spain. However that might be, Pedro found her in 
 the family of his minister, Albuquerque, where she had been brought up, 
 loved her with all the violence of his temper, and made her his wife in all 
 things but the name. Although political motives induced him, not long after- 
 wards,, to contract an alliance with a princess of the French blood royal, the 
 unfortunate Blanche of Bourbon, he lived with the young queen but a few 
 days, and then deserted her forever, for the sake of this beautiful, jealous, 
 and imperious mistress, whom he declared to be his true wife. 
 
 The reader will observe that there is a strange peculiarity in the structure 
 of the ballad which narrates the Murder of the Master of St. lago. The un- 
 fortunate Fadrique is introduced at the beginning of it as telling his own 
 story, and so he carries it on, in the first person, until the order for his exe- 
 cution is pronounced by Pedro. The sequel is given as if by another voice. 
 I can suppose this singularity to have had a musical origin. 
 
 The Master was skin in the year 1358.
 
 of tfje 
 
 I SAT alone in Coimbra the town myself had ta'en, 
 When came into my chamber, a messenger from Spain ; 
 There was no treason in his look, an honest look he wore ; 
 I from his hand the letter took, my brother's seal it bore. 
 
 ' Come, brother dear, the day draws near,' ('t was thus bespoke the King,) 
 ' For plenar court and knightly sport, within the listed ring.' 
 Alas ! unhappy Master, I easy credence lent ; 
 Alas ! for fast and faster I at his bidding went. 
 
 When I set off from Coimbra, and passed the bound of Spain, 
 
 I had a goodly company of spearmen in my train ; 
 
 A gallant force, a score of horse, and sturdy mules thirteen : 
 
 With joyful heart I held my course, my years were young and green. 
 
 A journey of good fifteen days within the week was done, 
 
 I halted not, though signs I got, dark tokens many a one ; 
 
 A strong stream mastered horse and mule, I lost my poniard fine, 
 
 And left a page within the pool a faithful page of mine. 
 
 Yet on to proud Seville I rode ; when to the gate I came, 
 Before me stood a man of God, to warn me from the same ; 
 The words he spake I would not hear, his grief I would not see, 
 I seek, said T, my brother dsar, I will not stop for thee. 
 
 No lists were closed upon the sand, for royal tourney dight ; 
 No pawing horse was seen to stand, I saw no armed knight ; 
 Yet aye I gave my mule the spur, and hastened through the town, 
 I stopped before his palace-door, then gaily leapt I down.
 
 110 THE MURDER OF THE MASTER. 
 
 They shut the door, my trusty score of friends were left behind ; 
 
 I would not hear their whispered fear, no harm was in my mind ; 
 
 I greeted Pedro, but he turned, I wot his look was cold ; 
 
 His brother from his knee he spurned ; ' Stand off, thou Master bold !' 
 
 ' Stand off, stand off, thou traitor strong !' 'twas thus he said to me, 
 ' Thy time on earth shall not be long, what brings thee to my knee 1 
 My lady craves a new-year's gift, and I will keep my word ; 
 Thy head methinks may serve the shift, Good yeoman, draw thy sword !' 
 
 The Master lay upon the floor ere well that word was said : 
 Then in a charger off they bore his pale and bloody head ; 
 They brought it to Padilla's chair, they bowed them on the knee ; 
 ' King Pedro greets thee, lady fair, his gift he sends to thee.' 
 
 She gazed upon the Master's head, her scorn it could not scare, 
 And cruel were the words she said, and proud her glances were ; 
 ' Thou now shalt pay, thou traitor base ! the debt of many a year ; 
 My dog shall lick that haughty face ; no more that lip shall sneer.' 
 
 She seized it by the clotted hair, and o'er the window flung ; 
 The mastiff smelt it in his lair, forth at her cry he sprung ; 
 The mastiff that had crouched so low to lick the Master's hand, 
 He tossed the morsel to and fro, and licked it on the sand. 
 
 And ever as the mastiff tore, his bloody teeth were shown, 
 With growl and snort he made his sport, and picked it to the bone ; 
 The baying of the beast was loud, and swiftly on the street 
 There gathered round a gaping crowd, to see the mastiff eat 
 
 Then out and spake King Pedro, ' What governance is this 1 
 The rabble rout, my gate without, torment my dogs, I wiss.' 
 Then out and spake King Pedro's page, ' It is the Master's head ; 
 The mastiff tears it in his rage, therewith they him have fed.' 
 
 Then out and spake the ancient nurse, that nursed the brothers twain, 
 ' On thee, King Pedro, lies the curse, thy brother thou hast slain ;
 
 THE MURDER OF THE MASTER. 
 
 A thousand harlots there may be within the realm of Spain, 
 But where is she can give to thee thy brother back again ]' 
 
 Came darkness o'er King Pedro's brow, when thus he heard her say ; 
 He sorely rued the accursed vow he had fulfilled that day ; 
 He passed unto his paramour, where on her couch she lay, 
 Leaning from out her painted bower, to see the mastiff's play. 
 
 He drew her to a dungeon dark, a dungeon strong and deep ; 
 ' My father's son lies stiff and stark, and there are few to weep. 
 Fadrique's blood for vengeance calls, his cry is in mine ear ; 
 Thou art the cause, thou harlot false ! in darkness lie thou here.' 
 
 Ill
 
 Bratij of (Smeen Elatufje. 
 
 THAT PEDRO was accessary to the violent death of this young and innocent 
 princess whom he had married, and immediately afterwards deserted for ever, 
 there can be no doubt. This atrocious deed was avenged abundantly ; for it 
 certainly led, in the issue, to the downfall and death of Pedro himself. 
 Mariana says, very briefly, that the injuries sustained by Queen Blanche had 
 so much offended many of Pedro's own nobility, that they drew up a formal 
 remonstrance, and presented it to him in a style sufficiently formidable ; and 
 that he, his proud and fierce temper being stung to madness by what he con- 
 sidered an unjustifiable interference with his domestic concerns, immediately 
 gave orders for the poisoning of Blanche in her prison. 
 
 In the old French Memoirs of Du Guesclin, a much more improbable story 
 is told at great length. The Queen Blanche, according to this account, had 
 been banished to the Castle of Medina Sidonia, the adjoining territory being 
 assigned to her for her maintenance. One of her vassals, a Jew, presumed 
 to do his homage in the usual fashion, that is, by kissing Blanche on the 
 cheek, ere his true character was suspected either by her or her attendants. 
 No sooner was the man known to be a Jew, than he was driven from the 
 presence of the queen with every mark of insult ; and this sunk so deeply 
 into his mind, that he determined to revenge himself, if possible, by the death 
 of Blanche. He told his story to Maria de Padilla, who prevailed on the king 
 to suffer him to take his own measures ; and he accordingly surprised the 
 castle by night, at the head of a troop of his own countrymen, and butchered 
 the unhappy lady. 
 
 The ballad itself is, in all likelihood, as trust- worthy as any other authority ; 
 the true particulars of such a crime were pretty sure to be kept concealed.
 
 of (fXuceu 
 
 ' MAKIA DE PADILLA, be not thus of dismal mood, 
 
 For if I twice have wedded me, it all was for thy good ; 
 
 ' But if upon Queen Blanche ye will that I some scorn should show, 
 For a banner to Medina my messenger shall go ; 
 
 The work shall be of Blanche's tears, of Blanche's blood the ground ; 
 Such pennon shall they weave for thee, such sacrifice be found.' 
 
 Then to the Lord of Ortis, that excellent baron, 
 
 He said, ' Now hear me, Ynigo, forthwith for this begone.' 
 
 Then answer made Don Ynigo, ' Such gift I ne'er will bring, 
 For he that harmeth Lady Blanche doth harm my lord the king.' 
 
 Then Pedro to his chamber went, his cheek was burning red, 
 And to a bowman of his guard the dark command he said. 
 
 The bowman to Medina passed ; when the queen beheld him near, 
 ' Alas !' she said, 'my maidens, he brings my death, I fear.' 
 
 Then said the archer, bending low, ' The King's commandment take, 
 And see thy soul be ordered well with God that did it make, 
 
 ' For lo ! thine hour is come, therefrom no refuge may there be.' 
 Then gently spake the Lady Blanche, ' My friend, I pardon thee ; 
 
 ' Do what thou wilt, so be the King hath his commandment given, 
 Deny me not confession, if so, forgive ye, Heaven !' 
 
 ir.
 
 114 
 
 THE DEATH OF QUEEN BLANCHE. 
 
 Much grieved the bowman for her tears, and for her beauty's sake, 
 While thus Queen Blanche of Bourbon her last complaint did make ; 
 
 1 O France ! my noble country O blood of high Bourbon ! 
 Not eighteen years have I seen out before my life is gone. 
 
 ' The King hath never known me. A virgin true I die. 
 Whate'er I've done, to proud Castile no treason e'er did I. 
 
 ' The crown they put upon my head was a crown of blood and sighs, 
 God grant me soon another crown more precious in the skies !' 
 
 These words she spake, then down she knelt, and took the bowman's blow ; 
 Her tender neck was cut in twain, and out her blood did flow.
 
 Deatij of Don 
 
 THE reader may remember, that when Don Pedro had, by his excessive 
 cruelties, quite alienated from himself the hearts of the great majority of his 
 people, Don Henry of Trastamara, his natural brother, who had spent many 
 years in exile, returned suddenly into Spain with a formidable band of French 
 auxiliaries, by whose aid he drove Pedro out of his kingdom. The voice of 
 the nation was on Henry's side, and he took possession of the throne without 
 further opposition. 
 
 Pedro, after his treatment of Queen Blanche, could have nothing to hope 
 from the crown of France, so he immediately threw himself into the arms of 
 England. And our Edward the Black Prince, who then commanded in Gas- 
 cony, had more than one obvious reason for taking up his cause. 
 
 The Prince of Wales marched with Don Pedro into Spain, at the head of 
 an army of English and Gascon veterans, whose disciplined valor, Mariana 
 very frankly confesses, gave them a decided superiority over the Spanish 
 soldiery of the time. Henry was so unwise as to set his stake upon a battle, 
 and was totally defeated in the field of Najara. Unable to rally his flying 
 troops, he was compelled to make his escape beyond the Pyrenees ; and Don 
 Pedro once more established himself in his kingdom. The battle of Najara 
 took place in 1366. 
 
 But, in 1368, when the Black Prince had retired again into Gascony, 
 Henry, in his turn, came back from exile with a small but gallant army, most 
 of whom were French, commanded by the celebrated Bertram Du Gleasquin, 
 or, as he is more commonly called, Du Guesclin, and animated, as was 
 natural, by strong thirst of vengeance for the insults, which, in the person of 
 Blanche, Pedro had heaped upon the royal line of their country, and the blood 
 of Saint Louis. 
 
 Henry of Trastamara advanced into the heart of La Mancha, and there 
 encountered Don Pedro, at the head of an army six times more numerous 
 than that which he commanded, but composed in a great measure of Jews,
 
 116 THE DEATH OF DON PEDRO. 
 
 Saracens, and Portuguese, miscellaneous auxiliaries, who gave way before 
 the ardor of the French chivalry, so that Henry remained victorious, and 
 Pedro was compelled to take refuge in the neighboring castle of Montiel. 
 That fortress was so strictly blockaded by the successful enemy, that the 
 king was compelled to attempt his escape by night, with only twelve persons 
 in his retinue, Ferdinand de Castro being the person of most note among 
 them. 
 
 As they wandered in the dark, they were encountered by a body of French 
 cavalry making the rounds, commanded by an adventurous knight, called Le 
 Begue de Villaines. Compelled to surrender, Don Pedro put himself under 
 the safeguard of this officer, promising him a rich ransom if he would conceal 
 him from the knowledge of his brother Henry. The knight, according to 
 Froissart, promised him concealment, and conveyed him to his own quarters. 
 But in the course of an hour, Henry was apprised that he was taken, and 
 came with some of his followers, to the tent of Allan de la Houssaye, where 
 his unfortunate brother had been placed. In entering the chamber, he ex- 
 claimed, ' Where is that whoreson and Jew, who calls himself King of Cas- 
 tile V Pedro, as proud and fearless as he was cruel, stepped instantly forward 
 and replied, ' Here I stand, the lawful son and heir of Don Alphonso, and it 
 is thou that art but a false bastard.' The rival brethren instantly grappled 
 like lions, the French knights and Du Guesclin himself looking on. Henry 
 drew his poniard, and wounded Pedro in the face, but his body was defended 
 by a coat-of-mail ; a violent struggle ensued : Henry fell across a bench, 
 and his brother being uppermost, had well-nigh mastered him, when one of 
 Henry's followers, seizing Don Pedro by the leg, turned him over, and his 
 master, thus at length gaining the upper-hand, instantly stabbed the king to 
 the heart. 
 
 Froissart calls this man the Vicomte de Roquebetyn, and others the Bastard 
 of Anisse. Menard, in his History of Du Guesclin, says, that while all 
 around gazed like statues on the furious struggle of the brothers, Du Guesclin 
 exclaimed to this attendant of Henry, ' What ! will you stand by and see 
 your master placed at such a pass by a false renegade 1 Make forward and 
 aid him, for well you may.' 
 
 Pedro's head was cut off, and his remains were meanly buried. They were 
 afterwards disinterred by his daughter, the wife of our own John of Gaunt, 
 ' time-honored Lancaster,' and deposited in Seville, with the honors due to 
 his rank. His memory was regarded with a strange mixture of horror and 
 compassion, which recommended him as a subject for legend and for romance. 
 He had caused his innocent wife to be assassinated* had murdered three of
 
 THE DEATH OF DON PEDKO. 117 
 
 his brothers, and committed numberless cruelties upon his subjects. He 
 had, which the age held equally scandalous, held a close intimacy with the 
 Jews and Saracens, and had enriched himself at the expense of the church. 
 Yet, in spite of all these crimes, his undaunted bravery and energy of charac- 
 ter, together with the strange circumstances of his death, excited milder 
 feelings towards his memory. 
 
 The following ballad, which describes the death of Don Pedro, was trans- 
 lated by a friend (the late Sir Walter Scott.) It is quoted more than once 
 by Cervantes in Don Quixote.
 
 Beati) of lion 
 
 HENRY- and King Pedro clasping, 
 Hold in straining arms each other ; 
 
 Tugging hard, and closely grasping, 
 
 Brother proves his strength with brother. 
 
 Harmless pastime, sport fraternal, 
 Blends not thus their limbs in strife ; 
 
 Either aims, with rage infernal, 
 Naked dagger, sharpened knife. 
 
 Close Don Henry grapples Pedro, 
 
 Pedro holds Don Henry strait, 
 Breathing, this, triumphant fury, 
 
 That, despair and mortal hate. 
 
 Sole spectator of the struggle, 
 Stands Don Henry's page afar, 
 
 In the chase who bore his bugle, 
 And who bore his sword in war. 
 
 Down they go in deadly wrestle, 
 
 Down upon the earth they go, 
 Fierce King Pedro has the vantage, 
 
 Stout Don Henry falls below. 
 
 Marking then the fatal crisis, 
 
 Up the page of Henry ran, 
 By the waist he caught Don Pedro, 
 
 Aiding thus the fallen man.
 
 THE DEATH OF DON PEDRO. 
 
 King to place, or to depose him, 
 Dwelleth not in my desire, 
 
 But the duty which he owes him, 
 To his master pays the squire.' 
 
 Now Don Henry has the upmost, 
 Now King Pedro lies beneath, 
 
 In his heart his brother's poniard 
 Instant finds its bloody sheath. 
 
 Thus with mortal gasp and quiver, 
 While the blood in bubbles welled, 
 
 Fled the fiercest soul that ever 
 In a Christian bosom dwelled.
 
 proclamation of Btnjj tnnvi>. 
 
 THE following ballad, taking up the story where it is left in the preceding 
 one, gives us the proclamation and coronation of Don Henry, surnamed, from 
 the courtesy of his manners, El Cavallero, and the grief of Pedro's lovely and 
 unhappy mistress, Maria de Padilla. From its structure and versification, I 
 have no doubt it is of much more modern origin than most of those in the first 
 Cancionero. 
 
 The picture which Mariana gives us of Don Pedro, the hero of so many 
 atrocious and tragical stories, is to me very striking. ' He was pale of com- 
 plexion,' says the historian ; ' his features were high and well formed, and 
 stamped with a certain authority of majesty, his hair red, his figure erect, 
 even to stiffness ; he was bold and determined in action and in council ; his 
 bodily frame sank under no fatigues, his spirit under no weight of difficulty or 
 of danger. He was passionately fond of hawking, and all violent exercises. 
 
 ' In the beginning of his reign, he administered justice among private in- 
 dividuals with perfect integrity. But even then were visible in him the rudi- 
 ments of those vices which grew with his age, and finally led him to his 
 ruin ; such as a general contempt and scorn of mankind, an insulting tongue, 
 a proud and difficult ear, even to those of his household. These faults were 
 discernible even in his tender years ; to them, as he advanced in life, were 
 added avarice, dissolution in luxury, an utter hardness of heart, and a re- 
 morseless cruelty.' (Mariana, Book xvi., Chap. 16.) 
 
 The reader will find almost the whole of Don Pedro's history clothed in a 
 strain of glowing and elegant poetry, in a performance of the Baron de la 
 Motte Fouque. (See his 'Bertrand Du Guesclin, historisch.es ritter- 
 gedicht' Leipsig, 1822.)
 
 proclamation of Bfnfl TJLKMVI?. 
 
 AT the feet of Don Henrique now King Pedro dead is lying, 
 Not that Henry's might was greater, but that blood to Heaven was crying ; 
 Though deep the dagger had its sheath within his brother's breast, 
 Firm on the frozen throat beneath Don Henry's foot is pressed. 
 
 So dark and sullen is the glare of Pedro's lifeless eyes, 
 Still half he fears what slumbers there to vengeance may arise. 
 So stands the brother, on his brow the mark of blood is seen, 
 Yet had he not been Pedro's Cain, his Cain had Pedro been. 
 
 Close round the scene of eursed strife, the armed knights appear 
 Of either band, with silent thoughts of joyfulness or fear ; 
 All for a space, in silence, the fratricide survey, 
 Then sudden bursts the mingling voice of triumph and dismay ! 
 
 Glad shout on shout from Henry's host ascends unto the sky ; 
 ' God save King Henry save the King King Henry !' is their cry. 
 But Pedro's barons clasp their brows, in sadness stand they near, 
 Whate'er to others he had been, their friend lies murdered here. 
 
 The deed, say those, was justly done, -a tyrant's soul is sped ; 
 These ban and curse the traitorous blow by which a king is dead. 
 ' Now see,' cries one, 'how Heaven's amand asserts the people's rights !' 
 Another ' God will judge the hand that God's anointed smites !' 
 
 ' The Lord's vicegerent,' quoth a priest, ' is sovereign of the land, 
 And he rebels 'gainst Heaven's behest, that slights his King's command !' 
 4 Now Heaven be witness, if he sinned,' thus speaks a gallant young, 
 ' The fault was in Padilla's eye, that o'er him magic flung ; 
 
 16
 
 122 THE PROCLAMATION OF KING HENRY. 
 
 ' Or if no magic be her blame, so heavenly fair is she, 
 
 The wisest, for so bright a dame, might well a sinner be ! 
 
 Let none speak ill of Pedro, no Roderick hath he been ; 
 
 He dearly loved fair Spain, although 't is true he slew the Queen.' 
 
 The words he spake they all might hear, yet none vouchsafe reply, 
 ' God save great Henry save the King King Henry !' is the cry ; 
 While Pedro's liegemen turn aside, their groans are in your ear, 
 ' Whate'er to others he hath been, our friend lies slaughtered here !' 
 
 Nor paltry souls are wanting among King Pedro's band, 
 That, now their king is dead, draw near to kiss his murderer's hand. 
 The false cheek clothes it in a smile, and laughs the hollow eye, 
 And wags the traitor tongue the while with flattery's ready lie. 
 
 The valor of the King that is the justice of his cause 
 The blindness and the tyrannies of him the King that was 
 All all are doubled in their speech, yet truth enough is there 
 To sink the spirit shivering near, in darkness of despair. 
 
 The murder of the Master, the tender Infants' doom, 
 
 And blessed Blanche's thread of life snapped short in dungeon's gloom, 
 
 With tragedies yet unrevealed, that stained the King's abode, 
 
 By lips his bounty should have sealed, are blazoned black abroad. 
 
 Whom served he most at others' cost, most loud they rend the sky, 
 ' God save great Henry save our King King Henry !' is the cry. 
 But still, amid too many foes, the grief is in your ear 
 Of dead King Pedro's faithful few 'Alas ! our lord lies here !' 
 
 But others' tears, and others' groans, what are they matched with thine, 
 
 Maria de Padilla thou fatal concubine ! 
 
 Because she is King Henry's slave, the lady weepeth sore, 
 
 Because she's Pedro's widowed love, alas ! she weepeth more. 
 
 ' O Pedro ! Pedro !' hear her cry ' how often did I say 
 That wicked counsel and weak trust would haste thy life away !' 
 She stands upon her turret-top, she looks down from on high, 
 Where mantled in his bloody cloak she sees her lover lie.
 
 THE PROCLAMATION OF KING HENRY. 123 
 
 Low lies King Pedro in his blood, while bending down ye see 
 Caitiffs that trembled ere he spake, crouched at his murderer's knee ; 
 They place the sceptre in his hand, and on his head the crown, 
 And trumpets clear are blown, and bells are merry through the town. 
 
 The sun shines bright, and the gay rout with clamors rend the sky, 
 ' God save great Henry save the King King Henry !' is the cry; 
 But the pale lady weeps above, with many a bitter tear, 
 Whate'er he was, he was her love, and he lies slaughtered here ! 
 
 At first, in silence down her cheek the drops of sadness roll, 
 But rage and anger come to break the sorrow of her soul ; 
 The triumph of her haters the gladness of their cries, 
 Enkindle flames of ire and scorn within her tearful eyes. 
 
 In her hot cheek the blood mounts high, as she stands gazing down, 
 Now on proud Henry's royal state, his robe and golden crown, 
 And now upon the trampled cloak that hides not from her view 
 The slaughtered Pedro's marble brow, and lips of livid hue. 
 
 With furious grief she twists her hands among her long black hairs, 
 And all from off her lovely brow the blameless locks she tears ; 
 She tears the ringlets from her front, and scatters all the pearls 
 King Pedro's hand had planted among the raven curls : 
 
 ' Stop, caitiff tongues !' they hear her not ' King Pedro's love am I !* 
 They heed her not ' God save the King great Henry !' still they cry. 
 She rends her hair, she wrings her hands, but none to help is near, 
 ' God look in vengeance on their deed, my lord lies murdered here !' 
 
 Away she flings her garments, her broidered veil and vest, 
 As if they should behold her love within her lovely breast, 
 As if to call upon her foes the constant heart to see, 
 Where Pedro's form is still enshrined, and evermore shall be. 
 
 But none on fair Maria looks, by none her breast is seen, 
 Save angry Heaven remembering well the murder of the Queen, 
 The wounds of jealous harlot rage, which virgin blood must stanch, 
 And all the scorn that mingled in the bitter cup of Blanche.
 
 124 
 
 THE PROCLAMATION OF KING HENRY. 
 
 The utter coldness of neglect that haughty spirit stings, 
 
 As if a thousand fiends were there, with all their flapping wings ; 
 
 She wraps the veil about her head, as if 't were all a dream 
 
 The love the murder and the wrath and that rebellious scream ; 
 
 For still there's shouting on the plain, and spurring far and nigh, 
 ' God save the King Amen ! amen ! King Henry !' is the cry ; 
 While Pedro all alone is left upon his bloody bier, 
 Not one remains to cry to God, ' Our lord lies murdered here !' 
 
 <**
 
 of 
 
 THE incident to which the following ballad relates, is supposed to have occurred on 
 the famous field of Aljubarrota, where King Juan the First of Castile was defeated by 
 the Portuguese. The king, who was at the time in a feeble state of health, exposed him- 
 self very much during the action ; and being wounded, had great difficulty in making his 
 escape. The battle was fought A. D. 1385. 
 
 ' YOUR horse is faint, my King my lord ! your gallant horse is sick, 
 His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick ; 
 Mount, mount on mine, oh, mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly ! 
 Or in my arms I '11 lift your grace, their trampling hoofs are nigh ! 
 
 ' My King my King ! you 're wounded sore, the blood runs from your feet ; 
 But only lay a hand before, and I '11 lift you to your seat : 
 Mount, Juan, for they gather fast ! I hear their coming cry ! 
 Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy I '11 save you though I die ! 
 
 ' Stand, noble steed ! this hour of need be gentle as a lamb : 
 I '11 kiss the foam from off thy mouth thy master dear I am ! 
 Mount, Juan, mount ! whate'er betide, away the bridle fling, 
 And plunge the rowels in his side ! My horse shall save my King ! 
 
 ' Nay, never speak ; my sires, Lord King, received their land from yours, 
 And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine secures : 
 If I should fly, and thou, my King, be found among the dead, 
 How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head 1 
 
 Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain, 
 
 And say there's ONE that ran away when our good lords were slain ! 
 
 I leave Diego in your care, you '11 fill his father's place : 
 
 Strike, strike the spur, and never spare God's blessing on your grace !'
 
 126 
 
 THE LORD OF BtJTKAGO. 
 
 So spake the brave Montanez, Butrago's lord was he ; 
 And turned him to the coming host in steadfastness and glee ; 
 He flung himself among them, as they came down the hill ; 
 He died, God wot ! but not before his sword had drunk its fill !
 
 Btnfl of 
 
 THE following little ballad represents the supposed feelings of Ferdinand, 
 King of Arragon, on surveying Naples, after he had at last obtained posses- 
 sion of that city, and driven Rene of Anjou from the south of Italy. ' The 
 King of Arragon,' says Mariana, ' entered Naples as victor, on the morning 
 of Sunday, the second of June, in the year of our Lord one thousand, four 
 hundred, and forty-two.' 
 
 The brother, whose death is represented as saddening the King's triumph, 
 was Don Pedro of Arragon, who was killed ' by the fourth rebound of a can- 
 non-ball,' very soon after the commencement of the siege of Naples. ' When 
 the King heard of these woful tidings,' says Mariana, ' he hastened to the 
 place where the body had been laid, and kissing the breast of the dead man, 
 said, Alas, my brother, what different things had I expected of thee ! God 
 help thy soul ! And with that he wept and groaned, and then turning to his 
 attendants, Alas ! said he, my comrades, we have lost this day the flower of 
 all our chivalry ! Don Pedro died in the bloom of his youth, being just 
 twenty-seven years old, and having never been married. He had been in 
 many wars, and in all of them he had won honor.' (Mariana, Book xxi., 
 Chap. 13.) 
 
 Who was the favorite boy (Pagezico,) whose death the King also laments 
 in the ballad, I have not been able to find.
 
 of 
 
 ONE day the King of Arragon, from the old citadel, 
 
 Looked down upon the sea of Spain, as the billows rose and fell ; 
 
 He looked on ship and galley, some coming and some going, 
 
 With all their prize of merchandise, and all their streamers flowing. 
 
 Some to Castile were sailing, and some to Barbary, 
 And then he looked on Naples, that great city of the sea : 
 ' O city !' saith the King, ' how great hath been thy cost, 
 For thee, I twenty years my fairest years have lost ! 
 
 ' By thee, I have lost a brother ; never Hector was more brave ; 
 High cavaliers have dropped their tears upon my brother's grave : 
 Much treasure hast thou cost me, and a little boy beside 
 (Alas ! thou woful city !) for whom I would have died.'
 
 TJoto of a&rtruan. 
 
 THE marriage of Ferdinand the Catholic, and Donna Isabella, having united the forces 
 of Arragon and Castile, the total ruin of the Moorish power in Spain could no longer be 
 deferred. The last considerable fragment of their once mighty possessions in the Penin- 
 sula, was Granada ; but the fate of Malaga gave warning of its inevitable fall, while in- 
 ternal dissensions, and the weakness of the reigning- prince^ hastened and facilitated that 
 great object of Ferdinand's ambition. 
 
 The following is aversion of certain parts of two ballads; indeed, the Moor Reduan is 
 the hero of a great many more. The subject is, as the reader will perceive, the rash vow 
 and tragical end of a young and gallant soldier, allied, as it would appear, to the blood of 
 the last Moorish King of Granada, Boabdil, or, as he is more generally called by the 
 Spanish writers, El Rey Chiquito, i. e. the Little King. 
 
 THUS said, before his lords, the King to Reduan, 
 ' 'T is easy to get words, deeds get we as we can : 
 Rememberest thou the feast at which I heard thee saying, 
 'T were easy in one night to make me Lord of Jaen 7 
 
 ' Well* in my mind, I hold the valiant vow was said ; 
 Fulfil it, boy ! and gold shall shower upon thy head ; 
 But bid a long farewell, if now thou shrink from doing, 
 To bower and bonnibell, thy feasting, and thy wooing !' 
 
 ' I have forgot the oath, if such I e'er did plight, 
 
 But needs there plighted troth to make a soldier fight ? 
 
 A thousand sabres bring, we '11 see how we may thrive !' 
 
 ' One thousand !' quoth the King ; ' I trow thou shalt have five !' 
 
 They passed the Elvira gate, with banners all displayed, 
 They passed in mickle state, a noble cavalcade ; 
 What proud and pawing horses, what comely cavaliers* 
 What bravery of targets, what glittering of spears ! 
 
 17
 
 130 THE VOW OF REDUAN. 
 
 What caftans blue and scarlet, what turbans pleached of green ; 
 What waving of their crescents and plumages between ; 
 What buskins and what stirrups, what rowels chased in gold ! 
 What handsome gentlemen, what buoyant hearts and bold ! 
 
 In midst, above them all, rides he who rules the band ; 
 You feather white and tall is the token of command : 
 He looks to the Alhambra, whence bends his mother down ; 
 ' Now Alia save my boy, and merciful Mahoun 1' 
 
 But 't was another sight when Reduan drew near 
 To look upon the height where Jaen's towers appear ; 
 The fosse was wide and deep, the walls both tall and strong, 
 And keep was matched with keep the battlements along. 
 
 It was a heavy sight, but most for Reduan ; 
 He sighed, as well he might, ere thus his speech began : 
 ' O Jaen ! had I known how high thy bulwarks stand, 
 My tongue had not outgone the prowess of my hand. 
 
 ' But since, in hasty cheer, I did my promise plight, 
 (What well might cost a year) to win thee in a night, 
 The pledge demands the paying. I would my soldiers brave 
 Were half as sure of Jaen, as I am of my grave ! 
 
 ' My penitence comes late, my death lags not behind ; 
 
 I yield me up to fate, since hope I may not find !' 
 
 With that he turned him round ; ' Now, blow your trumpets high !' 
 
 But every spearman frowned, and dark was every eye. 
 
 But when he was aware that they would fain retreat, 
 He spurred his bright bay mare, I wot her pace was fleet ; 
 He rides beneath the walls, and shakes aloof his lance, 
 And to the Christians calls, if any will advance ! 
 
 With that an arrow flew from o'er the battlement, 
 Young Reduan it slew, sheer through the breast it went ! 
 He fell upon the green, ' Farewell, my gallant bay !' 
 Right soon, when this was seen, broke all the Moor array.
 
 JFUflftt from (Sftanatra, 
 
 1492. 
 
 THE following ballad describes the final departure of the weak and unfortunate Boabdil 
 from Granada. In point of fact, the Moorish king came out and received Ferdinand and 
 Isabella in great form and pomp, at the gates of his lost city, presenting them with the 
 keys on a cushion, and in abject terms entreating their protection for his person. 
 
 The valley of Purchena, in Murcia, was assigned to him for his place of residence, and 
 a handsome revenue provided for the maintenance of him and his family ; but, after a 
 little while, ' not having resolution' (as Mariana expresses it) ' to endure a private life in 
 the country where he had so long reigned a king,' he went over to Barbary. 
 
 The entrance of Ferdinand and Isabella into Granada took place on Friday, the 6th 
 of January, 1492. 
 
 THERE was crying in Granada when the sun was going down, 
 Some calling on the Trinity some calling on Mahoun ! 
 Here passed away the Koran, there in the Cross was borne, 
 And here was heard the Christian bell, and there the Moorish horn ; 
 
 Te Deum Laudamus ! was up the Alcala sung : 
 Down from the Alhambra's minarets were all the crescents flung ; 
 The arms thereon of Arragon they with Castile's display ; 
 One king comes in in triumph, one weeping goes away ! 
 
 Thus cried the weeper, while his hands his old white beard did tear, 
 ' Farewell, farewell, Granada ! thou city without peer ! 
 Woe-, woe, thou pride of Heathendom ! seven hundred years and more 
 Have gone since first the faithful thy royal sceptre bore ! 
 
 ' Thou wert the happy mother of an high renowned race ; 
 Within thee dwelt a haughty line that now go from their place ; 
 Within thee fearless knights did dwell, who fought with mickle glee 
 The enemies of proud Castile the bane of Christientie !
 
 132 THE FLIGHT FROM GRANADA. 
 
 ' The mother of fair dames wert thou, of truth and beauty rare, 
 Into whose arms did courteous knights for solace sweet repair ; 
 For whose dear sakes the gallants of Afric made display 
 Of might in joust and battle on many a bloody day ! 
 
 ' Here, gallants held it little thing for ladies' sake to die, 
 Or for the Prophet's honor, and pride of Soldanry ; 
 For here did valor flourish, and deeds of warlike might 
 Ennobled lordly palaces, in which was our delight. 
 
 ' The gardens of thy Vega, its fields and blooming bowers,^- 
 Woe, woe ! I see their beauty gone, and scattered all their flowers ! 
 No reverence can he claim the king that euch a land hath lost, 
 On charger never can he ride, nor be heard among the host ; 
 But in some dark and dismal place, where none his face may see, 
 There, weeping and lamenting, alone that king should be.' 
 
 Thus spake Granada's King as he was riding to the sea, 
 
 About to cross Gibraltar's Strait away to Barbary : 
 
 Thus he in heaviness of soul unto his Queen did cry.. 
 
 (He had stopped and ta'en her in his arms, for together they did fly.) 
 
 4 Unhappy King ! whose craven soul can brook' (she 'gan reply) 
 ' To leave behind Granada, who hast not heart to die ! 
 Now for the love I bore thy youth, thee gladly could I slay ! 
 For what is life to leave when such a crown is cast away ]'
 
 JSeatfj of lion &ionfo of 
 
 THE Catholic zeal of Ferdinand and Isabella was gratified by the external 
 conversion at least of a great part of the Moors of Granada ; but the inhabit- 
 ants of the Sierra of Alpuxarra, a ridge of mountainous territory at no great 
 distance from that city, resisted every argument of the priests who were sent 
 among them, so that the royal order for Baptism was at length enforced by 
 arms. 
 
 Those Moorish mountaineers resisted for a time in several of their strong- 
 holds ; but were at last subdued, and in great part extirpated. Among many 
 severe losses sustained by the Spanish forces in the course of this hill warfare, 
 none was more grievous than that recorded in the following ballad. Don 
 Alonzo of Aguilar, was the eldest brother of that Gonsalvo Hernandez y 
 Cordova of Aguilar, who became so illustrious as to acquire the name of the 
 GREAT CAPTAIN. 
 
 The circumstances of Don Alonzo's death are described somewhat differ- 
 ently by the historians. (See in particular, Mariana, Book xxvii., Chap. 6, 
 where no mention is made of the Moors throwing down stones on him and 
 his party, as in the ballad.) This tragic story has been rendered familiar to 
 all English readers by the Bishop of Dromore's exquisite version of ' Rio 
 Verde, Rio Verde !'
 
 Beat!) of Bon fUon^o of 
 
 FERNANDO, King of Arragon, before Granada lies, 
 With dukes and barons many a one, and champions of emprise ; 
 With all the captains of Castile that serve his lady's crown, 
 He drives Boabdil from his gates, and plucks the crescent down. 
 
 The cross is reared upon the towers, for our Redeemer's sake ! 
 
 The king assembles all his powers, his triumph to partake ; 
 
 Yet at the royal banquet, there 's trouble in his eye : 
 
 ' Now speak thy wish, it shall be done, great King !' the lordlings cry. 
 
 Then spake Fernando, ' Hear, grandees ! which of ye all will go, 
 And give my banner in the breeze of Alpuxar to blow 1 
 Those heights along, the Moors are strong ; now who, by dawn of day, 
 Will plant the cross their cliffs among, and drive the dogs away ?' 
 
 Then champion on champion high, and count on count doth look ; 
 And faltering is the tongue of lord, and pale the cheek of duke ; 
 Till starts up brave Alonzo, the knight of Aguilar, 
 The lowmost at the royal board, but foremost still in war. 
 
 And thus he speaks : ' I pray, my lord, that none but I may go ; 
 For I made promise to the Queen, your consort, long ago, 
 That ere the war should have an end, I, for her royal charms 
 And for my duty to her grace, would show some feat of arms !' 
 
 Much joyed the King these words to hear, he bids Alonzo speed ; 
 And long before their revel 's o'er the knight is on his steed ; 
 Alonzo 's on his milk-white steed, with horsemen in his train, 
 A thousand horse, a chosen band, ere dawn the hills to gain.
 
 THE DEATH OF DON ALONZO OF AGUILAR. 135 
 
 They ride along the darkling ways, they gallop all the night ; 
 
 They reach Neveda ere the cock hath harbingered the light ; 
 
 But ere they 've climbed that steep ravine, the east is glowing red, 
 
 And the Moors their lances bright have seen, and Christian banners spread. 
 
 Beyond the sands, between the rocks, where the old cork-trees grow, 
 The path is rough, and mounted men must singly march and slow ; 
 There, o'er the path, the heathen range their ambuscado's line, 
 High up they wait for Aguilar, as the day begins to shine. 
 
 There, nought avails the eagle-eye, the guardian of Castile, 
 
 The eye of wisdom, nor the heart that fear might never feel, 
 
 The arm of strength, that wielded well the strong mace in the fray, 
 
 Nor the broad plate, from whence the edge of falchion glanced away. 
 
 Not knightly valor there avails, nor skill of horse and spear ; 
 For rock on rock comes rumbling down from cliff and cavern drear ; 
 Down down like driving hail they come, and horse and horsemen die, 
 Like cattle whose despair is dumb when the fierce lightnings fly. 
 
 Alonzo, with a handful more, escapes into the field, 
 There, like a lion, stands at bay, in vain besought to yield ; 
 A thousand foes around are seen, but none draws near to fight ; 
 Afar, with bolt and javelin, they pierce the steadfast knight. 
 
 A hundred and a hundred darts are hissing round his head ; 
 Had Aguilar a thousand hearts, their blood had all been shed ; 
 Faint, and more faint, he staggers upon the slippery sod, 
 At last his back is to the earth, he gives his soul to God ! 
 
 With that the Moors plucked up their hearts to gaze upon his face, 
 And caitiffs mangled where he lay the scourge of Afric's race. 
 To woody Oxijera then the gallant corpse they drew, 
 And there, upon the village-green they laid him out to view. 
 
 Upon the village-green he lay, as the moon was shining clear, 
 
 And all the village-damsels to look on him drew near, 
 
 They stood around him all a-gaze beside the big oak-tree, 
 
 And much his beauty they did praise, though mangled sore was he.
 
 136 THE DEATH OF DON ALONZO OF AGUILAK. 
 
 Now, so it fell, a Christian dame, that knew Alonzo well, 
 Not far from Oxijera did as a captive dwell, 
 And hearing all the marvels, across the woods came she, 
 To look upon this Christian corpse, and wash it decently. 
 
 She looked upon him, and she knew the face of Aguilar, 
 Although his beauty was disgraced with many a ghastly scar ; 
 She knew him, and she cursed the dogs that pierced him from afar, 
 And mangled him when he was slain the Moors of Alpuxar. 
 
 The Moorish maidens, while she spake, around her silence kept, 
 But her master dragged the dame away, then loud and long they wept ; 
 They washed the blood, with many a tear, from dint of dart and arrow, 
 And buried him near the waters clear of the brook of Alpuxarra.
 
 Eijc Dcpru-turc of BtUfl 
 
 THE reader is acquainted with the melancholy story of Sebastian, King of Portugal. 
 It was in 1578, that his unfortunate expedition and death took place. 
 
 The following is a version of one of the Spanish ballads, founded on the history of 
 Sebastian. There is another, which describes his death, almost in the words of a ballad 
 already translated, concerning King Juan I. of Castile. 
 
 IT was a Lusitanian lady, and she was lofty in degree, 
 Was fairer none, nor nobler, in all the realm than she ; 
 I saw her that her eyes were red, as, from her balcony, 
 They wandered o'er the crowded shore and the resplendent sea. 
 
 Gorgeous and gay, in Lisbon's Bay, with streamers flaunting wide, 
 
 Upon the gleaming waters Sebastian's galleys ride ; 
 
 His valorous armada (was never nobler sight !) 
 
 Hath young Sebastian marshalled against the Moorish might. 
 
 The breeze comes forth from the clear north, a gallant breeze there blows ; 
 Their sails they lift, then out they drift, and first Sebastian goes. 
 ' May none withstand Sebastian's hand, God shield my King !' she said ; 
 Yet pale was that fair lady's cheek, her weeping eyes were red. 
 
 She looks on all the parting host, in all its pomp arrayed, 
 Each pennon on the wind is tost, each cognizance displayed ; 
 Each lordly galley flings abroad, above its armed prow, 
 The banner of the Cross of God, upon the breeze to flow. 
 
 But one there is, whose banner, above the Cross divine, 
 A scarf upholds, with azure folds, of love and faith the sign ; 
 Upon that galley's stern ye see a peerless warrior stand, 
 Though first he goes, still back he throws his eye upon the land.
 
 138 THE DEPARTURE OF KING SEBASTIAN. 
 
 Albeit through tears she looks, yet well may she that form descry, 
 
 Was never seen a vassal mien so noble and so high ; 
 
 Albeit the lady's cheek was pale, albeit her eyes were red, 
 
 ' May none withstand my true-love's hand ! God bless my Knight !' she said. 
 
 There are a thousand barons, all harnessed cap-a-pee, 
 
 With helm and spear that glitter clear above the dark-green sea ; 
 
 No lack of gold or silver, to stamp each proud device 
 
 On shield or surcoat, nor of chains and jewellery of price. 
 
 The seamen's cheers the lady hears, and mingling voices come 
 
 From every deck, of glad rebeck, of trumpet, and of drum ; 
 
 ' Who dare withstand Sebastian's hand 1 what Moor his gage may fting 
 
 At young Sebastian's feet 1' she said. ' The Lord hath blessed my King.'
 
 It is sometimes very difficult to determine which of the Moorish Ballads 
 ought to be included in the Historical, which in the Romantic class ; and 
 for this reason, the following five specimens are placed by themselves. 
 Several Ballads, decidedly of Moorish origin, such as REDUAN'S Vow, 
 THE FLIGHT TROM GRANADA, &c., have been printed in the preceding 
 Section.
 
 
 of 
 
 GAZUL is the name of one of the Moorish heroes who figure in the " Historia de las 
 Guerras Civiles de Granada." The following ballad is one of very many in which the 
 dexterity of the Moorish cavaliers in the Bull-fight is described. The reader will observe, 
 that the shape, activity, and resolution of the unhappy animal, destined to furnish the 
 amusement of the spectators, are enlarged upon, just as the qualities of a modern race- 
 horse might be among ourselves : nor is the bull without his name. The day of the Bap- 
 tist is a festival among the Mussulmans, as well as among Christians. 
 
 KING ALMANZOR of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound, 
 
 He hath summoned all the Moorish lords, from the hills and plains around ; 
 
 From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil, 
 
 They have come with helm and cuirass of gold and twisted steel. 
 
 'T is the holy Baptist's feast they hold in royalty and state, 
 And they have closed the spacious lists, beside the Alhambra's gate ; 
 In gowns of black with silver laced, within the tented ring, 
 Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed, in presence of the King. 
 
 Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stalwart arm and true, 
 
 The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through ; 
 
 The deeds they 've done, the spoils they 've won, fill all with hope and trust, 
 
 Yet, ere high in heaven appears the sun, they all have bit the dust ! 
 
 Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tambour, 
 Make room, make room for Gazul ! throw wide, throw wide the door ! 
 Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still ! more loudly strike the drum ! 
 The Alcayde of Algava to fight the bull doth come.
 
 THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL. 143 
 
 And first before the King he passed, with reverence stooping low, 
 And next he bowed him to the Queen, and the Infantas all a-rowe ; 
 Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to him did throw 
 A scarf from out her balcony was whiter than the snow. 
 
 With the life-blood of the slaughtered lords all slippery is the sand, 
 Yet proudly in the centre hath Gazul ta'en his stand ; 
 And ladies look with heaving breast, and lords with anxious eye, 
 But firmly he extends his arm, his look is calm and high. 
 
 Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and two come roaring on, 
 He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his rejon ; 
 Each furious beast upon the breast he deals him such a blow, 
 He blindly totters and gives back across the sand to go. 
 
 ' Turn, Gazul turn !' the people cry ; the third comes up behind, 
 Low to the sand his head holds he, his nostrils snuff the wind ; 
 The mountaineers that lead the steers without stand whispering low, 
 ' Now thinks this proud Alcayde to stun Harpado so ?' 
 
 From Guadiana comes he not, he comes not from Xenil, 
 
 From Gaudalarif of the plain, or Barves of the hill ; 
 
 But where from out the forest burst Xarama's waters clear, 
 
 Beneath the oak-trees was he nursed, this proud and stately steer. 
 
 Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood within doth boil, 
 And the dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he paws to the turmoil. 
 His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal rings of snow ; 
 But now they stare with one red glare of brass upon the foe. 
 
 Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand close and near, 
 From out the broad and wrinkled skull like daggers they appear ; 
 His neck is massy, like the trunk of some old knotted tree, 
 Whereon the monster's shagged mane, like billows curled, ye see. 
 
 His legs are short, his hams are thick, his hoofs are black as night, 
 Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierceness of his might ; 
 Like something molten out of iron, or hewn from forth the rock, 
 Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the Alcayde's shock.
 
 144 THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZTJL. 
 
 Now stops the drum ; close, close they come ; thrice meet, and thrice give back ; 
 The white foam of Harpado lies on the charger's breast of black, 
 The white foam of the charger on Harpado's front of dun ; 
 Once more advance upon his lance once more, thou fearless one ! 
 
 Once more, once more ! in dust and gore to ruin must thou reel ! 
 In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with furious heel ! 
 In vain, in vain, thou noble beast ! I see, I see thee stagger, 
 Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the stern Alcayde's dagger ! 
 
 They have slipped a noose around his feet, six horses are brought in, 
 And away they drag Harpado with a loud and joyful din. 
 Now stoop thee, lady, from thy stand, and the ring of price bestow 
 Upon Gazul of Algava, that hath laid Harpado low !
 
 JSrttre. 
 
 THE reader cannot need to be reminded of the fatal effects which were produced by 
 the feuds subsisting between the two great families, or rather races, of the Zegris and 
 the Abencerrages of Granada. The following ballad is also from the ' Guerras Civiles. 
 
 OF all the blood of Zegri, the chief is Lisaro, 
 To wield rejon like him is none, or javelin to throw ; 
 From the place of his dominion, he ere the dawn doth go, 
 From Alcala de Henares, he rides in weed of woe. 
 
 He rides not now as he was wont, when ye have seen him speed 
 
 To the field of gay Toledo, to fling his lusty reed ; 
 
 No gambeson of silk is on, nor rich embroidery 
 
 Of gold- wrought robe or turban, nor jewelled taliali. 
 
 No amethyst nor garnet is shining on his brow, 
 No crimson sleeve, which damsels weave at Tunis, decks him now ; 
 The belt is black, the hilt is dim, but the sheathed blade is bright ; 
 They have housened his barb in a murky garb, but yet her hoofs are light 
 
 Four horsemen good, of the Zegri blood, with Lisaro go out ; 
 
 No flashing spear may tell them near, but yet their shafts are stout ; 
 
 In darkness and in swiftness rides every armed knight, 
 
 The foam on the rein ye may see it plain, but nothing else is white. 
 
 Young Lisaro, as on they go, his bonnet doffeth he, 
 Between its folds a sprig it holds of a dark and glossy tree ; 
 That sprig of bay, were it away, right heavy heart had he, 
 Fair Zayda to her Zegri gave that token privily. 
 
 10
 
 146 THE ZEGRl's BKIDE. 
 
 And ever as they rode, he looked upon his lady's boon. 
 ' God knows,' quoth he, ' what fate may be ! I may be slaughtered soon ; 
 Thou still art mine, though scarce the sign of hope that bloomed whilere, 
 But in my grave I yet shall have my Zayda's token dear.' 
 
 Young Lisaro was musing so, when onwards on the path, 
 He well could see them riding slow ; then pricked he in his wrath. 
 The raging sire, the kinsmen of Zayda's hateful house, 
 Fought well that day, yet in the fray the Zegri won his spouse.
 
 of 
 
 THE following ballad has been often imitated by modern poets, both in Spain and in 
 
 Germany : 
 
 ' Pon te a las rejas azules, dexa la manga que labras, 
 
 Melancholica Xarifa, veras al galan Andalla,' &c. 
 
 ' RISE up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden cushion down ; 
 
 Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town ! 
 
 From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing, 
 
 And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly blowing, 
 
 And banners bright from lattice light are waving every where, 
 
 And the tall tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly in the air : 
 
 Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden cushion down ; 
 
 Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town ! 
 
 Arise, arise, Xarifa ! I see Andalla's face, 
 He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace ; 
 Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquiver 
 Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely never. 
 Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of purple mixed with white, 
 I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night ; 
 Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden cushion down ; 
 Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town ! 
 
 ' What aileth thee, Xarifa what makes thine eyes look down ? 
 Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town ? 
 I've heard you say on many a day, and sure you said the truth, 
 Andalla rides without a peer, among all Granada's youth.
 
 148 THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA. 
 
 Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go 
 Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow : 
 Then rise, oh ! rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down ; 
 Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town !' 
 
 The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down, 
 
 Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town ; 
 
 But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove, 
 
 And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove ; 
 
 One bonny rose-bud she had traced, before the noise drew nigh ; 
 
 That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping from her eye. 
 
 ' No no !' she sighs, ' bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down, 
 
 To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town ! } 
 
 ' Why rise ye not, Xarifa nor lay your cushion down 1 
 Why gaze ye not, Xarifa with all the gazing town 1 
 Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry ! 
 He stops at Zara's palace-gate why sit ye still oh, why !' 
 
 ' At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate ; in him shalll discover 
 
 The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover 1 
 I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down, 
 To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town !'
 
 ' MY ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! they 've dropped into the well, 
 And what to say to Mua, I cannot, cannot tell ;' 
 'T was thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter 
 ' The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water ; 
 To me did Mu$a give them, when he spake his sad farewell, 
 And what to say when he comes back, alas ! I cannot tell. 
 
 ' My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! they were pearls, in silver set, 
 That, when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget ; 
 That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale, 
 But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings pale. 
 When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well, 
 Oh ! what will Mua think of me ! I cannot, cannot tell ! 
 
 ' My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! he '11 say they should have been, 
 Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen, 
 Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, 
 Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere ; 
 That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting well ; 
 Thus will he think, and what to say, alas ! I cannot tell. 
 
 ' He '11 think, when I to market went, I loitered by the way ; 
 
 He '11 think, a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say ; 
 
 He '11 think, some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed, 
 
 From the ears where he had placed them my rings of pearl unloosed ; 
 
 He '11 think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well, 
 
 My pearls fell in, and what to say, alas ! I cannot tell.
 
 150 ZARA'S EAR-RINGS. 
 
 He '11 say, I am a woman, and we are all the same ; 
 He '11 say, I loved, when he was here, to whisper of his flame,- 
 But, when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had broken, 
 And thought no more of Mua, and cared not for his token. 
 My ear-rings ! my ear-rings : oh ! luckless, luckless well, 
 For what to say to Mua, alas ! I cannot tell. 
 
 1 1 '11 tell the truth to Mu9a, and I hope he will believe, 
 That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve : 
 That, musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone, 
 His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone ; 
 And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell, 
 And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well !'
 
 ^Lamentation for <cluu 
 
 AT the gate of old Granada, when all its bolts are barred, 
 
 At twilight, at the Vega-gate, there is a trampling heard ; 
 
 There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow, 
 
 And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound of woe ! 
 
 ' What tower is fallen, what star is set, what chief come these bewailing V 
 
 ' A tower is fallen, a star is set ! Alas ! alas for Celin !' 
 
 Three times they knock, three times they cry, and wide the doors they throw ; 
 
 Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go ; 
 
 In gloomy lines they mustering stand, beneath the hollow porch, 
 
 Each horseman grasping in his hand a black and flaming torch ; 
 
 Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing, 
 
 For all have heard the misery. ' Alas ! alas for Celin !' 
 
 Him, yesterday, a Moor did slay, of Bencerraje's blood, 
 'T was at the solemn jousting around the nobles stood ; 
 The nobles of the land were by, and ladies bright and fair 
 Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share ; 
 But now the nobles all lament the ladies are bewailing 
 For he was Granada's darling knight. ' Alas ! alas for Celin !' 
 
 Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two, 
 With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to view ; 
 Behind him his four sisters, eaeh wrapped ip sable veil, 
 Between the tambour's dismal strokes take up their doleful tale ; 
 When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brotherless bewailing, 
 And all the people, far and near, cry ' Alas ! alas for Celin !'
 
 152 THE LAMENTATION FOK CELIN. 
 
 Oh ! lovely lies he on the bier, above the purple pall, 
 
 The flower of all Granada's youth, the loveliest of them all ; 
 
 His dark, dark eyes are closed, his rosy lip is pale, 
 
 The crust of blood lies black and dim upon his burnished mail ; 
 
 And evermore the hoarse tambour breaks in upon their wailing, 
 
 Its sound is like no earthly sound ' Alas ! alas for Celin !' 
 
 The Moorish maid at the lattice stands, the Moor stands at his door ; 
 One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore ; 
 Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they strew 
 Upon their broidered garments, of crimson, green, and blue ; 
 Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the loud bewailing, 
 From door and lattice, high and low 'Alas ! alas for Celin !' 
 
 An old old woman cometh forth, when she hears the people cry, 
 
 Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazed eye : 
 
 'T was she that nursed him at her breast, that nursed him long ago ; 
 
 She knows not whom they all lament, but soon she well shall know J 
 
 With one deep shriek, she thro' doth break, when her ears receive their wailing- 
 
 ' Let me kiss my Celin ere I die Alas ! alas for Celin 1'
 
 BAIJLABS* 
 
 20

 
 STfje 
 
 IN the following version, I have taken liberty to omit many of the introductory stanzas \ 
 of the famous " Coplas de Calainos." The reader will remember that this ballad is s 
 alluded to in Don Quixote, where the knight's nocturnal|visit to Toboso is described. It 
 is generally believed to be among the most ancient, and certainly was among the most 
 popular, of all the ballads in the Cancionero. 
 
 ' I HAD six Moorish nurses, but the seventh was not a Moor, 
 The Moors they gave me milk enow, but the Christian gave me lore ; 
 And she told me ne'er to listen, though sweet the words might be, 
 Till he that spake had proved his troth, and pledged a gallant fee.' 
 
 ' Fair damsel,' quoth Calaynos, ' if thou wilt go with me, 
 Say what may win thy favor, and mine that gift shall be : 
 Fair stands the castle on the rock, the city in the vale, 
 And bonny is the red red gold, and rich the silver pale.' 
 
 ' Fair sir,' quoth she, ' virginity I never will lay down 
 For gold, nor yet for silver, for castle, nor for town ; 
 But I will be your leman for the heads of certain peers ; 
 And I ask but three Rinaldo's, Roland's, and Olivier's.' 
 
 He kissed her hand where she did stand, he kissed her lips also, 
 And ' Bring forth,' he cries, ' my pennon, for to Paris I must go !' 
 I wot ye saw them rearing his banner broad right soon, 
 Whereon revealed his bloody field its pale and crescent moon. 
 
 That broad bannere the Moor did rear, ere many days were gone, 
 In foul disdain of Charlemagne, by the church of good Saint John ; 
 In the midst of stately Paris, on the royal banks of Seine, 
 Shall never scornful Paynim that pennon rear again.
 
 156 THE MOOR CALAYNOS. 
 
 His banner he hath planted high, and loud his trumpet blown, 
 That all the twelve might hear it well around King Charles's throne ; 
 The note he blew right well they knew ; both paladin and peer 
 Had the trumpet heard of that stern lord in many a fierce career. 
 
 It chanced the King, that fair morning, to the chase had made him bowne, 
 With many a knight of warlike might, and prince of high renown : 
 Sir Reynold of Montalban, and Claros' lord, Gaston, 
 Behind him rode, and Bertram good, that reverend old baron. 
 
 Black D'Ardennes' eye of mastery in that proud troop was seen ; 
 And there was Urgel's giant force, and Guarinos' princely mien ; 
 Gallant and gay upon that day was Baldwin's youthful cheer, 
 But first did ride, by Charles's side, Roland and Olivier. 
 
 Now in a ring, around the King, not far in the greenwood, 
 
 Awaiting all the huntsman's call, it chanced the nobles stood ; 
 
 'Now list, mine earls, now list !' quoth Charles, 'yon breeze will come again,- 
 
 Some trumpet-note methinks doth float from the fair bank of Seine.' 
 
 He scarce had heard the trumpet, the word he scarce had said, 
 When among the trees he near him sees a dark and turbaned head ; 
 ' Now stand, now stand at my command, bold Moor !' quoth Charlemagne ; 
 ' That turban green, how dare it be seen among the woods of Seine 1' 
 
 ' My turban green must needs be seen among the woods of Seine,' 
 The Moor replied, ' since here I ride in quest of Charlemagne ; 
 For I serve the Moor Calaynos, and I his defiance bring 
 To every lord that sits at the board of Charlemagne your King. 
 
 ' Now lordlings fair, if any where in the wood ye 've seen him riding, 
 Oh, tell me plain the path he has ta'en, there is no cause for chiding ; 
 For my lord hath blown his trumpet by every gate of Paris, 
 Long hours in vain, by the bank of Seine, upon his steed he tarries.' 
 
 When the Emperor had heard the Moor, full red was his old cheek : 
 
 ' Go back, base cur, upon the spur, for I am he you seek : 
 
 Go back, and tell your master to commend him to Mahoun, 
 
 For his soul shall dwell with him in hell, or ere yon sun go down !
 
 THE MOOR CALAYNOS. 157 
 
 ' Mine arm is weak, my hairs are gray' (thus spake King Charlemagne,) 
 1 Would for one hour I had the power of my young days again ; 
 As when I plucked the Saxon from out his mountain-den, 
 Oh, soon should cease the vaunting of this proud Saracen ! 
 
 4 Though now mine arm be weakened, though now my hairs be gray, 
 The hard- won praise of other days cannot be swept away ; 
 If shame there be, my liegemen, that shame on you must lie ; 
 Go forth, go forth, good Roland ; to-night this Moor must die !' 
 
 ! Then out and spake rough Roland ' Ofttimes I 've thinned the ranks 
 
 \ Of the hot Moor, and when 't was o'er have won me little thanks ; 
 
 \ Some carpet knight will take delight to do this doughty feat, 
 
 ! Whom damsels gay shall well repay with smiles and whispers sweet !' 
 
 Then out and spake Sir Baldwin the youngest peer was he 
 The youngest and the comeliest ' Let none go forth but me ; 
 Sir Roland is mine uncle, and he may in safety jeer, 
 But I will show, the youngest may be Sir Roland's peer.' 
 
 ' Nay, go not thou,' quoth Charlemagne, ' thou art my gallant youth, 
 And braver none I look upon ; but thy cheek it is too smooth ; 
 And the curls upon thy forehead they are too glossy bright ; 
 Some elder peer must couch his spear against this crafty knight' 
 
 But away, away goes Baldwin, no words can stop him now ; 
 Behind him lies the greenwood, he hath gained the mountain's brow ; 
 He reineth first his charger, within the church-yard green, 
 Where, striding slow the elms below, the haughty Moor is seen. 
 
 Then out and spake Calaynos, ' Fair youth, I greet thee well ; 
 Thou art a comely stripling, and if thou with me wilt dwell, 
 All for the grace of thy sweet face, thou shalt not lack thy fee, 
 Within my lady's chamber a pretty page thou 'It be.' 
 
 An angry man was Baldwin, when thus he heard him speak : 
 
 ' Proud knight,' quoth he, ' I come with thee a bloody spear to break !' 
 
 Oh, sternly smiled Calaynos, when thus he heard him say : 
 
 Oh, loudly as he mounted his mailed barb did neigh.
 
 158 THE MOOK CALAYNOS. 
 
 One shout, one thrust, and in the dust young Baldwin lies full low ; 
 No youthful knight could bear the might of that fierce warrior's blow ; 
 Calaynos draws his falchion, and waves it to and fro : 
 1 Thy name now say, and for mercy pray, or to hell thy soul must go !' 
 
 The helpless youth revealed the truth : then said the conqueror, 
 ' I spare thee for thy tender years, and for thy great valor ; 
 But thou must rest thee captive here, and serve me on thy knee, 
 For fain I'd tempt some doughtier peer to come and rescue thee.' 
 
 Sir Roland heard that haughty word (he stood behind the wall ;) 
 His heart, I trow, was heavy enow, when he saw his kinsman fall ; 
 But now his heart was burning, and never word he said, 
 But clasped his buckler on his arm, his helmet on his head. 
 
 Another sight saw the Moorish knight, when Roland blew his horn, 
 To call him to the combat in anger and in scorn ; 
 All cased in steel from head to heel, in the stirrup high he stood, 
 The long spear quivered in his hand, as if athirst for blood. 
 
 Then out and spake Calaynos, ' Thy name I fain would hear ; 
 
 A coronet on thy helm is set ; I guess thou art a peer.' 
 
 Sir Roland lifted up his horn, and blew another blast : 
 
 ' No words, base Moor !' quoth Roland, ' this hour shall be thy last !' 
 
 I wot they met full swiftly, I wot the shock was rude ; 
 
 Down fell the misbeliever, and o'er him Roland stood ; 
 
 Close to his throat the steel he brought, and plucked his beard full sore 
 
 ' What devil brought thee hither ? speak out or die, false Moor !' 
 
 ' Oh ! I serve a noble damsel, a haughty maid of Spain, 
 
 And in evil day I took my way, that I her grace might gain ; 
 
 For every gift I offered my lady did disdain, 
 
 And craved the ears of certain peers that ride with Charlemagne.' 
 
 Then loudly laughed rough Roland : ' Full few will be her tears, 
 It was not love her soul did move, who bade thee beard THE PEERS :' 
 With that he smote upon his throat, and spurned his crest in twain ; 
 ' No more,' he cries, 'this moon will rise above the woods of Seine !'
 
 ISscape of 
 
 THE story of Gayfer de Bourdeaux is to be found at great length in the Romantic 
 Chronicle of Charlemagne ; and it has supplied the Spanish minstrels with subjects for a 
 long series of ballads. In that which follows, Gayferos, yet a boy, is represented as 
 hearing from his mother the circumstances of his father's death ; and as narrowly escap- 
 ing with his own life, in consequence of his step-father, Count Galvan's cruelty. 
 
 There is another ballad which represents Gayferos, now grown to be a man, as coming 
 in the disguise of a pilgrim to his mother's house, and slaying his step-father with his 
 own hand. The Countess is only satisfied as to his identity by the circumstance of the 
 
 finger : 
 
 1 El dedo bien es aqueste, aqui lo vereys faltar 
 La condesa que csto oyera empezole de abracar.' 
 
 BEFORE her knee the boy did stand, within the dais so fair, 
 The golden shears were in her hand, to clip his curled hair ; 
 And ever, as she clipped the curls, such doleful words she spake, 
 That tears ran from Gayferos' eyes, for his sad mother's sake. 
 
 4 God grant a beard were on thy face, and strength thine arm within, 
 To fling a spear, or swing a mace, like Roland Paladin ! 
 For then, I think, thou wouldst avenge thy father that is dead, 
 Whom envious traitors slaughtered within thy mother's bed ; 
 
 ' Their bridal-gifts were rich and rare, that hate might not be seen ; 
 They cut me garments broad and fair none fairer hath the Queen.' 
 Then out and spake the little boy ' Each night to God I call, 
 And to his blessed Mother, to make me strong and tall !' 
 
 The Count he heard Gayferos, in the palace where he lay : 
 ' Now silence, silence, Countess 1 it is falsehood that you say ; 
 I neither slew the man, nor hired another's sword to slay ; 
 But, that the mother hath desired, be sure the son shall pay 5'
 
 160 THE ESCAPE OF GAYFEROS. 
 
 The Count called to his esquires (old followers were they, 
 Whom the dead lord had nurtured for many a merry day ;) 
 He bade them take their old lord's heir, and stop his tender breath ; 
 Alas ! 'twas piteous but to hear the manner of that death. 
 
 ' List, esquires, list, for my command is offspring of mine oath, 
 The stirrup-foot and the hilt-hand see that ye sunder both ; 
 That ye cut out his eyes 'twere best the safer he will go ; 
 And bring a finger and the heart, that I his end may know.' 
 
 The esquires took the little boy aside with them to go ; 
 Yet, as they went, they did repent ' O God ! must this be so ] 
 How shall we think to look for grace, if this poor child we slay, 
 When ranged before Christ Jesu's face at the great judgment-day 1 ?' 
 
 While they, not knowing what to do, were standing in such talk, 
 The Countess' little lap-dog bitch by chance did cross their walk ; 
 Then out and spake one of the 'squires (you may hear the words he said,) 
 ' I think the coming of this bitch may serve us in good stead ! 
 
 ' Let us take out the bitch's heart, and give it to Galvan ; 
 The boy may with a finger part, and be no worser man.' 
 With that they cut the joint away, and whispered in his ear, 
 That he must wander many a day, nor once those parts come near. 
 
 ' Your uncle grace and love will show ; he is a bounteous man.' 
 And so they let Gayferos go, and turned them to Galvan ; 
 The heart and the small finger upon the board they laid, 
 And of Gayferos' slaughter a cunning story made. 
 
 The Countess, when she hears them, in great grief loudly cries : 
 Meantime the stripling safely unto his uncle hies : 
 ' Now welcome, my fair boy,' he said, ' what good news may they be 
 Come with thee to thine uncle's hall V ' Sad tidings come with me : 
 
 ' The false Galvan had laid his plan to have me in my grave ; 
 But I've escaped him, and am here, my boon from thee to crave : 
 Rise up, rise up, mine uncle, thy brother's blood they've shed ! 
 Rise up they've slain my father within my mother's bed !'
 
 THE following is a version of another of the ballads concerning Gayferos. It is the > 
 same that is quoted in the chapter of the Puppet-show in Don Quixote. ' Now, sirs, he ' 
 that you see there a-horseback, wrapt up in the Gascoign-cloak, is Don Gayferos himself, i 
 whom his wife, now revenged on the Moor for his impudence, seeing from the battle- s 
 ments of the tower, takes him for a stranger, and talks with him as such, according to 
 the ballad 
 
 ' Quoth Melisendra, if perchance, 
 Sir Traveller, you go for France,' &c. 
 
 The place of the lady's captivity was Saragossa, anciently called Sansuena. 
 
 AT Sansuena, in the tower, fair Melisendra lies, 
 Her heart is far away in France, and tears are in her eyes ; 
 The twilight shade is thickening laid on Sansuena's plain, 
 Yet wistfully the lady her weary eyes doth strain. 
 
 She gazes from the dungeon strong, forth on the road to Paris, 
 Weeping, and wondering why so long her lord Gayferos tarries ; 
 When lo ! a knight appears in view a knight of Christian mien 
 Upon a milk-white charger he rides the elms between. 
 
 She from her window reaches forth her hand a sign to make : 
 ' Oh, if you be a knight of worth, draw near for mercy's sake ; 
 For mercy and sweet charity, draw near, Sir Knight to me, 
 And tell me if ye ride to France, or whither bowne ye be. 
 
 ' Oh, if ye be a Christian knight, and if to France you go, 
 I pray thee tell Gayferos that you have seen my woe ; 
 That you have seen me weeping, here in the Moorish tower, 
 While he is gay by night and day, in hall and lady's bower.
 
 162 MELISENDRA. 
 
 ' Seven summers have I waited seven winters long are spent : 
 Yet word of comfort none he speaks, nor token hath he sent ; 
 And if he is weary of my love, and would have me wed a stranger, 
 Still say his love is true to him nor time nor wrong can change her !' 
 
 The knight on stirrup rising, bids her wipe her tears away : 
 
 ' My love, no time for weeping, no peril save delay ; 
 
 Come, boldy spring, and lightly leap, no listening Moor is near us, 
 
 And by dawn of day we '11 be far away :' so spake the night Gayferos. 
 
 She hath made the sign of the Cross divine, and an Ave she hath said, 
 And she dares the leap both wide and deep that lady without dread ; 
 And he hath kissed her pale pale cheek, and lifted her behind : 
 Saint Denis speed the milk-white steed ! no Moor their path shall find.
 
 lireauu 
 
 THE following is an attempt to render one of the most admired of all the Spanish bal- 
 lads. 
 
 ' En Paris esta Dona Alda, la esposa de Don Roldan, 
 Trecientas damas con ella, para la accompanar, 
 Todas visten un vestido, todas valcau un calcar,' &c. 
 
 In its whole structure and strain, it bears a very remarkable resemblance to several of 
 our own old ballads, both English and Scottish. 
 
 IN Paris sits the lady that shall be Sir Roland's bride, 
 
 Three hundred damsels with her, her bidding to abide ; 
 
 All clothed in the same fashion, both the mantle and the shoon, 
 
 All eating at one table, within her hall at noon : 
 
 All, save the Lady Alda, she is lady of them all, 
 
 She keeps her place upon the dais, and they serve her in her hall ; 
 
 The thread of gold a hundred spin, the lawn a hundred weave, 
 
 And a hundred play sweet melody within Alda's bower at eve. 
 
 With the sound of their sweet playing, the lady falls asleep, 
 
 And she dreams a doleful dream, and her damsels hear her weep : 
 
 There is sorrow in her slumber, and she waketh with a cry, 
 
 And she calleth for her damsels, and swiftly they come nigh. 
 
 ' Now, what is it, Lady Alda' (you may hear the words they say) 
 
 * Bringeth sorrow to thy pillow, and chaseth sleep away ?' 
 
 ' Oh, my maidens !' quoth the lady, ' my heart it is full sore ! 
 
 I have dreamt a dream of evil, and can slumber never more ! 
 
 1 For I was upon a mountain, in a bare and desert place, 
 And I saw a mighty eagle, and a falcon he did chase ; 
 And to me the falcon came, and I hid it in my breast ; 
 But the mighty bird, pursuing, came and rent away my vest ;
 
 164 LADY ALDA'S DREAM. 
 
 And he scattered all the feathers, and blood was on his beak, 
 And ever, as he tore and tore, I heard the falcon shriek. 
 Now read my vision, damsels, now read my dream to me, 
 For my heart may well be heavy that doleful sight to see.' 
 
 Out spake the foremost damsel was in her chamber there 
 ' (You may hear the words she says) ' Oh ! my lady's dream is fair : 
 The mountain is St. Denis' choir, and thou the falcon art ; 
 And the eagle strong that teareth the garment from thy heart, 
 And scattereth the feathers, he is the Paladin, 
 
 That, when again he comes from Spain, must sleep thy bower within. 
 Then be blythe of cheer, my lady, for the dream thou must not grieve, 
 It means but that thy bridegroom shall come to thee at eve.' 
 
 ' If thou hast read my vision, and read it cunningly,' 
 
 Thus said the Lady Alda, ' thou shalt not lack thy fee.' 
 
 But woe is me for Alda ! there was heard, at morning hour, 
 
 A voice of lamentation within that lady's bower ; 
 
 For there had come to Paris a messenger by night, 
 
 And his horse it was a-weary, and his visage it was white ; 
 
 And there 's weeping in the chamber, and there 's silence in the hall, 
 
 For Sir Roland has been slaughtered in the chase of Roncesval.
 
 TIje 
 
 THIS is a translation of the ballad which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, when at 
 Toboso, overheard a peasant singing, as he was going to his work at daybreak. ' Iba 
 > cantando,' says Cervantes, ' aquel romance que dice, 
 
 ' Mala la vistes Franceses la caca de Ronccsvallcs.' 
 
 THE day of Roncesvalles was a dismal day for you, 
 
 Ye men of France, for there the lance of King Charles was broke in two 
 
 Ye well may curse that rueful field, for many a noble peer, 
 
 In fray or fight, the dust did bite, beneath Bernardo's spear. 
 
 There captured was Guarinos, King Charles's admiral ; 
 Seven Moorish kings surrounded him, and seized him for their thrall ; 
 Seven times, when all the chase was o'er, for Guarinos lots they cast ; 
 Seven times Marlotes won the throw, and the knight was his at last. 
 
 Much joy had then Marlotes, and his captive much did prize ; 
 Above all the wealth of Araby, he was precious in his eyes. 
 Within his tent at evening he made the best of cheer, 
 And thus, the banquet done, he spake unto his prisoner. 
 
 4 Now, for the sake of Alia, Lord Admiral Guarinos, 
 Be thou a Moslem, and much love shall ever rest between us : 
 Two daughters have I, all the day thy handmaid one shall be, 
 The other (and the fairer far) by night shall cherish thee. 
 
 4 The one shall be thy waiting-maid, thy weary feet to lave, 
 To scatter perfumes on thy head, and fetch thee garments brave ; 
 The other she the pretty shall deck her bridal-bower, 
 And my field and my city they both shall be her dower.
 
 166 THE ADMIRAL GUARINOS. 
 
 ' If more thou wishest, more I'll give ; speak boldly what thy thought is ;' 
 
 Thus earnestly and kindly to Guarinos said Marlotes : 
 
 But not a moment did he take to ponder or to pause, 
 
 Thus clear and quick the answer of the Christian captain was : 
 
 ' Now, God forbid ! Marlotes, and Mary, his dear mother, 
 That I should leave the faith of Christ, and bind me to another : 
 For women I've one wife in France, and I'll wed no more in Spain ; 
 I change not faith, I break not vow, for courtesy or gain.' 
 
 Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when thus he heard him say, 
 And all for ire commanded, he should be led away ; 
 Away unto the dungeon-keep, beneath its vaults to lie, 
 With fetters bound in darkness deep, far off from sun and sky. 
 
 With iron bands they bound his hands : that sore unworthy plight 
 Might well express his helplessness, doomed never more to fight. 
 Again, from cincture down to knee, long bolts of iron he bore, 
 Which signified the knight should ride on charger never more. 
 
 Three times alone, in all the year, it is the captive's doom 
 To see God's daylight bright and clear, instead of dungeon-gloom ; 
 Three times alone they bring him out, like Sampson long ago, 
 Before the Moorish rabble-rout to be a sport and show. 
 
 On three high feasts they bring him forth, a spectacle to be, 
 The feast of Pasque, and the great day of the Nativity, 
 And on that morn, more solemn yet, when maidens strip the bowers, 
 And gladden mosque and minaret with the firstlings of the flowers. 
 
 Day come and go of gloom and show : seven years are come and gone ; 
 And now doth fall the festival of the holy Baptist John ; 
 Christian and Moslem tilts and jousts, to give it homage due, 
 And rushes on the paths to spread they force the sulky Jew. 
 
 Marlotes, in his joy and pride, a target high doth rear 
 
 Below the Moorish knights must ride, and pierce it with the spear ; 
 
 But 'tis so high up in the sky, albeit much they strain, 
 
 No Moorish lance so far may fly, Marlotes' prize to gain.
 
 THE ADMIRAL GUARINOS. 167 
 
 Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when he beheld them fail ; 
 
 The whisker trembled on his lip, his cheek for ire was pale ; 
 
 And heralds proclamation made, with trumpets, through the town, 
 
 ' Nor child shall suck, nor man shall eat, till the mark be tumbled down.' 
 
 The cry of proclamation, and the trumpet's haughty sound, 
 
 Did send an echo to the vault where the Admiral was bound. 
 
 'Now, help me God !' the captive cries, ' what means this din so loud ? 
 
 Queen of Heaven ! be vengeance given on these thy haters proud ! 
 
 ' Oh ! is it that some Pagan gay doth Marlotes' daughter wed, 
 
 And that they bear my scorned fair in triumph to his bed 1 
 
 Or is it that the day is come, one of the hateful three, 
 
 When they, with trumpet, fife, and drum, make heathen game of me V 
 
 These words the jailer chanced to hear, and thus to him he said, 
 ' These tabors, Lord, and trumpet's clear, conduct no bride to bed ; 
 Nor has the feast come round again, when he that has the right 
 Commands thee forth, thou foe of Spain, to glad the people's sight ! 
 
 ' This is the joyful morning of John the Baptist's day, 
 When Moor and Christian feasts at home, each in his nation's way ; 
 But now our King commands that none his banquet shall begin, 
 Until some knight, by strength or sleight, the spearman's prize do win.' 
 
 Then out and spake Guarinos, ' Oh ! soon each man should feed, 
 Were I but mounted once again on my own gallant steed : 
 Oh ! were I mounted as of old, and harnessed cap-a-pee, 
 Full soon Marlotes' prize I'd hold, whate'er its price may be ! 
 
 1 Give me my horse, mine old gray horse, so be he is not dead, 
 All gallantly caparisoned, with plate on breast and head, 
 
 And give the lance I brought from France ; and if I win it not, 
 My life shall be the forfeiture, I'll yield it on the spot.' 
 
 The jailer wondered at his words : thus to the knight said he, 
 ' Seven weary years of chains and gloom have little humbled thee ; 
 There's never a man in Spain, I trow, the like so well might bear ; 
 And if thou wilt, I with thy vow will to the King repair.'
 
 168 THE ADMIRAL GUARINOS. 
 
 The jailer put his mantle on, and came unto the King, 
 He found him sitting on the throne, within his listed ring ; 
 Close to his ear he planted him, and the story did begin, 
 How bold Guarinos vaunted him the spearman's prize to win. 
 
 That, were he mounted but once more on his own gallant gray, 
 And armed with the lance he bore on Roncesvalles' day, 
 What never Moorish night could pierce, he would pierce it at a blow, 
 Or give with joy his life-blood fierce, at Marlotes' feet to flow. 
 
 Much marvelling, then said the King, ' Bring Sir Guarinos forth, 
 And in the grange go seek ye for his gray steed of worth ; 
 His arms are rusty on the wall, seven years have gone, I judge, 
 Since that strong horse has bent his force to be a carrion drudge ; 
 
 ' Now this will be a sight indeed, to see the enfeebled lord 
 Essay to mount that ragged steed, and draw that rusty sword ; 
 And for the vaunting of his phrase he well deserves to die, 
 So, jailer, gird his harness on, and bring your champion nigh.' 
 
 They have girded on his shirt of mail, his cuisses well they 've clasped, 
 And they've barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand the lance hath 
 
 grasped, 
 
 And they have caught the old gray horse, the horse he loved of yore, 
 And he stands pawing at the gate caparisoned once more. 
 
 When the knight came out, the Moors did. shout, and loudly laughed the King, 
 
 For the horse he pranced and capered, and furiously did fling ; 
 
 But Guarinos whispered in his ear, and looked into his face, 
 
 Then stood the old charger like a lamb, with a calm and gentle grace. 
 
 Oh ! lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree, 
 
 And slowly riding down made halt before Marlotes' knee ; 
 
 Again the heathen laughed aloud, ' All hail, sir knight,' quoth he, 
 
 ' Now do thy best, thou champion proud : thy blood I look to see !' 
 
 With that, Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode, 
 Pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode : 
 Now ride, now ride, Guarinos nor lance nor rowel spare 
 Slay, slay, and gallop for thy life : the land of France lies there !
 
 ILatrs of tfje 
 
 THE following is one of the few old Spanish ballads in which mention is made of the 
 Fairies. The sleeping child's being taken away from the arms of the nurse, is a circum- 
 stance quite in accordance with our own tales of Fairyland ; but the seven years' enchant- 
 ment in the tree reminds us tflore of those oriental fictions, the influence of which has 
 stamped so many indelible traces on the imaginative literature of Spain. 
 
 THE knight had hunted long, and twilight closed the day, 
 His hounds were weak and weary, his hawk had flown away ; 
 He stopped beneath an oak, an old and mighty tree, 
 Then out the maiden spoke, and a comely maid was she. 
 
 The knight 'gan lift his eye the shady boughs between, 
 She had her seat on high, among the oak-leaves green ; 
 Her golden curls lay clustering above her breast of snow, 
 But when the breeze was westering, upon it they did flow. 
 
 ' Oh, fear not, gentle knight ! there is no cause for fear ; 
 I am a good king's daughter, long years enchanted here ; 
 Seven cruel fairies found me, they charmed a sleeping child ; 
 Seven years their charm hath bound me, a damsel undefiled. 
 
 ' Seven weary years are gone since o'er me charms they threw ; 
 I have dwelt here alone, I have seen none but you. 
 My seven sad years are spent ; for Christ that died on rood, 
 Thou noble knight consent, and lead me from the wood ! 
 
 ' Oh, bring me forth again from out this darksome place ! 
 I dare not sleep for terror of the unholy race. 
 Oh, take me, gentle sir ! I '11 be a wife to thee, 
 I '11 be thy lowly leman, if wife I may not be ! '
 
 170 THE LADY OF THE TREE. 
 
 ' Till dawns the morning, wait, thou lovely lady ! here ; 
 I '11 ask my mother straight, for her reproof I fear.' 
 ' Oh, ill beseems thee, knight !' said she, that maid forlorn, 
 ' The blood of kings to slight, a lady's tears to scorn !' 
 
 He came when morning broke, to fetch the maid away, 
 But could not find the oak wherein she made her stay ; 
 All through the wilderness he sought in bower and tree ; 
 Fair lordlings, well ye guess what weary heart had he ! 
 
 There came a sound of voices from up the forest glen, 
 The King had come to find her with all his gentlemen ; 
 They rode in mickle glee a joyous calvacade 
 Fair in the midst rode she, but never word she said. 
 
 Though on the green he knelt, no look on him she cast 
 His hand was on the hilt ere all the train were past. 
 ' Oh, shame to knightly blood ! Oh, scorn to chivalry ! 
 I '11 die within the wood : No eye my death shall see !'
 
 THE ballad of the Infante Vengador is proved to be of very high antiquity by certain 
 particulars in its language. The circumstance of the tiled floor, and some others of the 
 same sort, will not escape the notice of the antiquarian reader. 
 
 HURRAH ! hurrah ! avoid the way of the Avenging Childe ; 
 His horse is swift as sands that drift, an Arab of the wild ; 
 His gown is twisted round his arm, a ghastly cheek he wears ; 
 And in his hand, for deadly harm, a hunting knife he bears. 
 
 Avoid that knife in battle-strife : that weapon short and thin, 
 The dragon's gore hath bathed it o'er, seven times 't was steeped therein ; 
 Seven times the smith hath proved its pith, it cuts a coulter through ; 
 In France the blade was fashioned, from Spain the shaft it drew. 
 
 He sharpens it, as he doth ride, upon his saddle bow, 
 He sharpens it on either side, he makes the steel to glow : 
 He rides to find Don Quadros, that false and faitour knight ; 
 His glance of ire is hot as fire, although his cheek be white. 
 
 He found him standing by the King within the judgment-hall ; 
 He rushed within the barons' ring, he stood before them all : 
 Seven times he gazed and pondered, if he the deed should do ; 
 Eight times distraught he looked and thought then out his dagger flew. 
 
 He stabbed therewith at Quadros : the King did step between ; 
 
 It pierced his royal garment of purple wove with green : 
 
 He fell beneath the canopy, upon the tiles he lay. 
 
 Thou traitor keen, what dost thou mean 1 thy King why wouldst thou slay 1 ?'
 
 172 THE AVENGING CHILDE. 
 
 ' Now, pardon, pardon,' cried the Childe, ' I stabbed not, King, at thee, 
 But him, that caitiff, blood-defiled, who stood beside thy knee ; 
 Eight brothers were we, in the land might none more loving be, 
 They all are slain by Quadros' hand, they all are dead but me ! 
 
 ' Good King, I fain would wash the stain, for vengeance is my cry ; 
 This murderer with sword and spear to battle I defy !'- 
 But all took part with Quadros, except one lovely May, 
 Except the King's fair daughter, none word for him would say. 
 
 She took their hands, she led them forth into the court below ; 
 She bade the ring be guarded, she bade the trumpet blow ; 
 From lofty place for that stern race the signal she did throw : 
 ' With truth and right the Lord will fight, together let them go.' 
 
 The one is up, the other down : the hunter's knife is bare ; 
 It cuts the lace beneath the face, it cuts through beard and hair ; 
 Right soon that knife hath quenched his life, the head is sundered sheer ; 
 Then gladsome smiled the Avenging Childe, and fixed it on his spear. 
 
 But when the King beholds him bring that token of his truth, 
 Nor scorn nor wrath his bosom hath : ' Kneel down, thou noble youth ; 
 Kneel down, kneel down, and kiss my crown, I am no more thy foe ; 
 My daughter now may pay the vow she plighted long ago !'
 
 (fcotmt 
 
 THIS ballad is in the Cancionero of Antwerp, 1555. I should be inclined to suppose 
 that 
 
 ' More is meant than meets the ear,' 
 
 that some religious allegory is intended to be shadowed forth. 
 
 WHO had ever such adventure, 
 
 Holy priest, or virgin nun, 
 As befel the Count Arnaldos 
 
 At the rising of the sun ] 
 
 On his wrist the hawk was hooded, 
 Forth with horn and hound went he, 
 
 When he saw a stately galley 
 Sailing on the silent sea. 
 
 Sail of satin, mast of cedar, 
 
 Burnished poop of beaten gold, 
 
 Many a morn you '11 hood your falcon 
 Ere you such a bark behold. 
 
 Sails of satin, masts of cedar, 
 Golden poops may come again, 
 
 But mortal ear no more shall listen 
 To yon gray-haired sailor's strain. 
 
 Heart may beat, and eye may glisten, 
 Faith is strong, and Hope is free, 
 
 But mortal ear no more shall listen 
 To the song that rules the sea.
 
 174 COUNT ARNALDOS. 
 
 When the gray-haired sailor chaunted, 
 Every wind was hushed to sleep, 
 
 Like a virgin's bosom panted 
 AH the wide reposing deep. 
 
 Bright in beauty rose the star-fish 
 From her green cave down below, 
 
 Right above the eagle poised him 
 Holy music charmed them so. 
 
 1 Stately galley ! glorious galley ! 
 
 God hath poured his grace on thee ! 
 Thou alone mayst scorn the perils 
 
 Of the dread devouring sea ! 
 
 ' False Almeria's reefs and shallows, 
 Black Gibraltar's giant rocks, 
 
 Sound and sand-bank, gulf and whirlpool, 
 All my glorious galley mocks !' 
 
 ' For the sake of God, our maker ! 
 
 (Count Arnaldos' cry was strong) 
 ' Old man, let me be partaker 
 
 In the secret of thy song !' 
 
 ' Count Arnaldos ! Count Arnaldos ! 
 
 Hearts I read, and thoughts I know ; 
 Wouldst thou learn the ocean secret, 
 
 In our galley thou must go.'
 
 for tfje 
 
 of tfjc 
 of ^nfttt ;T)ot)U tijc Uaptfst, 
 
 THE Marquis du Palmy said, many years ago, in his ingenious essay, ' Sur 
 la vie privee des Francois,' ' Les feux de la Saint Jean, fondes sur ce qu'on 
 lit dans le Nouveau Testament (St. Luc. i., 14,) que les nations se rejouirent 
 a la naissance de Saint Jean, sont presque eteints par tout' 
 
 Both in the northern and the southern parts of Europe, there prevailed of 
 old a superstitious custom, of which the traces probably linger to this day in 
 many simple districts. The young women rose on this sacred morning ere 
 the sun was up, and collected garlands of flowers, which they bound upon 
 their heads ; and according as the dew remained upon these a longer or a 
 shorter time, they augured more or less favorably of the constancy of their 
 lovers. 
 
 Another ceremony was to enclose a wether in a hut of heath, and dance 
 and sing round it, while she who desired to have her fortune told stood by the 
 door. If the wether remained still, the omen was good. If he pushed his 
 horns through the frail roof or door, then the lover was false-hearted. 
 
 That the day of the Baptist was a great festival among the Spanish Moors, 
 the reader may gather from many passages in the foregoing ballads, particu- 
 larly that of ' The Admiral Guarinos.' There are two in the Cancionero, 
 which show that some part at least of the amorous superstitions of the day 
 were also shared by them. One of them begins 
 
 ' La manana de San Juan, salen a coger guirnaldas, 
 Zara muger del Rey Chico, con sus mas queridas damas :' Sic.
 
 176 SONG FOR THE MORNING OF THE DAY OF ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST. 
 
 The other, 
 
 ' La manana de San Juan, a punta que alboreava, 
 Gran fiesta hazen los Moroa por la vega de Granada, 
 Rebolviendo sus cavallos, y jugando con las lanzas, 
 Ricos pendones en ellas, labrados por las amadas. 
 
 ****** 
 El moro que amores tiene, senates dellos monstrava 
 Y el que amiga no tenia, alii no escaramufava, fyc. 
 
 The following song is one that used to be sung by the Spanish country-girls, 
 as they went out to gather their dew and their flowers, on St. John's day in 
 the morning. There are many of the same kind ; such as that beginning 
 
 ' Este dia de San Juan 
 
 Ay de mi ! 
 
 Que no solia ser ansi!' &c. 
 And that other, 
 
 ' Yo no me porne guirnalda 
 
 La manana de San Juan, 
 
 Pues mis amores se van,' &c.
 
 <Son0 for tfje 
 
 of tg* 
 Dn of Samt jfiolju tije 
 
 COME forth, come forth, my maidens, 'tis the day of good St. John, 
 It is the Baptist's morning that breaks the hills upon ; 
 And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new, 
 To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew. 
 
 Come forth, come forth, &c. 
 
 Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the woodlands all are green, 
 And the little birds are singing the opening leaves between ; 
 And let us all go forth together, to gather trefoil by the stream, 
 Ere the face of Guidalquiver glows beneath the strengthening beam. 
 
 Come forth, come forth, &c. 
 
 Come forth, come forth, my maidens, and slumber not away 
 
 The blessed blessed morning of the holy Baptist's day ; 
 
 There's trefoil on the meadow, and lilies on the lee, 
 
 And hawthorn blossoms on the bush, which you must pluck with me. 
 
 Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the air is calm and cool, 
 And the violet blue far down ye'll view, reflected in the pool ; 
 The violets and the roses, and the jasmines all together, 
 We'll bind in garlands on the brow of the strong and lovely wether.
 
 178 SONG FOR THE MORNING OF THE DAY OF ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST. 
 
 Come forth, come forth, my maidens, we'll gather myrtle boughs, 
 
 And we shall learn from the dews of the fern, if our lads will keep their vows : 
 
 If the wether be still, as we dance on the hill, and the dew hangs sweet on the 
 
 flowers, 
 Then we'll kiss off the dew, for our lovers are true, and the Baptist's blessing 
 
 is ours. 
 
 Come forth, come forth, my maidens, 'tis the day of good St. John, 
 
 It is the Baptist's morning that breaks the hills upon ; 
 
 And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new, 
 
 To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew.
 
 THE following' ballad is inserted in this place on account of an allusion it contains to 
 the ancient custom which forms the subject of the preceding one. It seems to represent 
 the frenzy of a Spanish knight, who has gone mad, in consequence of his mistress having 
 been carried off in the course of a Moorish foray. 
 
 ' Arriba ! canes, arriba ! que rabia mala os mate, 
 En jueves may tas el puerco, y en viernes comeys la came, ' fee. 
 
 ' OFF ! off! ye hounds ! in madness an ill death be your doom ! 
 The boar ye killed on Thursday on Friday ye consume ! 
 Ay me ! and it is now seven years I in this valley go ; 
 Barefoot I wander, and the blood from out my nails doth flow. 
 
 ' I eat the raw flesh of the boar, I drink his red blood here, 
 Seeking, with heavy heart and sore, my princess and my dear : 
 'T was on the Baptist's morning the Moors my princess found, 
 While she was gathering roses upon her father's ground.' 
 
 Fair Juliana heard his voice where by the Moor she lay, 
 Even in the Moor's encircling arms she heard what he did say ; 
 The lady listened, and she wept within that guarded place, 
 While her Moor lord beside her slept, the tears fell on his face.
 
 [This is from a song in the Cancionero of Valencia, 1511. 
 
 ' Galeristas de Espafia 
 Farad los remos,' &c.) 
 
 ' YE mariners of Spain ! 
 
 Bend strongly on your oars, 
 And bring my love again, 
 
 For he lies among the Moors ! 
 
 ' Ye galleys fairly built, 
 
 Like castles on the sea, 
 Oh, great will be your guilt, 
 If ye bring him not to me.' 
 
 ' The wind is blowing strong, 
 The breeze will aid your oars ; 
 
 Oh, swiftly fly along ! 
 For he lies among the Moors ! 
 
 * The sweet breeze of the sea 
 
 Cools every cheek but mine ; 
 Hot is its breath to me, 
 As I gaze upon the brine. 
 
 ' Lift up, lift up your sail ! 
 
 And bend upon your oars ; 
 Oh, lose not the fair gale, 
 
 For he lies among the Moors !
 
 THE SONG OF THE GALLEY. 
 
 ' It is a narrow strait, 
 
 I see the blue hills over ; 
 
 Your coming I'll await, 
 
 And thank you for my lover. 
 
 ' To Mary I will pray, 
 
 While ye bend upon your oars ; 
 'T will be a blessed day, 
 
 If ye fetch him from the Moors !' 
 
 181
 
 [In the Cancionero of Antwerp, 1555 
 
 Mis arreos son las armas 
 Mi descanso el pelear.] 
 
 MY ornaments are arms, 
 
 My pastime is in war, 
 My bed is cold upon the wold, 
 
 My lamp yon star : 
 
 My journeyings are long, 
 
 My slumbers short and broken ; 
 
 From hill to hill I wander still, 
 Kissing thy token. 
 
 I ride from land to land, 
 
 I sail from sea to sea ; 
 Some day more kind I fate may find, 
 
 Some night kiss thee !
 
 [From the Romancero General of 1604. 
 1 Mientras duerme mi nifia,' &c.] 
 
 WHILE my lady sleepeth, 
 
 The dark blue heaven is bright, 
 Soft the moonbeam creepeth 
 
 Round her bower all night. 
 Thou gentle, gentle breeze ! 
 
 While my lady slumbers, 
 Waft lightly through the trees 
 
 Echoes of my numbers, 
 Her dreaming ear to please. 
 
 Should ye, breathing numbers 
 
 That for her I weave, 
 Should ye break her slumbers, 
 
 All my soul would grieve. 
 Rise on the gentle breeze, 
 
 And gain her lattice' height 
 O'er yon poplar trees, 
 
 But be your echoes light 
 As hum of distant bees. 
 
 All the stars are glowing 
 
 In the gorgeous sky ; 
 In the stream scarce flowing 
 
 Mimic lustres lie : 
 Blow, gentle, gentle breeze ! 
 
 But bring no cloud to hide 
 Their dear resplendencies ; 
 
 Nor chase from Zara's side 
 Dreams bright and pure as these.
 
 <aqptCtoe Bttfflfjt an* tije 
 
 THE following is a translation of a ballad in the Cancionero of Antwerp, 1555. 
 ' Pues el mes era de Mayo,' &c. 
 
 There is one in the Cancionero General of Valencia, 1511, of which this would seem 
 to have been no more than an expansion. The older is perhaps the finer of the two. It 
 is, at all events, so short, that I shall transcribe it. 
 
 ' Que por Mayo era por Mayo, 
 Cuando los bland 03 calores, 
 Cuando los enamorados 
 Van servir a sus amores ; 
 Sino yo, triste Mezquino, 
 Que yago en estas priaiones, 
 Que ni se cuando es de dia 
 Ni menos cuando es de Noche ; 
 Sino por una avecilla 
 Que me cantaba al albor. 
 Matumelo un ballestero 
 Delo Dios mat galardon ! 
 
 ' 'T is now, they say, the month of May, 't is now the moons are bright ; 
 'T is now the maids, 'mong greenwood shades, sit with their loves by night ; 
 'T is now the hearts of lovers true are glad the groves among ; 
 'T is now they sit the long night through, and list the thrush's song. 
 
 ' Woe dwells with me, in spite of thee, thou gladsome month of May ! 
 I cannot see what stars there be, I know not night from day : 
 There was a bird, whose voice I heard, oh ! sweet my small bird sung, 
 I heard its tune when night was gone, and up the morning sprung. 
 
 ' To comfort me in darkness bound, comes now no voice of cheer ; 
 Long have I listened for the sound, there is no bird to hear : 
 Sweet bird ! he had a cruel heart, whose steel thy bosom tore ; 
 A ruffian hand discharged the dart, that makes thee sing no more.
 
 THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT AND THE BLACKBIRD. 185 
 
 ' I am the vassal of my King, it never shall be said 
 
 That I even hence a curse could fling against my liege's head ; 
 
 But if the jailer slew the merle, no sin is in my word, 
 
 God look in anger on the churl that harmed my harmless bird ! 
 
 ' Oh, should some kindly Christian bring another bird to me, 
 Thy tune I in his ear would sing, till he could sing like thee ; 
 But were a dove within my choice, my song would soon be o'er, 
 For he would understand my voice, and fly to Leonore. 
 
 ' He would fly swiftly through the air, and though he could not speak, 
 He 'd ask a file, which he could bear within his little beak ; 
 Had I a file, these fetters vile I from my wrist would break, 
 And see right soon the fair May moon shine on my lady's cheek.' 
 
 It chanced while a poor captive knight, within yon dungeon strong, 
 Lamented thus the arrow's flight that stopped his blackbird's song, 
 (Unknown to him) the King was near ; he heard him through the wall ; 
 ' Nay, since he has no merle to hear, 't is time his fetters fall.'
 
 [THIS is a translation from one of the ballads in Sepulveda's collection (Antwerp, 
 1580 ;) the author's name unknown 
 
 ' En los tempos que me vi,' &c., p. 219.] 
 
 MY heart was happy when I turned from Burgos to Valladolid ; 
 
 My heart that day was light and gay, it bounded like a kid : 
 
 I met a Palmer on the way, my horse he bade me rein : 
 
 ' I left Valladolid to-day, I bring thee news of pain ! 
 
 The lady-love whom thou dost seek in gladness and in cheer, 
 
 Closed is her eye, and cold her cheek : I saw her on her bier. 
 
 ' The priests went singing of the mass, my voice their song did aid ; 
 
 A hundred knights with them did pass to the burial of the maid ; 
 
 And damsels fair went weeping there, and many a one did say, 
 
 Poor cavalier ! he is not here 't is well he 's far away.' 
 
 I fell when thus I heard him speak, upon the dust I lay, 
 
 I thought my heart would surely break, I wept for half a day. 
 
 When evening came I rose again, the Palmer held my steed ; 
 
 And swiftly rode I o'er the plain to dark Valladolid : 
 
 I came unto the sepulchre where they my love had laid, 
 
 I bowed me down beside the bier, and there my moan I made : 
 
 ' Oh, take me, take me to thy bed, I fain would sleep with thee ! 
 
 My love is dead, my hope is fled, there is no joy for me !' 
 
 I heard a sweet voice from the tomb, I heard her voice so clear. 
 ' Rise up, rise up, my knightly love ! thy weeping well I hear ; 
 Rise up and leave this darksome place, it is no place for thee, 
 God yet will send thee helpful grace, in love and chivalry ; 
 Though in the grave my bed I have, for thee my heart is sore, 
 'T will ease my heart if thou depart, thy peace may God restore !'
 
 , tfie otsatr. 
 
 [This celebrated corsair became ultimately High Admiral of the Turkish fleet, and was 
 slain at the great siege of Malta, A. D. 1565.] 
 
 OH, swiftly, very swiftly, they up the Straits have gone, 
 Oh, swiftly flies the corsair, and swift the cross comes on ; 
 The cross upon yon hanner, that streams unto the breeze, 
 It is the sign of victory the cross of the Maltese. 
 
 ' Row, row, my slaves,' quoth Dragut, ' the knights, the knights are near ! 
 Row, row, my slaves, row swiftly, the starlight is too clear ! 
 The stars they are too bright, and he that means us well, 
 He harms us when he trims his light yon Moorish centinel.' 
 
 There came a wreath of smoke from out a culverine, 
 
 The corsair's poop it broke, and it sunk into the brine : 
 
 Down Moor and fettered Christian went beneath the billows' roar, 
 
 But hell had work for Dragut yet, and he swam safe ashore. 
 
 One only of the captives, a happy man is he, 
 
 The Christian sailors see him, yet struggling in the sea ; 
 
 They hear the captive praying, they hear the Christian tongue, 
 
 And swiftly from the galley a saving rope was flung. 
 
 It was a Spanish knight, who had long been in Algiers, 
 From ladies high descended, and noble cavaliers ; 
 But forced, for a season, a false Moor's slave to be 
 Upon the shore his gardener, his galley slave at sea. 
 
 But now his heart is dancing, he sees the Spanish land, 
 And all his friends advancing to meet him on the strand ; 
 His heart was full of gladness, albeit his eyes ran o'er, 
 For he wept as he stepped upon the Christian shore.
 
 Count SJlaucos anTr tfjc Knfrmta 
 
 MR. BOUTERWEK has analyzed this ballad, and commented upon it at some length, in 
 his History of Spanish Literature. (See Book i., Section 1.) He bestows particular 
 praise upon a passage, which the reader will find attempted in the fourth line of the 
 thirty-first stanza of the following version : 
 
 ' Dedes me aca este liijo amamare por despedida.' 
 
 ' What modern poet,' says he, ' would have dared to imagine that trait, at once so natural 
 and so touching?' Mr. Bouterwek seems to be of opinion that the story of the ballad 
 had been taken from some prose romance of chivalry ; but I have not been able to find 
 any trace of it. 
 
 ALONE, as was her wont, she sate, within her bower alone ; 
 Alone and very desolate Solisa made her moan, 
 Lamenting for her flower of life, that it should pass away, 
 And she be never wooed to wife, nor see a bridal day. 
 
 Thus said the sad Infanta, ' I will not hide my grief, 
 I'll tell my father of my wrong, and he will yield relief.' 
 The King, when he beheld her near, ' Alas ! my child,' said he, 
 ' What means this melancholy cheer 1 reveal thy grief to me.' 
 
 ' Good King,' she said, ' my mother was buried long ago, 
 She left me to thy keeping, none else my grief shall know ; 
 I fain would have a husband, 'tis time that I should wed ; 
 Forgive the words I utter, with mickle shame they're said.' 
 
 'Twas thus the King made answer,-^-' This fault is none of mine, 
 You to the Prince of Hungary your ear would not incline ; 
 Yet round us here where lives your peer 1-rr-nay, name him if you can, 
 Except the Count Alarcos, and he's a married man.' 
 
 ' Ask Count Alarcos, if of yore his word he did not plight 
 To be my husband evermore, and love me day and night ; 
 If he has bound him in new vows, old oaths he cannot break : 
 Alas ! I've lost a loyal spouse, for a false lover's sake,'
 
 COUNT ALARCOS AND THE INFANTA SOLISA. 189 
 
 The good King sate confounded in silence for some space, 
 
 At length he made his answer, with very troubled face : 
 
 ' It was not thus your mother gave counsel you should do ; 
 
 You've done much wrong, my daughter ; we're shamed, both I and you. 
 
 ' If it be true that you have said, our honor's lost and gone ; 
 And while the Countess is in life, remeed for us is none : 
 Though justice were upon our side, ill-talkers would not spare ; 
 Speak, daughter, for your mother's dead, whose counsel eased my care.' 
 
 ' How can I give you counsel 1 but little wit have I ; 
 But certes, Count Alarcos may make this Countess die : 
 Let it be noised that sickness cut short her tender life, 
 And then let Count Alarcos come and ask me for his wife. 
 What passed between us long ago, of that be nothing said ; 
 Thus none shall our dishonor know, in honor I shall wed.' 
 
 The Count was standing with his friends thus in the midst he spake : 
 ' What fools be men ! what boots our pain for comely woman's sake ! 
 I loved a fair one long ago ; though I'm a married man, 
 Sad memory I can ne'er forego, how life and love began.' 
 
 While yet the Count was speaking, the good King came full near ; 
 
 He made his salutation with very courteous cheer. 
 
 ' Come hither, Count Alarcos, and dine with me this day, 
 
 For I have something secret, I in your ear must say.' 
 
 The King came from the chapel, when he had heard the mass ; 
 
 With him the Count Alarcos did to his chamber pass ; 
 
 Full nobly were they served there, by pages many a one ; 
 
 When all were gone, and they alone, 'twas thus the King begun : 
 
 ' What news be these, Alarcos, that you your word did plight, 
 To be a husband to my child, and love her day and night 1 
 If more between you there did pass, yourself may know the truth, 
 But shamed is my gray-head alas ! and scorned Solisa's youth. 
 
 ' I have a heavy word to speak, a lady fair doth lie 
 
 Within my daughter's rightful place, and certes ! she must die.
 
 190 COUNT ALARCOS AND THE INFANTA SOLISA. 
 
 Let it be noised that sickness cut short her tender life, 
 Then come and woo my daughter, and she shall be your wife : 
 What passed between you long ago, of that be nothing said, 
 Thus none shall my dishonor know, in honor you shall wed.' 
 
 Thus spake the Count Alarcos, ' The truth I'll not deny, 
 
 I to the Infanta gave my troth, and broke it shamefully ; 
 
 I feared my King would ne'er consent to give me his fair daughter ; 
 
 But, oh ! spare her that's innocent, avoid that sinful slaughter.' 
 
 ' She dies ! she dies !' the King replies ; 'from thine own sin it springe, 
 If guiltless blood must wash the blot which stains the blood of kings : 
 Ere morning dawn her life must end, and thine must be the deed, 
 Else thou on shameful block must bend : thereof is no remeed.' 
 
 ' Good King, my hand thou mayst command, else treason blots my name ! 
 I'll take the life of my dear wife (God ! mine be not the blame !) 
 Alas ! that young and sinless heart for others' sin should bleed ! 
 Good King, in sorrow I depart' ' May God your errand speed !' 
 
 In sorrow he departed, dejectedly he rode 
 The weary journey from that place unto his own abode ; 
 He grieved for his fair countess, dear as his life was she ; 
 Sore grieved he for that lady, and for his children three. 
 
 The one was yet an infant upon its mother's breast, 
 For though it had three nurses, it liked her milk the best ; 
 The others were young children, that had but little wit, 
 Hanging about their mother's knee while nursing she did sit 
 
 1 Alas !' he said, when he had come within a little space, 
 ' How shall I brook the cheerful look of my kind lady's face "! 
 To see her coming forth in glee to meet me in my hall, 
 When she so soon a corpse must be, and I the cause of all !' 
 
 Just then he saw her at the door with all her babes appear 
 
 (The little page had run before to tell his lord was near :) 
 
 ' Now welcome home, my lord, my life ! Alas ! you droop your head : 
 
 Tell, Count Alarcos, tell your wife, what makes your eyes so red ?'
 
 COUNT ALARCOS AND THE INFANTA SOLISA. 191 
 
 ' I'll tell you all I'll tell you all : it is not yet the hour ; 
 We'll sup together in the hall, I'll tell you in your bower.' 
 The lady brought forth what she had, and down beside him sate ; 
 He sate beside her pale and sad, but neither drank nor ate. 
 
 The children to his side were led (he loved to have them so,) 
 Then on the board be laid his head, and out his tears did flow : 
 4 1 fain would sleep I fain would sleep,' the Count Alarcos said : 
 Alas ! be sure, that sleep was none that night within their bed. 
 
 They came together to the bower where they were used to rest, 
 
 None with them but the little babe that was upon the breast : 
 
 The count had barred the chamber doors they ne'er were barred till then ; 
 
 4 Unhappy lady,' he began, 4 and I most lost of men !' 
 
 4 Now, speak not so, my noble lord, my husband, and my life ! 
 
 Unhappy never can she be that is Alarcos' wife.' 
 
 4 Alas ! unhappy lady, 'tis but little that you know, 
 
 For in that very word you've said is gathered all your woe. 
 
 ' Long since I loved a lady, long since I oaths did plight, 
 
 To be that lady's husband, to love her day and night ; 
 
 Her father is our lord the King, to him the thing is known, 
 
 And now, that I the news should bring ! she claims me for her own. 
 
 4 Alas ! my love ! alas ! my life ! the right is on their side ; 
 Ere I had seen your face, sweet wife, she was betrothed my bride ; 
 But, oh ! that I should speak the word since in her place you lie, 
 It is the bidding of our Lord, that you this night must die.' 
 
 4 Are these the wages of my love, so lowly and so leal 1 
 Oh, kill me not, thou noble count, when at thy foot I kneel ! 
 But send me to my father's house, where once I dwelt in glee, 
 There will I live a lone chaste life, and rear my children three.' 
 
 4 It may not be, mine oath is strong, ere dawn of day you die !' 
 4 Oh ! well 'tis seen how all alone upon the earth am I ; 
 My father is an old frail man, my mother's in her grave, 
 And dead is stout Don Garci alas ! my brother brave !
 
 192 COUNT ALAKCOS AND THE INFANTA SOLISA. 
 
 ' 'T was at this coward King's command they slew my brother dear, 
 And now I 'm helpless in the land : it is not death I fear, 
 But loth, loth am I to depart, and leave my children so, 
 Now let me lay them to my heart, and kiss them ere I go.' 
 
 ' Kiss him that lies upon thy breast the rest thou mayst not see.' 
 ' I fain would say an Ave.' ' Then say it speedily.' 
 She knelt her down upon her knee : ' Oh, Lord 1 behold my case ; 
 Judge not my deeds, but look on me in pity and great grace.' 
 
 When she had made her orison, up from her knees she rose, 
 ' Be kind, Alarcos, to our babes, and pray for my repose ; 
 And now give me my boy once more upon my breast to hold, 
 That he may drink one farewell drink, before my breast be cold.' 
 
 ' Why would you waken the poor child 1 you see he is asleep ; 
 Prepare, dear wife, there is no time, the dawn begins to peep.' 
 ' Now hear me, Count Alarcos ! I give thee pardon free, 
 I pardon thee for the love's sake wherewith I 've loved thee ; 
 
 j 
 
 ' But they have not my pardon, the King and his proud daughter : 
 The curse of God be on them, for this unchristian slaughter ! 
 I charge them with my dying breath, ere thirty days be gone, 
 To meet me in the realm of death, and at God's awful throne !' 
 
 Ha drew a kerchief round her neck, he drew it tight and strong, 
 Until she lay quite stiff and cold her chamber floor along ; 
 He laid her then within the sheets, and, kneeling by her side, 
 To God and Mary Mother in misery he cried. 
 
 Then called he for his esquires : oh ! deep was their dismay, 
 When they into the chamber came, and saw her how she lay : 
 Thus died she in her innocence, a lady void of wrong 
 But God took heed of their offence, His vengeance stayed not long. 
 
 Within twelve days, in pain and dole, the Infanta passed away, 
 The cruel King gave up his soul upon the twentieth day ; 
 Alarcos followed ere the moon had made her round complete ; 
 Three guilty spirits stood right soon before God's judgment-seat. 
 SEnti of iije .Sjmutsij
 
 THE 
 
 STfje 
 
 ' I 'm Rodrigo of Bivar, 
 A Castillian bold and true.
 
 (Kits $act 
 
 ' I 'm Rodrigo of Bivar, 
 A Castillian good and true.' 
 
 Romances of the Cid* 
 
 IN a low state of social advancement, poetry, unlike every other art, may 
 attain a very high degree of excellence, if not in delicacy and refinement of 
 expression, at least in elevation of thought and vigor of imagination. One of 
 the greatest bards the world has known was 
 
 ' The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.' 
 
 This is explained by the ancient adage that ' a man is born, not made, a 
 poet ;' and though peculiar natural powers are indispensable for the attain- 
 ment of excellence in every art, the superior simplicity of the machinery re- 
 quisite for the expression of poetry, at least under certain forms, leaves room 
 for a more free development of genius. 
 
 Metre being the form best adapted to the oral transmission of events, poetry, 
 in the literary history of every nation, has had an origin antecedent to prose. 
 Homer and Hesiod sung centuries before Herodotus wrote. Ages before the 
 prose chronicles of modern Europe were indited, the deeds of heroes and 
 other striking events were recorded and handed down from generation to 
 generation in the form of ballads, which in many instances constitute the 
 foundation of the earlier histories in prose. Every nation in Europe possesses 
 its stock of poetical traditionary lore : the phlegmatic and meditative Scandi- 
 navian and German, and the fervid, mercurial child of the South, have alike 
 in the earliest periods of their history chosen poetry as the medium of re- 
 cording the glorious deeds of their heroes, or whatever occurrences were to 
 them fraught with interest. 
 
 No nation, however, can boast of so large a body of ancient popular poems 
 as Spain. Several circumstances combine to explain this unrivalled wealth
 
 196 THE CID. 
 
 in ballad literature. The almost unceasing contest which the Christian 
 Spaniards maintained for eight centuries with the Arab invaders of their soil, 
 afforded a long series of brilliant achievements and stirring events to be re- 
 corded ; the intercourse which, notwithstanding this warfare, existed between 
 the two nations, sufficed to imbue the Christians with that peculiar love of 
 song which characterized their Mohammedan foes. But the principal cause 
 of the great prevalence of ballad poetry among the Spaniards, is to be found 
 in the extraordinary facility with which it could be constructed, owing to the 
 flexibility of the language and the simplicity of the metre and rhyme em- 
 ployed a simplicity so remarkable that a bard might with little difficulty 
 pour forth in song his thoughts as they arose. ' The most rude and illiterate 
 man,' says Duran, a modern native collector of Spanish romances,* ' might 
 compose these loosely formed narrations. Even at the present day, though 
 the romance has now acquired such perfection as to render it adaptable to 
 every class of compositions, it continues as subject to the control of the vulgar 
 as of the learned. All alike compose romances, .... and there is 
 probably not to be found a single Spaniard, even among those who despise 
 the romance for its facility of construction, who has not sung of love, war, 
 heroic deeds, or fictitious events in this species of metrical composition.' 
 
 It is impossible to determine with accuracy the date of anonymous poems 
 orally transmitted through many ages. It is evident, however, that much of 
 the ballad poetry of Spain which has come down to us is of great antiquity, 
 claiming an origin anterior to the most ancient English ballads extant. Duran 
 is of opinion that the earliest poetry of the Peninsula was in the romance 
 form ; yet long poems in Alexandrine metre have been preserved, which are 
 on all hands admitted to have been written in the middle of the twelfth cen- 
 tury. We cannot here enter into a lengthened disquisition on this subject ; 
 it is enough for us to state the probability that Duran is correct. 'Although,' 
 says he, ' none of the romances extant are in every part anterior to the four, 
 teenth century, I think I can discern in them fragments of others and pro- 
 verbial stanzas of a much more remote antiquity.' As the earlier romances 
 of Spain were the productions of unknown and obscure individuals, they were 
 never committed to writing, but, were handed down orally through many 
 generations ; and being remodelled and modernized by each in succession, 
 
 * It may perhaps be superfluous to mention that this word takes its origin from the 
 Romance language, the corrupt Latin spoken in the southern countries of Europe after 
 the overthrow of the Western Empire, the language in which the Troubadours sung 
 their lays and fabliaux, their tales of love and chivalry.
 
 THE CID. 197 
 
 they have retained so little of their original character, as to render it impos- 
 sible to determine with precision the century to which they belong. Like 
 old coins, they have gained a polish by passing through many hands, but 
 their original stamp is effaced, and the date of their issue is no longer dis- 
 tinguishable. 
 
 The romances of Spain are of several kinds ; those which are considered 
 to be strictly historical those of chivalry, which may be regarded as more or 
 less founded on facts those decidedly fictitious, the subjects of which are 
 taken from the prose chivalrous romances or the epics of the Italian poets 
 those relating to love and pastoral subjects and last, though not least in 
 number or beauty, those commonly classed separately, as the Moorish ro- 
 mances. Some of these, it is believed, are actually the productions of Spanish 
 Moors, but the greater part were written by Christians of the sixteenth and 
 seventeenth centuries, and refer chiefly to the romantic but unavailing strug- 
 gle of the high-souled Moors of Granada with the forces of Ferdinand and 
 Isabella. As poetical compositions these rank above all the other romances 
 (for at this period ballad literature was not confined to the lower classes, be- 
 ing taken into favor by the noble and the learned,) but as historical records 
 they obtain little credit, save in as far as they are confirmed by the prose 
 chroniclers. It is to the first-mentioned class of romances, those viewed as 
 historical, that we shall now confine our attention. 
 
 To the historian and antiquarian these narrative romances are full of inte- 
 rest. In the early periods of Spanish history far more political liberty was 
 enjoyed, and much freer expression of opinion was allowed than in later days, 
 when Spain was held in the iron grasp of an intolerant and inquisitorial 
 priesthood ; and the popular poems of those early times, being wholly disre- 
 garded and uninfluenced by the upper ranks, may consequently be considered 
 as exhibiting a more correct representation of facts than the poetry, or even 
 professed history, which springs up in the sunshine of courtly favor. It is 
 not, however, pretended that these romances are to be implicitly relied on as 
 historical or antiquarian authorities. The fact of their having been trans- 
 mitted orally through many successive ages must invalidate their testimony 
 to a certain extent ; yet there is no reason to doubt that the representations 
 made by them of the general state of society in those early ages are accu- 
 rate ; and that they have not in every instance undergone great alterations is 
 evident from the language of some being scarcely less antiquated than that of 
 the earliest Castilian poem extant, written in the middle of the twelfth cen- 
 tury. Greater credence is due to these ballads on the ground that, though 
 the productions of the middle ages those days of wild romance they very
 
 198 THE CID. 
 
 rarely overstep the bounds of possibility : they are free from those absurd 
 extravagancies which disfigure the prose romances of chivalry. What little 
 of the marvellous they contain is of a religious character a few saintly 
 legends sprinkled here and there throughout a vast body of poetry, only in 
 sufficient quantity to tincture it with the peculiar character of the national 
 religion ; such legends in fact as a Romanist of our own enlightened age 
 and country would have little difficulty in crediting. No enchanters to whisk 
 their victims away a thousand miles in the twinkling of an eye to the foul 
 dungeons of some subterranean palace no dragons to devour their monthly 
 tribute of denuded virgins no spell-bound knights no maidens escaping 
 their pursuers, and preserving their honor by rendering themselves invisible 
 with magic rings. All is truth, nature, and simplicity in the Spanish ro- 
 mances. They are in fact little more than simple metrical narrations of 
 events. ' The authors of these romances,' says the German critic Bouterwek, 
 'never ventured to embellish with fictitious circumstances stories which were 
 in themselves interesting, lest they should deprive their productions of his- 
 torical credit They paid little attention to ingenuity of inven- 
 tion, and still less to correctness of execution. When an impressive story of 
 poetical character was found, the subject and the interest belonging to it 
 were seized with so much truth and feeling, that the parts of the little piece, 
 the brief labor of untutored art, linked themselves together, as it were, spon- 
 taneously, and the imagination of the bard had no higher office than to give 
 to the situations a suitable coloring and effect. These antique racy effusions 
 are nature's genuine offspring. To recount their easily recognized defects is 
 as superfluous as it would be impossible, by any critical study, to imitate a 
 single trait of that noble simplicity which constitutes their highest charm.' 
 
 These romances may be said to form a connecting link between poetry and 
 prose ; scarcely rising above the latter in the display of fancy and imagina- 
 tion, and yet retaining the form and in some respects the distinctive character 
 of the former. Some critics have altogether denied their claim to the title 
 of poetry. ' There is as wide a difference,' says Juan del Encina, ' between 
 a poet and a romance-maker as between a composer of music and a mere 
 singer, as between a geometrician and a stone-cutter.' Without entirely 
 concurring in this opinion, we will admit that never does the Spanish popular 
 muse aspire to bold poetical soarings. She is content with a lowly flight. 
 She loves to dwell on even the unimportant actions of her favorite heroes, 
 and to sing of their countenances, their costume, their weapons, their attend- 
 ants. This minuteness of description, trivial as it may be deemed by those 
 who despise all but the highest efforts of the poetical art, is at least a pre-
 
 THE cm 199 
 
 < 
 
 sumptive evidence of truth, and renders these narrative romances valuable 
 as pictures of the manners and costumes, and as records of the popular opi- 
 nions of the Spaniards of the middle ages points on which the sober page of 
 history is too often silent. But. they are not utterly devoid of poetic merit ; 
 for the narration, however simple, of events in themselves often highly poetic, 
 cannot be wholly prosaic ; and this same simplicity of style has a charm to 
 some minds indescribable, and far beyond what could be produced by a more 
 highly wrought or fanciful diction. Moreover the simplicity of the Spanish 
 narrative romances occasionally rises into majesty and even sublimity ; and 
 
 | at times they evince a Homeric power of condensing a world of thought into 
 a simple sentence or word. Then the noble and elevated sentiments, the 
 depth and freshness of feeling, the tenderness, the pathos, and the all-per- 
 vading nature and truthfulness, ever awakening the sympathies of the reader, 
 
 ' make amends for the absence of higher poetical qualities. 
 
 We are aware that Southey has decried the merits of the heroic ballads 
 
 [ of the Spaniards, and pronounced them to be much inferior to our own. To 
 what authority this opinion is entitled we leave those who are acquainted 
 with the Spanish to judge for themselves. But waiving the question of com- 
 parative literary merit, there is one point of view in which the Spanish 
 romances have indisputably the advantage, it is the elevated tone of morality 
 which pervades them, and this is a feature which essentially distinguishes 
 them from those of England and other northern nations. These latter abound 
 in evidences of being the productions of a state of society scarcely emerged 
 from barbarism. Atrocious murders, inhuman cruelties, daring outrages on 
 person and property, in short every species of vice and crime which belongs 
 to a rude state of society, are dwelt upon in the early ballads of our own 
 country, not only without disapprobation or disgust, but with manifest delight. 
 But even the earliest Spanish romances savor of a society that has made con- 
 siderable advances in civilization and moral excellence. Their morality is 
 not, it is true, that which commands the smitten to turn his cheek to the 
 smiter ; it does not comprehend extraordinary meekness and humility, for 
 martial valor is in this, as in the ancient, classic code, esteemed the highest 
 of human virtues. But these romances are redolent of all the virtues and 
 graces which characterize the age of chivalry. To the enthusiastic admiration 
 of valor is united a humane and kindly generosity toward the weak or van- 
 quished, and a pervading gentleness and courtesy ; an indomitable pride and 
 self-respect is blended with a noble scorn of whatever is fraudulent, base, and 
 dishonorable, an ardent love of truth, a fervor of loyalty to the sovereign and 
 of devotion to the fair sex equalled only by the depth of religious feeling.
 
 iiOO THE CID. 
 
 There is that union of stern and gentle qualities, which is set forth in a ballad 
 describing a Moorish knight of Granada, who is represented to be 
 
 ' Like steel timid the din of arms, 
 Like wax when with the fair.' 
 
 Deeds of crime are often narrated by these romances as historical facts, but 
 instead of being dwelt upon with zest, they are in general depicted with so 
 much pathos that abhorrence of the crime is heightened by the sympathy 
 excited for the victim. Female frailty, however, appears from thes? romances 
 to have been as common in Spain in the olden time as in our own day, and 
 to have been regarded with eyes no less lenient ; yet even in this respect the 
 ballads of Spain are well matched by those of our own country. 
 
 In giving our readers some specimens of Spanish ballads, we select those 
 relating to the Cid. The Cid is the great hero of Spanish history, whose 
 glorious deeds have for eight centuries been the theme of song, and doubtless 
 tended to fire the courage of a Gonsalo and a Cortes, and perhaps in our own 
 times to stir up many a Spanish hero to resist the yoke of a conqueror greater 
 than they. He is thus addressed in one of the ballads which recount his 
 
 history : 
 
 ' Mighty victor, never vanquish'd, 
 
 Bulwark of our native land, 
 Shield of Spain, her boast and glory, 
 
 Knight of the far-dreaded brand, 
 Venging scourge of Moors and traitors, 
 
 Mighty thunderbolt of war, 
 Mirror bright of chivalry, 
 Ruy, my Cid Campeador!' 
 
 ' Campeador' is a term hardly translatable into English, for our word 
 ' champion,' to which it most nearly answers, excites little of that proud 
 triumphant feeling which thrills the Spanish bosom at the mention of the 
 ' Campeador.' It is a name which none living has a right to claim but our 
 own hero of a hundred battle-fields. 
 
 All the chivalrous virtues are concentrated in the person of the Cid. He 
 was in truth a chevalier sanspeur el sans reproche, the beau-ideal of a knight- 
 errant, yet not the mere creation of fancy. His existence has indeed been 
 called into question by Masdeu and some few others, on the ground that, as 
 depicted by the romances, he is too extraordinary and perfect a character to 
 be real. But though it be very possible that the popular voice has arrayed 
 its darling in colors not his own, has sung his praises only and concealed his
 
 THE CID. 
 
 201 
 
 defects, there is, independently of the romances, such a mass of evidence to 
 prove his real existence as must put the fact beyond all doubt to the mind of 
 every candid reader, and assure him that the Cid was something more than a 
 mere imaginary embodiment of the chivalrous virtues. Not only are his 
 deeds recorded by a lengthy poem written within half a century of his death, 
 as well as by the earliest prose chronicles, but he is mentioned by the Arab 
 historians of Spain, who, while admitting his victories, depict him in those 
 shadowy hues in which the vanquished are ever inclined to regard their con- 
 queror. The Cid then, as we gather his history from the numerous romances 
 which have come down to us, we propose to introduce to our readers, trans- 
 lating such portions of those poems as will suffice to impart a knowledge of 
 his history and give an insight into the peculiar character of Spanish romances. 
 
 It may be as well to remark, that all the romances of the Cid cannot lay 
 claim to an equal antiquity ; some, as is evident from their language, being 
 among the most ancient Spanish romances extant, while others are known to 
 have been written as late as the sixteenth century. 
 
 For the chronological arrangement of these detached poems, and to supply 
 gaps in the history occasioned by the deficiencies of certain romances and 
 the loss of others, we shall have recourse for guidance to the 'Poem of the 
 Cid,' already mentioned, which Southey thinks the work of a contemporary, 
 and says is ' unquestionably the oldest poem in the Spanish language ;' and 
 also to two prose ' Chronicles of the Cid,' supposed to have been written 
 about the thirteenth century, but first printed in black letter in the years 
 1541 and 1552 respectively. The latter embodies all the substance of the 
 former, with much additional matter ; and claims to be a translation from the 
 Arabic, though it is more probably a compilation partly from Arabic sources. 
 
 We must say a few words on the structure of these ballads. They are in 
 lines of seven or eight syllables, or rather of three and a half or four feet, 
 generally trochaic ; but correctness of quantity was little regarded by the 
 artless writers of these romances, who for the most part moulded their lines 
 as best suited their convenience. But it is the rhyme which constitutes the 
 peculiar feature in the structure of these ballads, and gives them their unique 
 character. It is what is called by the Spaniards the assonant rhyme, to dis- 
 tinguish it from the consonant rhyme, or such as is in use among us. The 
 assonant demands that the last vowel, when the line ends in a single syllable, 
 or that the last two vowels, when it ends in a trochee, should correspond in 
 every alternate line, be the consonants what they may. Thus voz, seiior, 
 jurb, son, dos, are assonant rhymes of the first sort ; and dado, maZos, diablo, 
 cano, Sancho, are instances of trochaic assonant. The same rhyme is con-
 
 tinued in alternate lines throughout a romance ; but the poem itself is divided 
 into coplas or stanzas of four lines, occasionally lengthened to six when this 
 form is better suited to the convenience of the writer. In our translations 
 we shall not attempt to preserve the peculiar rhyme, which is altogether 
 foreign to the genius of the English language ; for though the Spaniards are 
 from habitude capable of thoroughly comprehending and enjoying the harmo- 
 nies of the assonant, it would to an English ear cease to be rhyme at all. 
 Nor shall we imitate the monorhymic verse, which is scarcely attainable in 
 our inflexible language. We shall nevertheless adhere to the trochaic mea- 
 sure, endeavoring to represent in Ehglish not only the sentiments and expres- 
 sions, but as nearly as possible the style and dress of the Spanish romances. 
 
 ' Vengeance is secure to him 
 Who doth arm himself with right.' 
 
 Romances of the Cid. 
 
 RODRIGO (or, as he is commonly called, Ruy) Diaz de Bivar, the Cid, was 
 born at Burgos in the year 1025. At that period the greater part of the 
 Peninsula was in the hands of the Arabs, who had invaded it more than three 
 centuries before. The handful of Goths who had remained unconquered 
 among the mountains of the Asturias, had, by gradual inroads upon the Mos- 
 lem territory, so extended their dominion as by this time to have regained 
 possession of the north-western quarter of the Peninsula, i. e. Galicia, the 
 Asturias, Leon, Old Castile, the northern half of Portugal, Biscay, and Na- 
 varre, beside part of the provinces of Aragon and Catalonia. This territory 
 was divided into several petty kingdoms or counties, the principal of which, 
 soon after the birth of Ruy Diaz, were united under the authority of Fer- 
 nando I., founder of the Castillian monarchy. The rest of the Peninsula, 
 which for three centuries after the conquest had been subject to the Arabian 
 khalifs of Cordoba, was also, at the period we treat of, divided into a number 
 of petty states, governed by independent sovereigns. Having thus premised, 
 we return to our hero.
 
 THE CID. 
 
 203 
 
 The father of Rodrigo was Don Diego Lainez, the representative of an 
 ' ancient, wealthy, and noble race,' claiming his descent fourth from Lain 
 Calvo, one of the two nobles elected by the Castillians in the preceding cen~ 
 tury to the supreme power under the name of ' Judges of Castile" a title, 
 says the historian Mariana, preferred to all others, as that which could least 
 easily be made available for attacks on popular liberty, of which the Spa- 
 niards of those days were extremely jealous. That Lain Calvo was a great 
 man in his day is evident from the pride with which the Cid claims him as a 
 forefather ; and we have ourselves seen on the great gate of Santa Maria at 
 Burgos a statue to his honor, with an inscription styling him ' a most brave 
 citizen, the sword and buckler of the city.' Of the mother- of the Cid the 
 romances make no mention, but on her tomb in the monastery of San Pedro 
 de Cardefia near Burgos, she is called ' Dona Teresa, daughter of the Count 
 Don Nuno Alvarez' a fact of importance, inasmuch as it shows the pedigree 
 of the Cid to have been noble on both sides. 
 
 When Rodrigo was a mere stripling, his father Diego Lainez was grossly 
 insulted by the haughty and powerful Count of Gormaz, Don Lozano Gomez, 
 who dared even to smite him in the presence of the king and his court. The 
 romances picture the consequent deep dejection of the worthy hidalgo, who, 
 on account of his great age, despaired of obtaining vengeance of his powerful 
 foe, and sat gloomily brooding over his disgrace : 
 
 ' Sleep was banish'd from his eyelids ; 
 
 Not a mouthful could he taste ; 
 There he sat with downcast visage, 
 
 Direly had he been disgrac'd. 
 
 ' Never stirr'd he from his chamber ; 
 
 With no friends would he converse, 
 Lest the breath of his dishonor 
 
 Should pollute them with its curse.' 
 
 At length he called together his sons, and seizing their tender hands ten- 
 der, the romance seems to imply, as much on account of their high birth, as of 
 their age he grasped them so rudely that they cried him mercy. But the 
 hot blood of Rodrigo fired at this treatment, and he fiercely exclaimed 
 
 ' Loose me, sire ! and ill betide thee .' 
 
 Curse upon thee ! let me go I 
 Wert thou other than my father, 
 Heavens ! I would smite tbee low ! 
 
 ' With this hand thou wring's! I "d tear thee 
 Tear thy heart from out thy breast !'
 
 204 THE cm. 
 
 The lad's fury, instead of enraging, cheers and delights the old man, who, 
 with tears of joy, calls him ' the son of his soul !' acquaints him with the in- 
 dignity done him, gives him his blessing and sword, and entrusts him with 
 the execution of his vengeance, as the only one of his kindred worthy of such 
 an emprise. The youth joyfully accepts it, and takes leave of his father, 
 praying him to ' heed not the wrong, for when the Count insulted him, he 
 knew not of his son.' 
 
 No light undertaking, however, was this, and so thought Rodrigo, when he 
 called to mind his tender years, and the power of his adversary, whose arm 
 was ever mightiest in the field, whose vote ever first in the councils of the 
 king, and at whose call a thousand brands would flash from the Asturian 
 mountains. Yet all this seemed little in comparison with his father's indig- 
 nity, the first ever offered to the house of Lain Calvo ; and he resolved to risk 
 his life for honor's sake, as became a valiant hidalgo.* Down he takes an old 
 sword, with which, in times past, Mudara, the bold bastard, had taken deadly 
 vengeance on Rodrigo de Lara, who had murdered the seven Infantes his 
 brothers. This sword the young Rodrigo apostrophises ere he girds it on : 
 ' Take heed, thou valiant sword, that the arm that wields thee is that of 
 Mudara. Firm as thine own steel shalt thou behold me in the fight ; yea, 
 thy second lord will prove as valiant as thy first. Shouldst thou be overcome 
 through my cowardice, then will I sheath thee in my bosom up to the cross 
 of thy hiltf Let us hasten to vengeance^ lo ! this is the hour to give the 
 Count Lozano the punishment he meriteth.' 
 
 Having thus exalted his courage, he goes forth and meets the Count ; and 
 accuses him of unknightly and cowardly conduct in striking an old man in 
 the face, and that man an hidalgo ; reminding him that those who have noble 
 escutcheons cannot brook wrongs : 
 
 1 How durst thou to smite my father ? 
 
 Craven caitiff! know that none 
 Unto him shall do dishonor, 
 While I live, save God alone. 
 
 * Hidalgo is a contraction of hijo de algo literally, son of something. 
 
 t It was the custom in the middle ages to make swords with hilts of this form, in order 
 that they might answer the purposes of religion as well as of destruction. When a knight 
 fell on the field of battle, the hilt of his sword was held to his lips instead of a crucifix, 
 and in his last moments he was comforted and cheered by this emblem of his faith. We 
 have seen in the Royal Armory at Madrid a number of swords purporting to have be- 
 longed to the earliest heroes of Christian Spain, most of which have cruciform hilts.
 
 THE CID. 205 
 
 ' For this wrong I must have vengeance 
 
 Traitor, here I thee defy ! 
 With thy blood alone my sire 
 Can wash out his infamy !' 
 
 The Count, despising his youth, replies with a sneer, 
 
 ' Go, rash boy ! go, lest I scourge thee 
 Scourge thee like an idle page.' 
 
 Rodrigo burning with wrath, draws his sword and cries 'Villain, come on ! 
 Right and nobility on my side are worth a dozen comrades.' They fight 
 Rodrigo prevails, slays the Count, cuts off his head, and returns with it in 
 triumph to his father's house. 
 
 Don Diego was sitting at his board, weeping sorely for his shame, when 
 Rodrigo entered, bearing the bleeding head of the Count by the forelock. 
 Seizing his father's arm, he shook him from his reverie, and said 
 
 ' See ! I 've brought the poisonous weed 
 
 Feed upon it with delight. 
 Raise thy face, oh, father mine ! 
 Ope thine eyes upon this sight. 
 
 ' Lay aside this grievous sorrow 
 
 Lo ! thine honor is secure ; 
 Vengeance hast thou now obtained, 
 
 From all stain of shame art pure. 
 
 ' Ne'er again thy foe can harm thee ; 
 
 All his pride is now laid low ; 
 
 Vain his hand is now to smite thee, 
 
 And this tongue is silent now. 
 
 ' Well have I aveng'd thee, father ! 
 Well have aped me in the fight. 
 For to him is vengeance certain 
 Who doth arm himself with right.' 
 
 The old man answered not, so that his son fancied he was dreaming, but 
 after awhile he raised his head, and with eyes full of tears thus spake : 
 
 ' Son of my soul, my brave Rodrigo, 
 Hide that visage from my sight ; 
 God ! my feeble heart is bursting, 
 So full is it of delight.
 
 206 THE cn>. 
 
 ' Ah ! thou caitiff count Lozano '. 
 
 Heaven hath well aveng'd my wrong ; 
 Right hath nerv'd thine arm, Rodrigo 
 Right hath made the feeble strong. 
 
 ' At the chief place of my table, 
 
 Sit thee henceforth in my stead ; 
 
 He who such a head hath brought me, 
 
 Of my house shall be the head.' 
 
 Forth rode Diego Lainez to kiss the hand of ' the good king' Ferdinand, 
 with three hundred hidalgos in his train, and among them rode ' Rodrigo, the 
 proud Castillian.' 
 
 ' All these knights on mules are mounted 
 
 Ruy a war-horse doth bestride ; 
 
 ' All wear gold and silken raiment 
 
 Ruy in mailed steel doth ride ; 
 
 ' All are girt with jewell'd falchions 
 
 Ruy with a gold-hilled brand ; 
 
 All a pair of wands come bearing 
 
 Ruy a glittering, lance in hand ; 
 
 ' All wear gloves with perfume scented 
 
 Ruy a mailed gauntlet rude ; 
 All wear caps of gorgeous colors 
 Ruy a casque of temper good.' 
 
 As they ride on towards Burgos, they see the king approaching. His 
 attendants tell him that yonder band is led by him who slew the Count 
 Lozano. When Rodrigo drew near, and heard them thus conversing, he 
 fixed his eyes steadfastly upon them, and exclaimed with a loud and haughty 
 
 voice 
 
 ' Is there 'mong ye of his kindred 
 
 One to whom the Count was dear, 
 Who doth for his death seek vengeance? 
 Lo ! I wait his challenge here. 
 
 ' Let him come, on foot on horseback ; 
 Here I stand his enemy.' 
 
 The courtiers, however, were awed by the youth's boldness and impetu- 
 osity, and 
 
 ' With one voice they all exclaimed, 
 Let the foul fiend challenge thee !'
 
 THE CID. 207 
 
 Diego Lainez and all his followers then dismounted to kiss the king's 
 hand ; Rodrigo alone sat still on his steed. His father, vexed at this, called 
 to him 
 
 ' Come, ray son, dismount, I pray thee ; 
 Kneel, the king's right hand to kiss ; 
 Thou his vassal art, Rodrigo, 
 He thy lord and master is.' 
 
 The proud spirit of the youth could not brook to be thus reminded of his 
 inferiority ; ' he felt himself much aggrieved,' and fiercely cried 
 
 1 Had another such words utter'd, 
 
 Sorely had he rued the day ; 
 But sith it is thou, my father, 
 I thy bidding will obey.' 
 
 As he knelt accordingly to do homage to the king, his sword flew half out 
 of its scabbard, which so alarmed the monarch, who knew the fierceness of 
 the young hero, that he cried ' Out with thee ! stand back, Rodrigo ! away 
 from me, thou devil ! Thou hast the shape of a man, but the air of a furious 
 lion.' Rodrigo sprang to his feet ; called for his horse, and angrily replied 
 
 ' Troth ! no honor do I count it, 
 
 Thus to stoop and kiss thy hand ; 
 And my sire, in that he kiss'd it, 
 Hath disgrac'd me in the land.' 
 
 With these words he leaped into the saddle, and rode away with his three 
 hundred followers.
 
 ' Jusrice, king ! I sue for justice 
 
 Vengeance on a traitorous knight. 
 Grant it me ! so shall thy children 
 Thrive, and prove thy soul's delight.' 
 
 LOUD shouts and cries, mingled with the clashing of arms, aroused the 
 court in the royal palace at Burgos. In great astonishment King Ferdinand 
 and his ricoshomes, or nobles, descended to the gate, and there found Ximena 
 Gomez, daughter of the Count Lozano, attended by a numerous train. She 
 was clad in robes of black ; a gauze veil of the same hue covered her head ; 
 her hair hung in long and dishevelled tresses over her fair neck, and tears 
 were streaming from her eyes. She fell on her knees at the king's feet, 
 crying for justice against him who had slain her father : 
 
 ' Justice, king ! I sue for justice 
 
 Vengeance on a traitorous knight. 
 Grant it me ! so shall thy children 
 Thrive, and prove thy soul's delight. 
 
 ' Like to God himself are monarchs 
 
 Set to govern on this earth, 
 All the vile and base to punish, 
 And to guerdon virtuous worth. 
 
 ' But the king who doth not justice 
 
 Ne'er the sceptre more should sway 
 Ne'er should nobles pay him homage 
 Vassals ne'er his bests obey : 
 
 ' Never should he mount a charger 
 
 Never more should gird the sword 
 Never with his queen hold converse 
 Never sit at royal board.'
 
 THE cn>. 209 
 
 Her eye then fell on Rodrigo, who stood among the attendant nobles : 
 
 ' Thou hast slain the best and bravest 
 
 That e'er set a lance in rest, 
 Of our holy faith the bulwark 
 Terror of each Paynim breast. 
 
 4 Traitorous murderer, slay me also ! 
 Though a woman, slaughter me ! 
 Spare not I'm Ximena Gomez, 
 Thine eternal enemy ! 
 
 ' Here's my throat smite, I beseech thee ! 
 
 Smite, and fatal be thy blow ! 
 Death is all I ask, thou caitiff, 
 Grant this boon unto thy foe.' 
 
 Not a word did Rodrigo reply, but seizing the bridle of his steed, he vaulted 
 into the saddle, and rode slowly away. Ximena turned to the crowd of nobles, 
 and seeing that none prepared to follow him and take up her cause, she cried 
 aloud, ' Vengeance, sirs ! I pray ye, vengeance !' A second time did the 
 damsel disturb the king, when at a banquet, with her cries for justice. She 
 had now a fresh complaint : 
 
 ' Every day at early morning, 
 
 To despite me more, I wist, 
 He who slew my sire doth ride by, 
 With a falcon on his fist. 
 
 ' At my tender doves he flies it ; 
 Many of them hath it slain. 
 See ! their blood hath dyed my garment* 
 With full many a crimson stain. 
 
 ' List ! The king who doth not justice, 
 He deserveth not to reign ;' &c. 
 
 and she rebuked the king in the same strain as on the occasion of her former 
 complaint Fernando, partaking of the superstition of the age, did not relish 
 her implied curses, and began to ponder on the course he had to pursue. 
 ' God in Heaven help me and lend me his counsel ! If I imprison the youth, 
 or put him to death, my Cortes will revolt, for the love they bear him ; if I 
 fail to punish him, God will call my soul to account. I will at all events send 
 a letter forthwith, and summon him to my presence.' 
 
 17
 
 210 THE CID. 
 
 This letter was put into the hands of Diego Lainez. Rodrigo asked to see 
 it, but the old man, suspecting some sinister design against his boy, refused 
 to show it, saying, ' It is nothing, save a summons for thee to go to Burgos ; 
 but tarry thou here, my son, and I will go in thy stead.' ' Never !' replied 
 the youth, 
 
 ' Ne'er would God or Holv Mary 
 
 Suffer me this thing to do. 
 To what place soe'er thou goest, 
 Thither I before thee go.' 
 
 How tender is the filial affection here betrayed by the Cid, and yet is it by 
 no means inconsistent with the fierce burst of passion which the paternal 
 squeeze had before called forth. 
 
 That Rodrigo was not punished is evident, for Ximena repeated her visit to 
 the king a third and a fourth time, still demanding vengeance. On this latter 
 occasion she was attended by thirty squires of noble blood, arrayed in long 
 robes of black which swept the ground behind them. The king was sitting 
 on his high-backed chair listening to the complaints of his subjects, and dis- 
 pensing justice, rewarding the good and punishing the bad, for ' thus are 
 vassals made good and faithful.' The mace-bearers being commanded to quit 
 the royal presence, Ximena fell on her knees and renewed her complaint : 
 
 ' King ! six moons have past away 
 
 Since my sire was reft of life, 
 By a youth whom thou dost cherish 
 For such deeds of murderous strife. 
 
 ' Four times have I cried thee justice 
 
 Four times have I sued in vain ; 
 Promises I get in plenty 
 Justice none can I obtain.' 
 
 The king thus comforts her : 
 
 ' Say no more, oh, noble damsel ! 
 
 Thy complaints would soften down 
 Bosoms were they hard as iron, 
 Melt them were they cold as stone, 
 
 ' If I cherish Don Rodrigo, 
 
 For thy weal I keep the boy ; 
 
 Soon, I trow, will this same gallant 
 
 Turn thy mourning into joy.'
 
 THE CID. 211 
 
 Fernando probably saw, what the damsel herself did not understand, that 
 Rodrigo's hawking at her doves in his daily rides by her dwelling, was but a 
 rough mode of courtship, intimating that he himself was flying at higher 
 game in their mistress. 
 
 The second feat of arms achieved by our young hero was his conquest of 
 five Moorish chiefs, or kings, as the romances term them, who had made a 
 foray into the territory of Castile. They had ravaged the land nearly to the 
 gates of Burgos, the capital, every where unresisted ; had taken many cap- 
 tives and a vast booty, and were returning in triumph, when Rodrigo, then 
 but a beardless youth, who had not seen twenty summers, mounted his steed 
 Babieca, gathered a host of armed men, fell suddenly upon the Moors as they 
 were crossing the mountains of Oca, routed them with great slaughter, and 
 captured the five kings, with all their slaves and booty. 
 
 ' Rodrigo Diaz, great his honor ; 
 
 Beardless tho' he be, and tender, 
 To him princes five of Moordom 
 Fealty and tribute render.' 
 
 The spoil he divided among his followers, but reserved the kings for his own 
 share, and carried them home to his castle of Bivar, to present them as proofs 
 of his prowess to his mother. With his characteristic generosity, which was 
 conspicuous even at this early age, he then set them at liberty, on their 
 agreeing to pay him tribute ; and they departed to their respective lands, 
 extolling his valor and magnanimity. 
 
 The fame of this exploit soon spread far and wide through the land, and, 
 as martial valor was in those chivalrous times the surest passport to ladies' 
 favor, it must have had its due effect on Ximena's mind, and will in a great 
 measure account for the entire change in her sentiments towards the youth 
 which she manifested on her fifth visit to the palace at Burgos. Falling on 
 her knees before the king, she spoke thus : 
 
 ' I am daughter of Don Gomez, 
 
 Count of Gormaz was he highl, 
 Him Rodrigo by his valor 
 Did o'erthrow in mortal fight. 
 
 ' King ! I come to crave a favor 
 
 This the boon for which I pray, 
 That thou give me this Rodrigo 
 For my wedded lord this day.
 
 212 THE CID. 
 
 ' Happy shall I deem my wedding, 
 Yea, mine honor will be great, 
 For right sure am I his fortune 
 Will advance him in the state. 
 
 ' Grant this precious boon, I pray thee f 
 
 'Tis a duty thou dost owe; 
 For the great God hath commanded 
 That we should forgive a foe. 
 
 ' Freely will 1 grant him pardon 
 
 That he slew my much-loved sire, 
 If with gracious ear he hearken 
 To my bosom's fond desire.' 
 
 ' Now I see,' said the king, ' how true it is what I have often heard, that 
 the will of woman is wild and strange. Hitherto this damsel hath sought 
 deadly vengeance on the youth, and now she would have him to husband. 
 Howbeit, with right good-will, I will grant what she desireth.' He sent at 
 once for Rodrigo, who, with a train of three hundred young nobles, his friends 
 and kinsmen, all arrayed in new armor and robes of a similar color, obeyed 
 with all speed the royal summons. The king rode forth to meet him, ' for 
 right well did he love Rodrigo,' and opened the matter to him, promising him 
 great honors and much land if he would make Ximena his bride. Rodrigo, 
 who desired nothing better, at once acquiesced : 
 
 ' King and lord ! right well it pleaseth 
 
 Me thy wishes to fulfil ; 
 In this thing, as in all others, 
 I obey thy sovereign will.' 
 
 The young pair then plighted their troth in presence of the king, and in 
 pledge thereof gave him their hands. He kept his promise, and gave Rodrigo 
 Valduerna, Saldana, Belforado, and San Pedro de Cardena, for a marriage 
 portion. 
 
 On the day appointed, Rodrigo was arrayed by his brothers for the wedding. 
 Having doffed his well-burnished and graven armor, he put on first a pair of 
 galligaskins, or long loose drawers, with fringes of purple, then his hose, and 
 over both a wide pair of Walloon breeches, 'such as were worn in that golden 
 age,' saith the romance. His shoes were of cow's leather and scarlet cloth, 
 fastened over the instep with buckles. His shirt was even-edged, without 
 fringe, embroidery, or stiffening, ' for starch was then food for children ;' his 
 doublet or waistcoat was of black satin, with loose sleeves, and quilted
 
 THE CID. 213 
 
 throughout, the which doublet ' his father had sweated in three or four bat- 
 tles ;' over this he wore a slashed leathern jerkin or jacket, ' in memory of the 
 many slashes he had given in the field,* a German cloak lined with plush, and 
 a cap of fine Flemish cloth with a single cock's feather, completed his cos- 
 tume. But we must not forget his sword Tizona, ' the terror of the world,'f 
 which he girt about htm with a new belt, which, says the romance, 'cost 
 him four quartos,' a sum that might have been considerable in those days, but 
 is now only a fraction more than an English penny. Thus gaily attired, he 
 descended to the court of the palace, where the king, his nobles, and the 
 bishop who was to perform the ceremony, awaited him on foot. All then 
 moved in procession to the church to the sound of music, Rodrigo walking in 
 the midst. 
 
 After awhile came Ximena, with a veil over her head, and her hair dressed 
 out in large flaps hanging down over her ears. She wore an embroidered 
 gown of fine London cloth, and a close-fitting spencer with a flap behind. 
 She walked on high-heeled clogs of red leather. A necklace of eight medals 
 or plates of gold, with a small pendent image of St. Michael, which together 
 were ' worth a city,' encircled her neck. 
 
 The happy pair met, seized each other's hands, and embraced. Then said 
 Rodrigo with great emotion, as he gazed on his bride 
 ' I did slay thy sire, Ximena, 
 
 But, God wot, not traitorously ; 
 'Twas in open fight I slew him : 
 Sorely had he wronged me. 
 
 ' A man I slew a man I give thee 
 
 Here I stand thy will to bide ! 
 Thou, in place of a dead father, 
 Hast a husband at thy side. 
 
 ' All approved well his prudence 
 And extolled him with zeal : 
 Thus they celebrate the nuptials 
 Of Rodrigo of Castile.' 
 
 * If we may rely on the authenticity of a suit of armor shown in the Royal Armory at 
 Madrid as that of the Cid, these slashes must have been fashionable in Spain at a very 
 early age, for on the cuirass of that suit are engraved rude figures of men with short 
 slashed breeches. 
 
 t Here the romance is guilty of an anachronism ; for, according to the chronicle, the 
 poem, and other romances, Tizona did not become the property of the Cid till many years 
 after, when he won it from the Moorish king Bucar beneath the walls of Valencia.
 
 214 THE cm 
 
 Another romance, apparently of more modern date, describes the wedding 
 costume of the Cid with equal minuteness, but very differently, dressing him 
 in a doublet of dove-colored satin, light scarlet hose, and slashed shoes of 
 yellow silk, a short-jacket with sleeves closely plaited beneath the shoulder, a 
 folded handkerchief hanging from his girdle, a collar of gold and precious 
 stones about his neck, and a short black cloak with hood and sleeves over all. 
 This costume appears to belong to a less remote age than the former ; but 
 we have no means of determining the question, as the chronicles are wholly 
 silent on the subject. 
 
 A third romance gives an animated description of the procession from the 
 church to the royal palace, where the wedding feast was laid out, and tells us 
 how the streets of Burgos* were strewn with boughs of sweet cypress how 
 flowered cloths were hung from the windows how the king had raised a fes- 
 tive arch of great elegance at the cost of thirty-four quartos how minstrels 
 sung their lays to the honor of the wedded pair and how buffoons and merry- 
 andrews danced and played their antics, one with bladders in hand, another 
 in the disguise of a bull, and a third in the likeness of a demon, to whom the 
 king gave sixteen maravedis, ' because he scared the women well.' At the 
 head of the procession marched the bridegroom and the bishop who had per- 
 formed the ceremony, with their attendants ; then followed a crowd of these 
 boisterous merry-makers ; and the king, leading the fair Ximena by the hand, 
 with the queen and many a veiled lady, brought up the rear. As they passed 
 through the streets, wheat was showered from the windows upon the bride 
 a mute but emphatic expression of a desire that she might prove prolific. The 
 seeds fell thick on the neck and into the bosom of the blushing Ximena, and 
 the king officiously plucked them forth with his own hand ; whereat exclaimed 
 the wag Suero 
 
 ' ' 'Tis a fine thing to be a king, but Heaven make me a hand !' 
 
 The king was very merry when he was told of this, 
 And swore the bride, ere eventide, should give the boy a kiss. 
 
 ' The king went always talking, but she held down her head, 
 
 And seldom gave an answer to any thing he said : 
 It was better to be silent, among such a crowd of folk, 
 
 Than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke.' 
 
 * The romances are not agreed as to whether the wedding was celebrated at Burgos or 
 Palencia, but the chronicles determine it to have been at the latter city.
 
 $act jfourtfj, 
 
 ' Of the king right well beloved 
 
 Was Rodrigo of Bivar; 
 For his mighty deeds of valor 
 Through the world renowned far.' 
 
 WHAT Bucephalus was to Alexander, Babieca was to the Cid a faithful 
 servant through a long course of difficulty and danger, and a sharer of his 
 perils on many a battle-field. Like the Grecian steed, Babieca fell into the 
 hands of his master when he was but a youth ; but had the better fortune not 
 only to survive his lord, rendering him good service even after his death, but 
 to end a life of warfare in peace. The word Babieca signifies noodle, booby 
 a strange cognomen for a beast which is said to have been ' more like a ra- 
 tional being than a brute ;' but why he was thus called is explained by the 
 Chronicle, which says that Rodrigo, when a youth, asked his god-fajher, Don 
 Peyre Fringes, for a colt ; and the worthy priest took him out into a paddock 
 where his brood-mares were feeding, in order that he might make his choice ; 
 but Rodrigo ' suffered the mares and their colts to pass out and took none of 
 them ; and last of all came forth a mare with a colt right ugly and scabby, and, 
 said he, ' This colt will I have.' But, said his god-father with wrath, ' Booby, 
 (Babieca,) a bad choice hast thou made !' ' Nay,' said Rodrigo, ' a right good 
 horse will this be.' And Babieca was he henceforth called, and he was after- 
 wards a good steed and a bold, and on his back did my Cid win many battle- 
 fields.' We have already seen that he stood Rodrigo in good stead in the 
 affair of the five Moorish kings : we next find him acting the part of the 
 Samaritan's beast, and our hero in the novel character of a pilgrim. 
 
 Very soon after his marriage, Rodrigo made a pilgrimage to Compostela, to 
 the shrine of Santiago, the patron saint of Spain. This was no wedding-trip,
 
 216 THE CID. 
 
 in the modern sense of the term ; for instead of his bride, whom he left at 
 home in the care of his mother,* 
 
 ' Twenty young- and brave hidalgos 
 
 With him did Rodrigo take; 
 Alms on every side he scattered 
 For God and Our Lady's sake.' 
 
 On the road he saw a leper in the midst of a slough, crying loudly for help. 
 The generous youth on the instant dismounted and dragged him out ; then, 
 having seated him on his own beast, he Jed him to an inn, made him there sit 
 down to supper with him at the same table, to the great wrath of the twenty 
 hidalgos, and, finally, shared with him his bed. At midnight Rodrigo was 
 awakened by a sharp and piercing blast blowing on his back. He started up 
 in great alarm, and felt for the leper, but found him not in the bed. He 
 sprung to his feet, and called for a light. A light was brought, but no leper 
 could he find. He again lay down, when presently a figure, in robes of shin- 
 ing white, approached the bed, and thus spoke : 
 
 ' I Saint Lazarus am, Rodrigo ; 
 
 Somewhat would I say to thee 
 I the leper am to whom 
 
 Thou hast shown such charity. 
 Thou of God art well beloved 
 He hath granted this to thee, 
 
 ' That on whatsoe'er thou enterest, 
 
 Be it war, or what it may, 
 Thou shall end it to thine honor, 
 And shall prosper day by day. 
 
 ' To respect and pay thee reverence, 
 Moor or Christian ne'er shall fail ; 
 None of all thy foes shall ever 
 Over thee in fight prevail. 
 
 ' Life shall bring thee no dishonor 
 
 Thou shalt ever conqueror be ; 
 Death shall find thee still victorious, 
 For God's blessing rests on thee.' 
 
 * In a former article it was stated that the romances make no mention of the Cid's 
 mother : it should have been said that they do not mention her name.
 
 THE CID. 217 
 
 With these prophetic words the saint vanished ; the hero fell on his knees, 
 and continued in thanksgiving to God and Holy Mary till the break of day, 
 when he pursued his pilgrimage. 
 
 From the shrine at Compostela, Rodrigo turned his steps to Calahorra, a 
 town on the frontiers of Castile and Aragon, the possession of which was 
 contested by the kings of those realms. To avoid war, the monarchs agreed 
 to settle the dispute by single combat, each appointing a knight to do battle 
 in his name. Martin Gonzalez was chosen by Ramiro of Aragon, and our 
 hero by King Fernando. On the first meeting of the combatants, Martin 
 arrogantly boasted of his prowess and his certainty of victory : 
 
 ' Sore, Rodrigo, must thou tremble 
 
 Now to meet me in the fight, 
 Since thy head will soon be sever'd 
 For a trophy of my might. 
 
 ' Never more to thine own castle 
 Wilt thou turn Babieca's rein ; 
 Never will thy lov'd Ximena 
 See thee at her side again." 
 
 Rodrigo replied : 
 
 ' Thou mayst be right stout and valiant, 
 
 But thy boastings prove it not ; 
 Truce to words we come to combat, 
 Not with tongues, but swords, I wot. 
 
 1 In the hands of God Almighty 
 
 Doth the victory abide ; 
 And He will on him bestow it 
 Who hath right upon his side.' 
 
 We have here an instance, and many such will be found in the romances 
 of the Cid, of the belief prevalent in the chivalrous ages, that right and might 
 were in certain cases identical, that God was peculiarly the God of battles, 
 and that trial by combat was the most efficacious mode of exercising justice. 
 
 After the prophecy above recounted, it were needless to say that the boast- 
 ing knight was vanquished and slain, and that Calahorra was annexed to the 
 kingdom of Castile. 
 
 ' Loud to arms the trumpets sounded, 
 Beat the drums the call to war, 
 Deadly strife, and fire, and slaughter, 
 Were proclaimed wide and far. 
 
 28
 
 218 THE CID. 
 
 ' Ruy my Cid his warmen gathering, 
 Marshall'd them right speedily ; 
 Then forth came Ximena Gomez, 
 
 And all tearfully did cry, 
 ' King of my soul ! lord of my bosom ! stay ! 
 Oh, whither go'st thou ? leave me not, I pray !' 
 
 ' Moved by her sad complainings, 
 Lo ! the Cid his pain confest ; 
 Weeping sore, he claspt Ximena, 
 Claspt his lov'd one to his breast. 
 
 ' Weep not, lady dear,' he whispereth ; 
 4 Till I come back, dry thine eye !' 
 Stedfast still on him she gazeth, 
 
 And still bitterly doth cry, 
 ' King of my soul ! lord of my bosom ! stay ! 
 Oh, whither go'st thou ? leave me not, I pray !' ' 
 
 On what warlike expedition Rodrigo was bound when this tender parting 
 took place is not made evident by the romances ; but it was probable that he 
 was hastening to attack the Moors, ' great hosts' of whom about this time 
 overran Estremadura. He overtook them, put them to flight, freed the cap- 
 tives they had made, slew so many of the infidels ' that the number could not 
 be counted,' and returned to Bivar laden with spoil and glory. 
 
 The city of Coimbra in Portugal had for seven years been invested by King 
 Fernando, who was despairing of overcoming the resistance of the Moors, 
 when St. James the apostle, in the guise of a knight in white robes and bur- 
 nished armor, and mounted on a snowy charger, delivered the city into the 
 hands of the Christians. On the mosque being consecrated as a church, our 
 hero was therein created a knight ; for it seems by the Chronicle, as well as 
 by the romances, that up to this time he was nothing but an esquire. The 
 king girt on the sword with his own hands, and kissed hie lips as a knightly 
 salutation ; while, to testify his great respect for the young hero, he refrained 
 from striking the customary blow on the neck.* The queen, to do him honor, 
 brought him his horse, and the Infanta Urraca stooped to attach the golden 
 
 * Father Berganza, in his ' Antiquities of Spain,' says that the buffet was given with 
 the hand upon the neck, with the words 'Awake, and sleep not in affairs of chivalry !' and 
 that it was also usual to say, ' Be a good and faithful soldier of the realm !' but that King 
 Fernando spared the buffet in this instance, as he knew the Cid needed not such exhor- 
 tation.
 
 THE CID. 219 
 
 spurs. The king then called upon him to exercise his newly acquired privi- 
 lege of knighting others, and he accordingly dubbed nine valiant esquires be- 
 fore the altar. 
 
 Whilst Rodrigo was with the king's court in the city of Zamora, there 
 came to him messengers from the five Moorish kings he had conquered, bring- 
 ing him tribute. This consisted of a hundred horses, all richly caparisoned : 
 
 ' Twenty were of dapple gray, 
 
 Twenty were as ermine white, 
 Thirty were of hardy sorrel, 
 Thirty were as black as night ;' 
 
 together with many rare jewels for his lady Ximena, and chests of silken ap- 
 parel for his attendant hidalgos. Kneeling at Rodrigo's feet, the messengers 
 offered him these gifts in token of the allegiance of their masters to him their 
 Cid or lord. 
 
 ' Out then,' spake Rodrigo Diaz, 
 
 ' Friends, I wot, ye err in this ; 
 I am neither lord nor master 
 Where the King Fernando is. 
 
 'All ye bring to him pertaineth 
 Nought can I, his vassal, claim.' ' 
 
 The king, charmed with the humility of so noble and doughty a knight, re- 
 fused to accept any portion of the tribute, and replied to the messengers 
 
 ' Say ye to your lords, albeit 
 
 This their Cid no crown doth wear, 
 To no monarch is he second ; 
 With myself he may compare. 
 
 ' All my realm, my wealth, my power, 
 
 To this knight's good sword I owe ; 
 To possess so brave a vassal, 
 Well it pleaseth me, I trow.' 
 
 Rodrigo sent back the messengers laden with presents ; and ' from that day 
 forth,' says the romance, ' he was called the Cid, a name given by the Moors 
 to a man of valor and high estate.'
 
 ' I 'm the Cid, Rodrigo Diaz, 
 
 Honor of Castile and Spain ; 
 Look unto my deeds of prowess .' 
 Who could greater glory gain ?' 
 
 IN the year 1055, Henry III., Emperor of Germany, complained to "Victor 
 II., who eat in the chair of St. Peter, that Fernando of Castile alone, of all 
 the potentates of Christendom, refused to acknowledge his superiority and 
 pay him tribute. The holy father lent a favorable ear to his prayer, and de- 
 spatched a messenger to Fernando, threatening a crusade against him unless 
 he tendered his obedience ; and this threat was seconded by many other sove- 
 reigns, whose letters accompanied the Pope's. Fernando, in great alarm, 
 hastily called together a council for deliberation and advice. His nobles 
 counselled him to submit, lest he should lose his kingdom. ' The good Cid' 
 was not present when the council commenced its deliberations, but he now 
 entered the hall ; and hearing what had passed, ' it grieved his heart sore,' 
 and he thus broke forth : 
 
 ' Woe the day thy mother bore thee ! 
 
 Woe were for Castile that day, 
 Should thy realm, oh, King Fernando, 
 This unwonted tribute pay ! 
 
 ' Never yet have we done homage 
 
 Shall we to a stranger how ? 
 Great the honor God hath given us 
 Shall we lose that honor now ? 
 
 ' He who would such counsel lend thee, 
 
 Count him, king, to be thy foe ; 
 He against thy crown conspireth, 
 And thy sceptre would o'erthrow.
 
 THE CID. 221 
 
 ' Thy forefathers erst did rescue 
 
 This fair realm from Paynim sway ; 
 Sore they bled, and long they struggled- 
 None to aid them did essay. 
 
 ' Sore they bled my life I 'd forfeit 
 
 Ere I 'd wear the brand of shame, 
 Ere I 'd stoop to pay this tribute, 
 Which none hath a right to claim. 
 
 ' Send then to the Holy Father, 
 Proudly thus to him reply 
 Thou, the king, and I, Rodrigo, 
 Him and all his power defy.' 
 
 Notwithstanding the daring boldness of this counsel, it pleased the king ; 
 and he sent back the messengers to the Pope, begging his Holiness not to 
 interfere, and at the same time challenging the Emperor and all his tributary 
 kings. Straightway a host of eight thousand nine hundred men was gathered, 
 and commanded by the Cid and accompanied by the king, it crossed the Py- 
 renees, and met the Count of Savoy, ' with a very great chivalry' (twenty 
 thousand men, says the Chronicle,) on the plains of France. The Emperor's 
 forces were routed and the Count made prisoner ; but the Cid released him 
 on his giving up his daughter as a hostage. Rodrigo having in another battle 
 defeated ' the mightiest power of France,' the allied sovereigns in alarm 
 wrote to the Pope, beseeching him to prevail upon the king of Castile to re- 
 turn to his own land, and they would ask no more for tribute, for none might 
 withstand the power of the Cid. On these terms Fernando withdrew his 
 forces. The Chronicle adds, that the Pope and the allied sovereigns made a 
 solemn covenant with him that such a demand should never again be made 
 upon Castile. 
 
 In order that we may not withdraw the attention of our readers from what 
 bears an immediate reference to the Cid, we pass over Ximena's letter to the 
 king, complaining of the long absence of her lord, the king's reply, the cere- 
 mony of her purification after her first delivery, the subsequent death-bed 
 scene of the good king' Fernando, and the distribution of his territories 
 among his children which things are recorded in many romances full of in- 
 terest and we proceed to notice the next striking event in the life of our 
 hero. 
 
 Sancho II., who in 1065 succeeded his father on the throne of Castile, went 
 to Rome to attend a council convoked by the holy father. On his arrival, he
 
 222 THE cm 
 
 was admitted to kiss the pope's hand, which we are informed he did ' with 
 great courtesy,' as did also the Cid and the other knights in his train, each in 
 turn, according to his rank, After this our Cid chanced to stray into the 
 church of St. Peter, and there beheld seven marble seats set for the Christian 
 kings then in Rome ; he remarked that that of the French king was placed 
 next the papal throne, while that of his own liege was on a lower step. This 
 fired his wrath, and he kicked the French king's seat to the ground with such 
 violence as to break it to pieces, and set his own lord's chair in the place of 
 honor. Hereon exclaimed a noble duke called the Savoyard, who stood by, 
 
 ' Cursed be thou, Don Rodrigo ! 
 
 May the Pope's ban on thee rest ; 
 For thou hast a king dishonor 'd 
 Of all kings, 1 wot, the best.' 
 
 The Cid replied 
 
 1 Speak no more of kings, Sir Duke ; 
 If thou dost of wrong complain, 
 It shall straightway be redressed 
 Here are none beside us twain.' 
 
 But the Duke did not seem inclined to fight, so the Cid stepped up to him, 
 and gave a hard thrust, a departure, it must be confessed, from his wonted 
 courtesy, but to be accounted for, if not excused, by the state of irritation in 
 which he was at the moment. The Duke received the insult in silence, but 
 made his complaint to the Pope, who immediately excommunicated the Cid. 
 Rodrigo, whose wrath had now subsided, hereon fell prostrate before his Holi- 
 ness, and besought absolution : 
 
 ' I absolve thee, Don Ruy Diaz, 
 
 I absolve thee cheerfully, 
 If while at my court, thou showest 
 Due respect and courtesy.' 
 
 Hardly had Sancho ascended the throne of Castile, when he sought to wrest 
 from his brothers, Alfonso, king of Leon, and Garcia, king of Galicia, the 
 dominions they had inherited from their father, and in both cases, owing to 
 the wisdom and valor of the Cid, he was eminently successful. On his first 
 encounter with Alfonso, Sancho had the worst of it, his troops being put to 
 the rout, but he was cheered by the counsel of the Cid : ' List, my liege ! 
 Thy brother's hosts are now feasting and making merry in their tents, as is 
 the wont of the Leonese and Galicians after a victory ; and soon will they be
 
 THE CID. 
 
 223 
 
 buried in slumber, neither heeding nor fearing thee ; but gather thou together 
 as many of thine own men as may be, and at break of day fall on the foe 
 manfully, and verily thou wilt have thy revenge.' This counsel was followed 
 with great success, the men of Leon were overthrown, and Alfonso himself 
 made prisoner, but his troops rallied, and in their turn captured Don Sancho. 
 As he was being led off the field by fourteen knights, ' the renowned one of 
 Bivar' came up, and begged his release in exchange for their King Alfonso. 
 They sternly replied 
 
 ' Hie thee hence, Rodrigo Diaz, 
 
 An thou love thy liberty ; 
 Lest, with this thy king, we take thee 
 
 Into dire captivity.' 
 
 At this, ' great wrath seized on the Cid,' and, regardless of their numbers, 
 he attacked them, and with his single arm routed them, and set his king at 
 liberty. 
 
 Our hero was equally instrumental in the conquest of Don Garcia, but we 
 refrain from particulars, as it is not our intention to dwell so much on his 
 warlike deeds as on the other events of his life, which will prove of more 
 general interest. We pass then at once to the expedition against Zamora. 
 
 Having deprived his brothers of their kingdoms, and his sister Elvira of 
 the town of Toro, her only inheritance, Don Sancho marched against Zamora, 
 which the old king had bequeathed to his other daughter, Urraca, but which 
 the new monarch considered his rightful inheritance, and eagerly desired to 
 possess, in order that his dominion might in no way be inferior to that of his 
 predecessor. His army being encamped before the town, the king rode out 
 with the Cid, to reconnoitre the place, and thus expressed his admiration of 
 
 its strength : 
 
 ' See ! where on yon cliff Zamora 
 Lifteth up her haughty brow, 
 Walls of strength on high begird her, 
 Duero swift and deep below. 
 
 ' Troth ! how wondrous strong she seemeth 
 
 In her panoply of towers ; 
 She, I wot, might bid defiance 
 To the world and all its powers ! 
 
 ' Wert she mine, that noble city, 
 
 Spain itself were not so dear ; 
 
 Cid, my sire did thee much honor, 
 
 Great love eke to thee I bear.
 
 224 THE CID. 
 
 1 Wherefore charge I thee, Rodrigo, 
 
 As a vassal loyal and true, 
 
 Hie thee straight unto Zamora, 
 
 This my bidding for to do.' 
 
 He charged the Cid to tell his sister Urraca to deliver up the city, either 
 for a sum of gold or in exchange for some other town, and promised to swear, 
 with twelve of his vassals, that he would fulfil the agreement ; but as the 
 strongest inducement for her to accede to his demand, he added 
 
 ' If she will do none of these, 
 I will e'en by force possess it.' 
 
 The Cid obeyed with great reluctance, for he had before endeavored to 
 dissuade the king from his unrighteous purpose, and had sworn that he would 
 not himself take up arms against Zamora. As he approached the walls, the 
 Infanta Urraca calls out to him from the ramparts, 
 
 ' Back ! begone with thee, Rodrigo ! 
 Proud Castillian, hence ! away ! 
 How canst thou thus dare assail me ? 
 Hast forgot that happy day, 
 
 ' When, at Santiago's altar, 
 
 Thou wast made a belted knight ? 
 The king, my sire, was thy godfather, 
 
 And put on thy armor bright ; 
 My mother brought to thee thy charger, 
 
 By my hands thy spurs were dight. 
 
 ' Woe is me ! I thought to wed thee ; 
 
 Fondly did I love thee, Cid ; 
 But my sins, alas ! forbad it, 
 Thou didst with Ximena wed. 
 
 ' With her thou hadst well-fill'd coffers, 
 Honor wouldst have won with me ; 
 And, if wealth be good, still better 
 Rank and honor were to thee.'* 
 
 * Though the romances make mention of but one Ximena, it may be doubted whether 
 the Cid had not two wives of that name. Father Berganza, who spared no pains to 
 verify the events of our hero's life, seems to regard his marriage with Ximena Gomez as 
 fictitious, and thinks his true wife was Ximena Diaz, daughter of Don Diego, Count of 
 the Asturias, and of the royal blood of Leon, and that he married her in the reign of
 
 THE CID. 225 
 
 These words rendered the Cid very sorrowful, and he returned to the camp 
 without'having accomplished the purpose of his embassy. But, according to 
 another romance, which agrees with the ' Chronicle' in this, as well as in 
 omitting all notice of Urraca's confession, he entered the city, and delivered 
 his message. The Infanta heard it with many tears, and cried 
 
 ' Woe is me, a lonely woman ! 
 Woe is me, a maid forlorn ! 
 King, thy dying sire remember ; 
 Be not Sancho still forsworn ! 
 
 ' From thy brother Don Garcia 
 
 Thou hast crown and kingdom ta'en ; 
 Cast him eke into a dungeon, 
 Where he ruefully hath lain. 
 
 ' Next, thy brother Don Alfonso 
 
 Thou didst drive him from his throne ; 
 Fled he straight unto Toledo, 
 Where he dwelleth woe-begone. 
 
 ' From my sister, Dona Elvira, 
 
 Toro hast thou wrested, too ; 
 
 Now of me thou wouldst Zamora ; 
 
 Woe is me ! what shall I do ?' 
 
 Hereon arose Arias Gonzalo, an aged noble, who was the Infanta's chief 
 counsellor, and, to console her, he proposed that the sense of the citizens 
 should be taken with regard to this matter. This was accordingly done, and 
 
 ' Then did swear all her brave vassals 
 
 In Zamora's walls to die, 
 Ere unto the king they'd yield it, 
 And disgrace their chivalry.' 
 
 When the Cid returned with this answer, the king was exceeding wrathful, 
 and accused him of having suggested it, because he had been brought up in 
 
 Sancho II. Certain it is that on her tomb, which we have seen in San Pedro de Cardena, 
 ahe is styled ' Ximena Diaz, grand-daughter of the King Alfonso V. of Leon.' Sandoval 
 and Berganza give at length the marriage settlement of the Cid and Ximena Diaz, dated 
 1074, and still preserved, it is said, in the archives of the cathedral at Burgos. Lest it 
 should be supposed that she was so called from the surname of her husband, we must 
 observe that Spanish females do not lose their maiden names on their marriage. 
 
 23
 
 226 THE CID. 
 
 Zamora, and was ill-affected towards the expedition. So wrathful was Don 
 Sancho, that he exclaimed, 'Were it not for the love my father bore thee, I 
 would straightway have thee hanged ; but I command thee to begone in nine 
 days from this my realm of Castile. The Cid went his way to the Arab 
 court of Toledo, but his exile was not of long duration, for the king, through 
 the representations of his nobles, eoon began to regret the loss of so valiant 
 a liegeman, and sent to recall him. When he heard of his approach, 
 
 ' Forth two leagues he went to meet him, 
 
 With five hundred in his train ; 
 When the Cid beheld the monarch, 
 
 From his steed he sprung amain. 
 Kneeling, the king's hands he kissed, 
 
 Lowly homage did he pay ; 
 Then, with joy of all, uprising, 
 
 Took he to the camp his way.' 
 
 One day during the siege of Zamora there came running from the city, 
 hard pursued by the sons of Arias Gonzalo, one who made straight for the 
 tent of the King Don Sancho. This fellow, whose name was Bellido Dolfos, 
 said that he had been forced to fly for his life, for having advised Arias to 
 surrender the city ; he professed himself a warm partisan of the king, and 
 offered to show him a postern through which he and his forces might enter 
 Zamora. Though the king was warned by Arias Gonzalo from the ramparts, 
 
 ' Ware thee ! ware thee ! King Don Sancho, 
 
 List to my admonishment ! 
 From Zamora's walls a traitor 
 Hath gone forth with foul intent,' 
 
 he was imprudent enough to sally forth with Bellido alone, in order to see 
 this postern, and even handed to him, for a moment, the hunting-spear he 
 bore in his hand. Dolfos, seeing him unprotected, raised himself in his stir- 
 rups, and with all his force hurled the spear into the king's back. It passed 
 completely through him, and he fell in the agonies of death. The traitor 
 spurred away towards the town, but not alone, for the Cid had seen the deed, 
 and, springing to his horse, galloped after him ; but not having buckled on 
 his spurs, he was unable to overtake him before he reached the gates. Then 
 cried he in his wrath, 
 
 ' Cursed be the wretch ! and cursed 
 
 He who mounteth without spur ! 
 
 Had I arm'd my heels with rowels, 
 
 I had slain the treacherous cur.'
 
 THE CID. 227 
 
 The Castillian knights gathered around their dying king, and all flattered 
 him with the hope of recovery, save the veteran Count of Cabra, who charged 
 him to take no heed to his body, but to commend his soul to God without 
 delay, for his end was at hand. While faltering out his thanks for this 
 counsel, the hapless Don Sancho expired. 
 
 ' Such-like fate awaiteth all 
 
 Who in traitors put their trust.' 
 
 . 
 
 ' Dead the king Don Sancho lieth, 
 
 Lo ! where round his body kneel, 
 Sorely wailing, knights and nobles, 
 
 All the flower of Castille. 
 But my Cid Rodrigo Diaz 
 
 Most of all his loss doth feeL 
 
 ' Tears adown his cheeks come trickling 
 
 As he thus in grief doth say,- 
 ' Woe is thee, my king, my lord ! 
 
 Woe ! woe for Castille that day, 
 When, in spite of me, Zamora 
 Leaguer'd was with this array J 
 
 ' Neither God nor man he feared, 
 Who to this did counsel thee; 
 Who did urge thee thus to trespass 
 'Gainst the laws of chivalry,' 
 
 Then, turning to the surrounding nobles, he proposed that a challenge 
 should be sent to Zamora before the sun went down. This he, by reason of 
 his oath, could not offer, but it was undertaken by Diego Ordonez, the flower 
 of the renowned house of Lara, ' who had been wont to lie at the king's feet.' 
 He rode up to the walls of the city, and cried with a loud voice,
 
 228 THE CIP. 
 
 ' Lying hounds and traitors are ye, 
 
 All who in Zamora live ; 
 For within your walls protection 
 To a traitor ye do give. 
 
 1 Those who shelter lend to traitors, 
 Traitors are themselves, I trow; 
 And as such I now impeach ye, 
 And as such I curse ye now. 
 
 ' Cursed be your wives and children ! 
 
 Cursed be your babes unborn ! 
 Cursed be your youth, your aged 
 All that joy, and all that mourn ! 
 
 ' Cursed eke be your forefathers, 
 
 That they gave ye life and breath ! 
 Cursed be the bread, the water, 
 Which such traitors nourisheth ! 
 
 ' Cursed be men, women, children .' 
 Cursed be the great, the small ! 
 Cursed be the dead, the living-**- 
 All within Zamora's wall ! 
 
 ' Lo ! I come to prove ye traitors 
 
 Ready stand I on this plain 
 Five to meet in single combat, 
 As it is the wont in Spain.' 
 
 ? Out th.en spake the Count Gonzalo 
 Ye shall hear what he did say : 
 ' What wrong have our infants done ye ? 
 What our babes unborn, I pray ? 
 
 ' Wherefore curse ye thus our women ? 
 
 Why our aged and our dead ? 
 Wherefore curse our cattle ? wherefore 
 All our fountains and our bread ? 
 
 ' Know that for this foul impeachment 
 
 Thou must battle do with five ?' 
 Answer made he, < Ye are traitors 
 All who in Zamora live !'
 
 THE cn>. 229 
 
 Then said Don Arias, ' Would I had never been born, if it be in truth as 
 thou sayest ; nevertheless, I accept thy challenge, to prove that it is not so.' 
 Then, turning to the citizens, he said, ' Men of great honor and esteem, if 
 there be among ye any who hath had aught to do with treachery, let him speak 
 out and confess it, and I will straightway quit this land, and go in exile to 
 Africa, that I may not be conquered in battle as a traitor and a villain.' 
 
 With one voice all replied, 
 
 ' Fire consume us, Count Gonzalo, 
 
 If in this we guilty be ! 
 None of us within Zamora 
 Of this deed had privity. 
 
 ' Dolfos only is the traitor; 
 
 None but he the king did slay. 
 Thou canst safely go to battle 
 God will be thy shield and stay.' 
 
 Though the Infanta with tears besought Don Arias to regard his hoary 
 head, and forego so perilous an emprise, he insisted that he and his four sons 
 should accept the challenge, ' because he had been called a traitor.' 
 
 ' Deem it little worth, my lady, 
 That I go forth to the strife ; 
 For unto his lord the vassal 
 
 Oweth wealth, and fame, and life.' 
 
 The combat jvvhich ensues brings to mind the description given by Sir 
 Walter Scott, in his ' Fair Maid of Perth,' of old Torquil and his sons in the 
 battle between the Highland clans Chattan and Quhele. We must not, how- 
 ever, omit to notice a romance which describes the knighting of Pedro, one 
 of the sons of Don Arias, previous to the battle. It tells us that after he had 
 watched his arms before the altar, mass was sung by the bishop, who also 
 blessed each piece of armor ere it was donned, and that the young squire was 
 then dubbed by his father, who added some knightly counsel : 
 
 ' Rise a knight, son of my bosom ! 
 
 A knight of noble race thou art ; 
 That God make thee all thou shouldst be, 
 Is the fond wish of my heart. 
 
 ' True and upright be to all men ; 
 
 Traitors shun thou and despise ; 
 Of thy friends be thou the bulwark 
 Terror of thine enemies ;
 
 230 THE CID. 
 
 ' Firm in trial, bold in peril, 
 
 Mighty in the battle-field, 
 Smite not, son, thy vanquish'd foeman, 
 When the steel he cannot wield; 
 
 ' But as long as in the combat 
 
 He doth lance or sword oppose, 
 Spare thou neither thrusts or slashes, 
 Be not niggard of thy blows.' 
 
 The ' fond wishes' of the old Count were, alas ! soon disappointed, for on 
 the first encounter with Don Diego Ordonez, Pedro Arias was slain. Such 
 was also the fate of his two brothers Diego and Hernan, but the latter when 
 mortally wounded, struck Don Diego's charger, which, furious with pain, 
 carried his rider out of the lists, so that the umpires declared it to be a drawn 
 battle. 
 
 Bravely did the old Count bear up against his heavy loss, as is shown by a 
 short but beautiful romance which describes the funeral procession of one of 
 his sons. In the midst of a troop of three hundred horsemen was borne the 
 corpse, in a wooden coffin : 
 
 ' Five score noble damsels wail him, 
 
 Of his kindred every one ; 
 Some an uncle, some a cousin, 
 Some bewail a brother gone. 
 
 ' But the fair Urraca Hernando, 
 Deepest is her grief, I ween.' 
 
 This was probably his true love, or it might have been the Infanta herself, 
 who was his foster-sister. ' How well,' says the romance, 'doth the old Arias 
 Gonzalo comfort them !' 
 
 ' Wherefore weep ye thus, my damsels ? 
 
 Why so bitterly bemoan? 
 In no tavern-brawl he perish'd ; 
 Wherefore then so woe-begone? 
 
 ' But he died before Zamora,- 
 
 Pure your honor to maintain ; 
 Died he as a knight should die, 
 Died he on the battle-plain.' 
 
 It does not appear that Arias Gonzalo or his sons were in any way guilty 
 of the treacherous murder of the king Don Sancho. Suspicion would rather
 
 THE CID. 231 
 
 attach to the Infanta Urraca, who, according to the Chronicle, had promised 
 Eellido Dolfos whatever he might ask, if he would cause the siege to be raised. 
 On the ultimate fate of this miscreant, further than that he was imprisoned 
 by Don Arias, both Chronicle and romances are wholly silent. 
 
 Sebentfj. 
 
 ' One true and upright vassal better 
 
 Than a thousand fawners is ; 
 For a king from many bad men 
 Cannot make one good, I wiss.' 
 
 IMMEDIATELY on the death of King Sancho, which happened A. D. 1073, 
 Dona Urraca sent messengers to her brother Alfonso, then in exile at the 
 Arab court of Toledo, to inform him of his succession to the throne of Castille 
 and Leon. He and his little band of attendants escaped by letting themselves 
 down by night from the city-walls, and having taken the precaution of rever- 
 sing the shoes on their horses' feet, they eluded pursuit, and reached Zamora 
 in safety. Here the nobles all paid homage to Alfonso as their king, save the 
 Cid, who refused to kiss his hand till he had publicly sworn that he had no 
 part whatever in the assassination of his brother. 
 
 ' ' Don Alfonso ! Don Alfonso ! 
 
 Thou art heir unto this throne ; 
 None thy right would wish to question, 
 
 None thy sovereignty disown. 
 But the people sore suspect thee, 
 
 That by thee this crime was done. 
 
 ' Wherefore, if thoa be trot guiltless, 
 
 Straight I pray of thee to swear, 
 Thou and twelve of these thy liegemen, 
 
 Who with thee in exile were, 
 That in thy late brother's death 
 
 Thou badst neither part nor share, 
 That none of ye to his murder 
 
 Privy or consenting were.' '
 
 232 THE CED. 
 
 The king agreed to take this oath, and the public ceremonial was appointed 
 to take place in the church of Santa Gadea at Burgos one of those churches, 
 says Father Berganza, which it was the custom in those days in Spain, as in 
 other countries of Europe, to set apart for the swearing of oaths, in order that 
 the ceremony might thus acquire greater awe and solemnity. The Cid him- 
 self administered the oath on ' the book of the Evangelists,' and on a crucifix, 
 or, as say other romances, on a wooden cross-bow and iron bolt which had 
 been blessed by the priest, and which the Cid held to the king's breast as he 
 uttered these words : 
 
 ' ' By this holy roof above us, 
 I do call on ye to swear, 
 Don Alfonso, and ye nobles, 
 And of pei jury beware ; 
 
 ' Swear then if ye to the murder 
 Of the king consenting were ; 
 May ye die a villain's death, 
 If ye aught but truth declare !' ' 
 
 The king hesitated a moment, but one of his favorite knights exclaimed : 
 
 ' ' Take the oath, good king, I pray thee, 
 
 Thou no hindrance hast or let ; 
 Pope was never interdicted 
 King was never traitor yet.' ' 
 
 On this the king took the oath, with his twelve nobles. Whether it was, as 
 the Chronicle says, that Alfonso changed color, or because it was agreeable 
 to the ancient law of Castile, the Cid insisted upon administering the oath 
 three times, which so incensed the king that he exclaimed, 
 
 ' ' Sore thou presses! me, Rodrigo ; 
 
 Needless thy demand, I wiss. 
 Though to-day thou mak'st me swear, 
 To-morrow thou my hand must kiss. 
 By my fay, I vow that on thee 
 I will be aveng'd for this.' 
 
 ' King and lord, do as it please thee,' 
 
 Thus the Cid in answer said ; . 
 ' As a knight of truth and honor 
 
 I have duty's hest obey'd/ '
 
 THE CID. 233 
 
 According to one romance, the king, no longer able to control his wrath, 
 replied 
 
 ' ' Out upon thee, knight disloyal, 
 
 From my realm, O Cid, begone ! 
 And return not, I command thee, 
 Till a year away hath flown.' 
 
 ' Quoth the good Cid, ' King, with pleasure, 
 
 I thy best obey ; nay more, 
 For one year thou dost me banish, 
 I will exile me for four.' 
 
 ' Away my good Cid then he goeth, 
 
 Nor doth kiss the monarch's hand ; 
 Full three hundred noble knights 
 Follow at the Cid's command.' 
 
 Other romances agree with the Chronicle in stating that the Cid's banish- 
 ment was much subsequent to the day of swearing, though from that time 
 forth the king bore him no good will. In truth, he was not enough of a cour- 
 tier to gain the young monarch's favor ; he was too sternly honest and too 
 plain-spoken to give other than good and wholesome counsel, however unpa- 
 latable it might prove. He was one day with the king in the cloisters of San 
 Pedro de Cardena, when Alfonso proposed to him to go and attack Cuenca, 
 then held by the Moors. Rodrigo replied, 
 
 ' ' Thou a young king art, Alfonso 
 
 New thy sceptre in the land ; 
 , Stablish well at home thy power, 
 
 Ere thou drawest forth the brand. 
 
 ' Grievous ill doth ever happen 
 
 To those kings who war espouse, 
 When their new-gain'd crowns have scarcely 
 'Gan to warm upon their brows.' ' 
 
 One of the friars here took up the word for the king, and made answer 
 
 ' ' Art thou sick to see Ximena ? 
 
 Dreadest thou the toils of war ? 
 Leave unto the king th' emprise 
 Back, Rodrigo, to Bivar!' ' 
 
 The Cid indignantly exclaimed, ' Who called thee, thou cowled one, to a
 
 234 THE cm 
 
 council of war 1 Take thy cope, good friar, to the choir, and leave me to bear 
 my pennon to the border : 
 
 ' ' Peril, war, fatigue, ne'er daunt me ; 
 
 Love on roe no chains hath tied. 
 More, God wot, have I, Tizona 
 Than Ximena by my side.' ' 
 
 Rodrigo's counsels and reproofs were in truth by no means as agreeable to 
 the monarch as the flatteries of the sycophants who surrounded him, and who, 
 jealous of the Cid's great power and fame, did their utmost to foster the 
 king's resentment against him. Even his brilliant success in a campaign into 
 Andalucia failed to conciliate Alfonso, and he lent a willing ear to a complaint 
 made shortly after against the Cid by Ali Maimon, the Arab King of Toledo, 
 who charged him with having laid waste his territories, and taken 7000 cap- 
 tives and much spoil. 
 
 Though this foray had been provoked by the depredations of the Arabs, 
 Alfonso chose to make it a cloak for his vengeance, and commanded Rodrigo 
 to begone from Castile in nine days, confiscated all his lands and goods, and 
 even threatened to hang * the Cid, the honor of his realm.' 
 
 Nobly did the hero reply, 
 
 ' ' 1 obey, O king Alfonso, 
 
 Guilty though in nought I be, 
 For it doth behoove a vassal 
 To obey his lord's decree ; 
 Prompter far am I to serve thee 
 Than thou art to guerdon me. 
 
 I do pray our Holy Lady 
 
 Her protection to afford, 
 That thou never may'st in battle 
 Need the Cid's right arm and sword. 
 
 ' Well I wot at my departure 
 
 Without sorrow thou canst smile ; 
 Well I wot that envious spirits 
 Noble bosoms can beguile : 
 But time will show, for this can ne'er be hid, 
 That they are women all, but I the Cid. 
 
 ' These high-soul'd and valiant courtiers, 
 
 Who are wont with thee to eat, 
 Think ye that their lying counsel 
 For a kingly ear is meet ?
 
 THE CID. 235 
 
 ' Prithee say, where were these gallants, 
 (Bold enough when far from blows,) 
 Where were they, when I, unaided, 
 Rescued thee from thirteen foes ?* 
 
 ' Where were then these palace-warriors, 
 
 That for thee they drew no brand ? 
 Verily, we all do know them, 
 
 Quick of tongue, but slow of hand. 
 Yea, time will show, for this can ne'er be hid, 
 
 That they are women all, but 1 the Cid.' 
 
 As he passed through the streets of Burgos, Rodrigo wa& met on ev^ry side 
 by lamentations, for ' all Castile mourned him as an orphan bewaileth his 
 sire.'f The women cried from the windows, ' God ! what a good vassal were 
 he, if he had but a good lord !' yet none dared to show him favor, nor even to 
 supply him with provisions, for the king had forbidden it, under pain of loss of 
 goods and eyesight. He found even the door of his own abode barred against 
 him. He went on to his Castle of Bivar, and, finding it utterly despoiled by 
 his enemies, he was perplexed about the means for his journey into exile, for 
 he had not even wherewithal to meet the expenses of the way : 
 ' Then two Jews of well-known substance 
 
 To his board inviteth he, 
 And of them a thousand florins 
 Asketh with all courtesy. 
 
 1 Lo !' saith he, ' these two large coffers, 
 
 Laden all with plate they be ; 
 Take them for the thousand florins 
 
 Take them for security. 
 In one year, if I redeem not, 
 
 That ye sell them, I agree.' 
 
 * The romance is in error here, for the reader will remember that it was Don Sancho 
 whom the Cid rescued from fourteen of Alfonso's knights, or rather thirteen, that being 
 the number overcome by the Cid, one having taken to flight. It seems not improbable 
 that this romance was originally written with a reference to the banishment of the Cid by 
 Don Sancho, recorded in No. V. of this series of articles, and that in process of time it 
 came to be applied to his second and much more important banishment by Don Alfonso, 
 undergoing, in its course of oral tradition, such alterations and additions as adapted it to 
 the latter event, while the allusion to the rescue was ignorantly suffered to remain. 
 
 t It is with this part of the Cid's history that the Poem begins. We shall in future 
 trust to its guidance in preference to that of the Chronicle, as it is of greater antiquity, 
 and accords better with the romances.
 
 236 THE CID. 
 
 ' Trusting to the Cid's great honor, 
 
 Twice the sum he sought they lend ; 
 To their hands he gave the coffers 
 Full were they of nought but sand !' 
 
 The romancist, in astonishment at this, the only base action recorded of 
 the Cid, breaks forth 
 
 ' Oh, thou dire necessity I 
 
 Oh, how many a noble soul, 
 To escape thy gnawing fetters, 
 Hath recourse to deeds as foul !'* 
 
 4 The good Cid Campeador, whom God keep in health and safety !' before 
 quitting his native land, made a vigil in the convent of San Pedro de Cardena ; 
 for 
 
 ' The Christian knight it aye behooveth, 
 
 Ere he putteth lance in rest, 
 With the armor of the church 
 Well to fortify his breast.' 
 
 When mass had been sung, the abbot and monks blessed his pennon. Then 
 said the Cid, holding the two ends of the pennon in his hands 
 
 ' ' Holy pennon ! blessed pennon ! 
 
 A Castilian beareth thee 
 Far away to other lands, 
 
 Banish'd by his lord's decree. 
 
 ' Lying tongues of foul-mouth'd traitors 
 
 Heaven's curse upon them light! 
 With this ill the king have counseled 
 My good service to requite. 
 
 * One of these chests is to this day preserved in the cloisters of Burgos cathedral. 
 The Poem of the Cid describes them as covered with red leather, and studded with gilt- 
 headed nails ; but this covering, if such ever existed, has been stripped off, and you now 
 see a plain wooden chest, about four feet by two, strongly bound by ribs of iron, and 
 fastened by three antique locks. It is said to contain certain musty documents relative 
 to our hero, but we were not able to verify the report, as it is raised to the height of 
 twenty feet or more from the ground, and supported by brackets against the wall. The 
 wood is very rotten, and, were the chest within the reach of pilferers, it would soon cease 
 to exist.
 
 THE CID. 237 
 
 ' King Alfonso ! King Alfonso ! 
 
 Rouse, bestir thee, rouse and think, 
 These vain siren-songs which charm thee 
 Lull thee to destruction's brink. 
 
 1 Sorely, God wot, hast thou wrong'd me, 
 
 Yet I wish thee nought but good ; 
 For to suffer wrongs with meekness 
 Doth betoken noble blood.* 
 
 ' I forgive thee, yea, to prove it, 
 
 I do swear to yield to thee 
 All my own good sword may henceforth 
 Conquer from the enemy.' ' 
 
 Then, with a parting embrace of Ximena and his two daughters, whom he 
 commended to the care of the abbot of San Pedro, he tore himself from them 
 ' as the nail is torn from the flesh,' and went forth, leaving them ' drowned 
 in tears and speechless woe.' Turning to the band of knights who deter- 
 mined to follow his fortunes, he said, as they rode away, 
 
 ' ' Comrades, should it please high Heaven 
 
 That we see Castile once more 
 Though we now go forth as outcasts, 
 
 Sad, dishonor'd, homeless, poor 
 We'll return with glory laden 
 
 And the spoilings of the Moor.' ' 
 
 ' He was resolved,' says the historian Mariana, ' to dispel by the splendor 
 of his deeds the clouds of calumny with which his enemies had assailed him.' 
 
 * The Cid must mean wrongs from his sovereign alone, for he was not the man 
 meekly to put up with injury from his equals, and we have his own word for it that 
 ' those who have noble escutcheons cannot brook wrongs.'
 
 25fjjfj). 
 
 ' Then strike, my knights, with joyous hearts ! be valiant in the war, 
 For I'm Rodrigo of Bivar, the Cid Campeador!' 
 
 Poem of the Cid, 
 
 IT were a tedious task to follow the Cid in his long and unremitting course 
 of hostilities against the Moslems, after his exile from Castile. The romances 
 indeed omit all mention of many of the exploits he performed during this 
 period, as recorded by the Poem and the Chronicle. Yet we must not pass 
 them over in utter silence. In the short space of three weeks he won two 
 strongholds from the Moors, and defeated a powerful force sent against him 
 from Valencia. Thirty horses, part of the spoil, each with a scimitar hanging 
 at the saddle-bow, he sent as a present to King Alfonso, who received the 
 gift, and gave permission to any of his knights to join the Cid's standard, but 
 thought it yet too early to grant him pardon. Rodrigo continued his forays 
 into the Arab territory, ravaged it far and wide, laid many of the principal 
 cities in the east of Spain under tribute, and gained great spoil and greater 
 glory. He even extended his incursions as far south as Alicant. Nor was 
 it the Moors alone with whom he had to contend ; for he signally defeated 
 and captured Ramon, count of Barcelona, and won from him the famous sword 
 Colada, ' worth more than a thousand marks of silver.' He also worsted Don 
 Pedro, king of Aragon, who on one occasion sent one hundred and fifty horse- 
 men to surprise him as he was riding attended by only a dozen knights ; but 
 the hero's individual prowess saved him, and he routed the Aragonese and 
 captured seven of their number, whom, with his wonted generosity, he imme- 
 diately set at liberty. 
 
 The fortress of Rueda had been wrested from the Castilians by the Moors, 
 who had also treacherously slain Ramiro, the son of Don Alphonso. This 
 monarch thereon recalled the Cid from banishment, and prayed him to march
 
 THE CID. 239 
 
 against Rueda and reduce it. Rodrigo kissed the royal hand, but refused to 
 accept the offered pardon, unless the king would pledge his word that thence- 
 forth every hidalgo under sentence of banishment should have thirty days 
 allowed him before going into exile, to prove, if possible, his innocence ; for, 
 said he, 
 
 ' ' Ne'er should be a vassal banish'd 
 
 Without time to plead his cause ; 
 
 Ne'er should king his people's rights 
 
 Trample on and break the laws ; 
 
 ' Ne'er should he his liegemen punish 
 More than to their crimes is due, 
 Lest they rise into rebellion 
 That day sorely would he rue.' ' 
 
 The king pledged his word to this, and the Cid marched against Rueda, 
 was as usual victorious, and on his return was received with all honor by his 
 grateful sovereign. This took place A. D. 1081. 
 
 We next find 'the good one of Bibar' captain-general of the Christian 
 force before Toledo, which for some years had been besieged by Don Al- 
 fonso ; and on its surrender, in 1085, the Cid was appointed its governor. 
 The ill will of the king towards him was not, however, entirely removed, but 
 being kept alive by the malicious representations of the Cid's enemies, a pre- 
 text was soon found for a renewed sentence of banishment. He pursued his 
 former course of hostilities against the Moors, and with the like success, and 
 ere long had carried his victorious arms to the gates of Valencia, which city 
 he resolved to make his own, and therefore sent heralds through Castile, 
 Aragon, and Navarre, proclaiming that all who loved a merry life and a glo- 
 rious might join his standard, but they must come out of pure love of blows. 
 Adventurers flocked to his camp from all quarters, and his force soon amounted 
 to three thousand six hundred men. He then laid siege to the city. 
 
 In his camp was an Austrian knight, named Martin Pelaez, of stout and 
 powerful frame, but of a weak and craven spirit. When the Cid and his fol- 
 lowers were one day engaged in deadly combat with the Paynims, this Pelaez 
 left the fight and returned secretly to his tent, where he remained concealed 
 till the battle was over, and the Christians, weary of the work of slaughter, 
 returned to refresh themselves in the camp. 
 
 ' The Cid he sat him down to eat, 
 With him of his knights sat none,
 
 THE CID. 
 
 For it was his daily wont 
 
 At his board to sit alone. 
 At another sat his knights, 
 
 All who were of high renown.' 
 
 For so did the good Cid ordain, that their valor might be made known to 
 all, and that the rest might strive to emulate them in the field. 
 
 ' Thinking that my Cid Rodrigo 
 
 Had not witnessed his shame, 
 In came Martin, neat and cleansed, 
 
 Straight unto the board he came ; 
 Where did sit Don Alvar Fanez 
 
 With his mighty men of fame. 
 
 ' Up the good Cid then arose, 
 
 Seiz'd his arm, and whisper'd low, 
 ' Friend, to eat with these great warriors 
 Is not meet for such as thou. 
 
 ' These are knights of proved valor, 
 
 Better men than we are they ; 
 Sit thee then at this my table, 
 Of my viands eat, I pray.' 
 
 ' Down then sat he with Rodrigo, 
 At his board with him did eat ; 
 Thus the Cid with wondrous mildness 
 Did rebuke him, as was meet.' 
 
 After the meal, the Cid, with the same considerate gentleness, took him 
 aside, and in plain terms upbraided him with his cowardice. ' Is it possible,' 
 said he, ' that a man nobly born as thou art, can fly through terror of the 
 strife 1 Knowest thou not that it is honorable to die on the battle-field ? 
 Better hadst thou turn monk ; peradventure thou mayest be able to serve 
 God in the cloister, though thou canst not in the war. Nathless, try once 
 more ; go forth this evening to the fight, place thyself at my side, and let me 
 see what spirit thou canst show.' 
 
 Deeply did Martin feel this rebuke, and grievous was his shame. He re- 
 solved to go forth to the field, and strive to redeem his character. Accord- 
 ingly, the next day, when the Cid and his host rode up to the very gates of 
 Valencia,
 
 THE CID. 241 
 
 ' Martin was the first that rushed 
 
 Headlong on the coming foe : 
 No fear then, I wot, he proved, 
 
 Wondrous valor he did show ; 
 His right arm wrought grievous slaughter, 
 
 Many Paynims he laid low. 
 
 ' As they fell right fast before him, 
 
 ' Whence this furious fiend ?' they cried : 
 
 ' Ne'er have we beheld such valor ; 
 None his onset can abide.' ' 
 
 The Saracens were driven back into the city, and Martin returned to the 
 camp, his arms bathed in blood up to the elbows. The Cid stood awaiting 
 him, and warmly embracing him, said, ' Friend Martin, thou art verily a good 
 and doughty knight. No longer must thou eat with me at table ; henceforth 
 thou shalt sit with Alvar Fanez, my cousin-german, and my other knights of 
 highest valor and renown.' From that day forth Martin Pelaez proved him- 
 self a right valiant knight, and thus, says the romance, was exemplified the 
 proverb 
 
 ' Who to a good tree betakes him, 
 Shelter good he there will find.' 
 
 The Valencians being hard beset and hopeless of succor, an aged prophet 
 ascended a lofty tower on the ramparts, and when he beheld the city so fair 
 and beautiful, and the camp of her enemies pitched against her, his heart 
 smote him sore, and he sighed forth this lament : 
 
 ' ' Oh Valencia ! my Valencia ! 
 
 Worthy thou to rule for aye ; 
 But if Allah do not pity, 
 Soon thy glory must decay. 
 
 ' Lo ! I sec thy mighty ramparts 
 Shake and totter to their fall. 
 Yea, thy proud and lofty towers, 
 
 And thy snowy turrets all, 
 
 . 
 
 ' Which thy sons rejoic'd to gaze on, 
 
 As they glitter'd from afar, 
 Woe ! I see them sink and crumble 
 Ruin doth their beauty mar. 
 
 31
 
 242 
 
 THE CID. 
 
 ' See, thy fertilizing river 
 
 Now hath stray'd from out its bed ; 
 All thy springs and gushing fountains 
 Now are dried up at their head. 
 
 ' Green thy fields and fair thy flowers 
 
 As they once in beauty shone ; 
 Now their beauty is defiled, 
 
 All their bloom and odour gone. 
 
 ' Yonder broad and noble strand, 
 
 Once thy pride and once thy boast, 
 Now by foot of foe is trampled 
 By Castilla's robber host. 
 
 ' Rapine, death, and desolation, 
 
 On thy land these Christians pour ; 
 Yea, the smoke of yonder burnings 
 All the landscape doth obscure. 
 
 ' Gone are ail the charms which made thee 
 
 To thy children so divine. 
 Could these walls but weep and wail thee, 
 They would add their tears to mine. 
 
 ' Oh Valencia ! my Valencia ! 
 Allah quickly succor thee ! 
 Oft have I foretold what now 
 Sore it grieveth me to see.' ' 
 
 After a siege of ten months the Cid gained possession of the city, A. D. 
 1094, and, says the poem 
 
 ' Right joyful was the Perfect One, with all his men of might, 
 To see upon Valencia's keep his banner waving bright. 
 All who were squires were dubbed knights for their deeds' sake that day ; 
 How much of gold each soldier won, I prithee, who can say ?' ' 
 
 According to the romances, he made a mild and generous use of his victory. 
 He gave orders that the dead should be buried and the sick and wounded 
 attended to, and cheered the citizens by assuring them that respect should be 
 paid to their persons and property, for that though fierce and mighty in war, 
 he was mild and gentle in peace. But the Moorish chroniclers tell a different 
 tale, and relate the cruelties inflicted upon the unhappy governor of Valencia 
 by the tyrant Cambitor (Campeador,) 'Allah curse him !' Rodrigo's earliest
 
 THE cn>. 243 
 
 care was to appoint a Christian bishop to his newly- won city ' God ! how 
 all Christendom did rejoice !' His next, to despatch Alvar Fanez to Burgos 
 to pray the king Alfonso for the company of Ximena and his two daughters, 
 whom he had left in the care of the abbot of S. Pedro de Cardena. He told 
 Don Alvar to take with him thirty marks of gold for the expenses of their 
 journey to Valencia, and as many of silver for the abbot. 
 
 ' ' To the worthy Jews two hundred 
 
 Marks of gold bear with all speed, 
 With as many more of silver, 
 Which they lent me in my need, 
 
 ' In my knightly honor trusting ; 
 
 But I basely did deceive, 
 And in pledge thereof two coffers 
 Full of nought but sand did give. 
 
 ' Pray ye of them, for my solace, 
 Pray them now to pardon me, 
 Sith with sorrow great I did it 
 Of my hard necessity. 
 
 ' Say, albeit within the coffers 
 
 Nought but sand they can espy, 
 That the pure gold of my truth 
 Deep beneath J that sand doth lie.' ' 
 
 He sent also to the king Alfonso, ' his own good and liege lord,' a rich gift 
 of captives, horses, and treasures, and instructed Don Alvar what to say : 
 
 ' ' Say, friend, to the king Alfonso, 
 
 May it please him now to take 
 This unworthy gift and offering 
 Which a banish'd lord doth make ; 
 
 ' Yea, unworthy all in value, 
 
 But some favor in his eyes 
 It may gain when that ye tell him 
 'Tis of Christian blood the price. 
 
 ' In two years with my good falchion, 
 
 I have won more land than he 
 Did inherit from his father ; 
 (May he now in glory be !)
 
 244 THE CID. 
 
 ' Tell him all this land and treasure, 
 
 All I 've won with my good sword, 
 I do hold of him in fief, 
 Asa vassal of his lord. 
 
 ' Yea, I pray God that my prowess 
 
 To his wealth may increase yield, 
 While my heel can strike Babieca, 
 While my hand Tizona wield. 
 
 ' One boon only I do ask him 
 
 Can I crave this boon in vain ? 
 That he send my lov'd Ximena, 
 
 And my tender daughters twain, 
 Dearest treasures of my bosom, 
 
 To relieve my lonely pain.' ' 
 
 Alvar Fanez faithfully executed his mission, and repeated his lord's words in 
 the presence of the king at Burgos. Hardly had he ceased speaking, when a 
 certain count, one of the Cid's enemies, arose, and warned the king to beware 
 of deceit, and give no credit to what he had heard. ' Perchance the Cid 
 meaneth to follow his gift, and beard thee to thy face on the morrow.' Alvar 
 Fanez plucked his bonnet from his brows, and replied, all stammering with 
 rage, 
 
 ' ' Let none stir, upon his peril ! 
 
 Speak not ! none of ye take heed 
 That the Cid himself is present, 
 For I stand here in his stead ! 
 
 ' Who will dare to utter falsehoods 
 
 Foul and lying words declare ? 
 In the Cid's name, I do warn him, 
 Let him of his head have care !' ' 
 
 Then remembering in whose presence he had spoken, Don Alvar, as a loyal 
 knight, asked pardon of the king, without however retracting aught that, he 
 had uttered. The result of his mission was that he carried back to Valencia 
 Ximena and her two daughters, to the great joy of the Cid. 
 
 Soon after this, the great Miramamolin, king of Tunis, landed on the Spa- 
 nish shore, with 50,000 horse and a countless host of foot, to wrest Valencia 
 from the hands of the Christians. Rodrigo took Ximena and his two daughters 
 to the roof of the highest tower in the Alcazar, or citadel, and showed them 
 this vast armament.
 
 THE CID. 245 
 
 ' Toward the sea they cast their eyes 
 
 Foes did swarm along the coast ; 
 Round about the town they looked 
 Every where a mighty host. 
 
 ' Tents were pitching, trenches digging, 
 
 All to battle did prepare ; 
 Shouts of men, and war-steeds neighing, 
 Drums and trumpets rent the air.' ' 
 
 The ladies were terrified at this novel sight, but the Cid, stroking his long 
 beard, cheered them. 
 
 ' ' Fear not thou, my lov'd Ximena, 
 
 Fear not ye, my daughters dear, 
 While I live to wield Tizona, 
 
 Ye, I wot, have nought to fear. 1 ' 
 
 ' See ye not,' he added, ' that the more numerous the foe, the richer will be 
 the spoil, and the larger your dowries, my daughters 1* Verily my heart 
 swelleth now that ye are present !'* Perceiving then that some of the Moors 
 had entered the orchards near the city, he despatched Don Alvar Salvadores 
 with two hundred horse to drive them out, and make a slaughter of the pagan 
 dogs for the gratification of the ladies. This was done, the Moors were driven 
 out, but Don Alvar, too eager in the pursuit of the flying foe, was taken 
 prisoner. 
 
 On the morrow, ' he who in a lucky hour girt the sword,' as the Poem fre- 
 quently terms the Cid, made a general sally against the Moors, the bishop of 
 Valencia, who, like many of the ecclesiastics of that day, was as expert with 
 the sword as with the mass-book, marching in complete armor at the head of 
 the troops. The small band of Christians soon found themselves in imminent 
 danger of being hemmed in by the overwhelming hosts of the foe : 
 
 ' But my good Cid, this perceiving, 
 
 Rushed on the enemy ; 
 'Gainst their ranks he spurr'd Babieca, 
 Shouting loud his battle-cry, 
 
 ' Aid us, God and Santiago !' 
 
 Many a Paynim he laid low; 
 To despatch a foe he never 
 Needed to repeat his blow. 
 
 * This saying of the Cid, ' The more Moors, the more gain," became proverbial in 
 Spain, and continues so at the present day.
 
 246 THE cn>. 
 
 ' Well it pleas'd the Cid to find him 
 Mounted on his steed once more, 
 With his right arm to the elbow 
 Crimson'd all with Moorish gore.' 
 
 The Moors took to flight and were pursued with great slaughter by the 
 Christians who took the Moslem camp, where they found Don Alvar Salva- 
 dores, with a vast booty in gold and horses, ' and the richest tent ever seen 
 in Christendom,' which the Cid sent, together with part of the spoil, to ' Al- 
 fonso the Castillian.' The king, overcome by the Cid's noble forgetfulness 
 of wrongs, thereon granted him pardon and restored him to favor. 
 
 ' God grant, who all created hath, and over all is Lord, 
 That to my Cid these weddings may content and joy afford.' 
 
 Poem. 
 
 ' Some there be, I trow, more valiant 
 With their feet than with their hands.' 
 
 Romance. 
 
 So widely was the renown of the Cid now spread abroad through the world, 
 that the Sultan of the East, the renowned Soliman, hearing of his valorous 
 deeds, sent an ambassador to Valencia with costly presents of silks, purple 
 and scarlet cloth, incense and myrrh, and gold and silver ornaments, in token 
 of his friendship, charging him to say, ' As the Prophet liveth,' saith my lord, 
 ' he would give his royal crown could he but behold thee in his land.' With 
 great courtesy did the Cid receive the ambassador, replying, that were his 
 lord a Christian, he would joyfully visit him. Then he showed him all his 
 wealth and power, and the pagan returned home marvelling greatly at his 
 abundant riches. According to the Chronicle, the Sultan was induced to 
 despatch this embassy, not so much from disinterested admiration of the Cid's 
 heroism, as to deter him from joining the princes of Europe in the crusade 
 which had been proclaimed against him.
 
 THE CED. 247 
 
 At this time also the two counts of Carrion were induced, by the great 
 fame and wealth of the Cid, to beseech the king to give them to wife his two 
 daughters, Dona Elvira and Dona Sol. Alfonso wrote to the Cid, asking 
 him to meet him at Requena, to consult with him on the matter. Rodrigo 
 did not much relish the proposal, thinking the counts too haughty and courtier- 
 like for his sons-in-law ; but he advised with Ximena, ' for in such-like mat- 
 ters,' says the romance, with much truth, 'women are wont to be of great 
 
 importance.' 
 
 ' Out then spake the dame Ximena, 
 ' Troth, my Cid, no wish have I 
 To ally me with these lordlings, 
 Though they be of lineage high. 
 
 ' But I would thou in this matter 
 
 Do as best it seemeth thee ; 
 'Tween thee and the king, of counsel 
 Good and wise no lack can be.' ' 
 
 ' When was ever seen in Castile so many choice mules, so many swift 
 palfreys, so many strong and sure-footed chargers, so many gay pennons flut- 
 tering from lance-heads, so many shields embossed with gold and silver, so 
 many rich garments of silk and fur, as when the Good One of Bibar met 
 Alfonso the Castillian' at Requena 1 ' He who in a lucky hour was born' 
 cast himself at the king's feet, but Alfonso raised him up, telling him to kiss 
 his hands and not his feet. Mass was then said, and the king opened the 
 matter of the marriage. The Cid returned thanks to his sovereign for the 
 honor intended to be conferred upon him, and added that he, his daughters, 
 and all he possessed, were in the king's hands, to be dealt with as it pleased 
 him ; ' for whatever his lord wished, who was so much worthier than he, that 
 did he wish also.' Whereon Alfonso ordered 8000 marks of silver to be 
 given to the sisters as their dowry, and deputed Don Alvar Fanez, their kins- 
 man, to act in his stead in giving away the brides. Then he commanded the 
 Counts to kiss the Cid's hands and pay him homage ; and the Cid departed 
 with them for Valencia, having first invited all the nobles to be present at 
 the ceremony. The double wedding took place accordingly, and for eight 
 days all was feasting, dancing, jousting, and bull-fighting within the city of 
 Valencia. The Cid, according to the custom of those days, gave gifts of 
 great value to the lords and magnates present ; for as the romance sagaciously 
 observes, 
 
 ' He who's great in deeds of battle, 
 Will be great in all beside.'
 
 248 THE CID. 
 
 These two counts of Carrion were, however, sad cravens ; not worthy to be \ 
 
 the sons-in-law of the Cid. They chanced one day to be sitting joking with ': 
 
 Don Bermudo, one of the Cid's nephews, in the same room where Rodrigo f 
 himself lay stretched on his couch in an after-dinner slumber, when 
 
 ' Lo, loud outcries rent the palace, 
 
 Shook its walls and turrets high ! 
 ' Ware the lion ! ware the lion ! 
 He is loose!' was heard the cry. 
 
 ' Don Bermudo nought was moved, 
 
 Nought his soul could terrify ; 
 But the brother counts of Carrion 
 'Gan right speedily to fly.' 
 
 Fernan Gonzales, the younger, crept for protection under the Cid's couch, 
 and in so doing burst his garment across the shoulders ; while Diego his 
 brother betook himself for refuge to a dirty closet hard by, or, as the Poem 
 says, crept beneath the beam of a wine-press. Bermudo drew his sword and 
 put himself on his guard. The uproar awoke the Cid, who started from his 
 couch just as the furious beast, followed by a number of armed men, entered 
 the hall. To the astonishment of all, the lion came crouching and fawning 
 to the feet of the Cid. The romance hints that this was a miracle. It was 
 certainly not less marvellous that Rodrigo threw his arms about the beast, 
 and ' with a thousand caresses' bore him off to his den without receiving 
 any injury. Returning to the hall, he inquired for his sons-in-law ; and 
 when they were dragged ignominiously from their places of refuge, their 
 bridal gear woefully disarranged and soiled, ' never was beheld such merri- 
 ment as ran through the court.' The Cid, gazing on each in turn, was for 
 some moments unable to speak, through the excess of his astonishment and 
 indignation. 
 
 ' ' God ! are these your wedding garments ? 
 
 In the devil's name, what fright, 
 Say what terror hath possess'd ye, 
 That ye thus should take to flight ? 
 
 ' Had ye not your weapons by ye ; 
 
 Why then fled ye in such haste ? 
 
 Was the Cid not here ? then surely 
 
 Ye could stand and see the beast.
 
 THE CID. 249 
 
 ' Of the king ye sought my daughters, 
 Thinking they had gold and land ; 
 God wot, I did never choose ye, 
 But I bow'd to his command. 
 
 ' Are ye then the sons I needed, 
 
 To protect me when I'm old ? 
 Zounds ! a good old age will mine be, 
 Since ye are as women bold.' ' 
 
 According to the Poem, the Cid did not reproach the counts, and suppressed 
 the mirth of his knights, when they were disposed to be merry at their ex- 
 pense. However this be, the Counts were stung with shame, and secretly 
 swore to obtain revenge. The Cid, with his wonted generosity, seems soon 
 to have forgiven them ; for in a council of war convoked shortly after, on the 
 occasion of Bucar, king of Morocco, beleaguering the city with a vast host, 
 he made them sit at his right hand, though, while he, as the romance beauti- 
 fully expresses it, 
 
 ' With excess of valor trembled, 
 They with utter fear did quake.' 
 
 The Moorish king sent a herald to Valencia to demand the immediate sur- 
 render of the city. This was the Cid's reply : 
 
 * ' Let your king prepare his battle, 
 
 I shall straightway order mine ; 
 Right dear hath Valencia cost me, 
 Think not I will it resign. 
 
 ' Hard the strife, and sore the slaughter, 
 
 But I won the victory ; 
 Thanks to God and to the valor 
 Of Castillian chivalry !' ' 
 
 As Ximena with her own hands was arming her lord for the field, he gave 
 her these parting instructions : 
 
 ' ' If with deadly wounds in battle, 
 
 I this day my breath resign ; 
 To San Pedro de Cardena 
 
 Bear me straight, Ximena mine. 
 
 ' Wail me not, lest some base panic 
 On my cbiefless warriors seize ; 
 But amid the call to battle 
 Make my funeral obsequies. 
 
 38 ~
 
 250 THE CID. 
 
 ' This, my lov'd Tizon, whose gloamings 
 
 Every foeman's heart appal ; 
 Never let it lose its glory, 
 
 Ne'er to hands of women fall, 
 
 ' Should God will that Babieca 
 
 Quit the strife alone this day ; 
 And without his lord returning r 
 At thy gate aloud should neigb-; 
 
 ' Open to him and caress him, 
 
 Let him well be hous'd and fed ; 
 He who well his master serveth, 
 Right well should be guerdoned. 
 
 ' Dear one, give me now thy blessing ! 
 
 Dry thine eyes and cease to mourn !' ' 
 Then my Cid, he spur'd to battle 
 ' Grant him, Heaven, a safe return !' ' 
 
 The Cid, knowing the cowardice of his sons-in-law, advised them to remain 
 within the city, and not sally forth with him to the war ; but they angrily 
 announced their intention to accompany him. During the combat a bold and 
 stalwart Moor came up, lance in hand, to assail the younger of the Counts, 
 who dared not abide his onset, but instantly turned and fled. None witnessed 
 his cowardice but Don Ordono, the Cid's nephew, and he pursued the Moor, 
 slew him, spoiled him of his horse and arms, and generously offered them to 
 the Count. 
 
 * ' Take this steed and spoil, Don Fenian, 
 
 Say lhat thou the Moor didst slay ; 
 On my knightly troth I pledge thee, 
 Never will I this gainsay ; 
 
 ' Saving thou to speak compel me, 
 None shall ever know I he truth.' 
 
 The Count was base enough to accept this offer of second-hand glory, and 
 was highly extolled for his valor by the Cid, who came up at the instant. He 
 stroked his beard, and said, ' I thank Christ, Lord of the world, that my sons- 
 in-law have fought so nobly with me in the field.' Victory, as usual, declared 
 for ' him who in a lucky hour girt the sword,' and my Cid returned to Valencia 
 with eighteen Moorish kings as trophies of his prowess, and with the re- 
 nowned sword Tizona, ' worth more than a thousand marks of gold,' which
 
 THE CID. 251 
 
 he had won from the royal grasp of Bucar, who narrowly escaped swelling 
 the number of his captives,* 
 
 The brother Counts had meanwhile been plotting revenge against the Cid, 
 and no less cruel than cowardly, they resolved to take it on the persons of his 
 daughters. They demanded their wives, that they might depart with them 
 to their own land. Rodrigo committed his daughters to them ; but having 
 seen by the flight of birds, that the nuptials would not be propitious, he 
 charged them to treat them with all gentleness and kindness. This the 
 Counts promised ; and the Cid, who had begun to hope better things of their 
 courage, gave them as parting gifts his two swords Tizona and Colada, 
 which he called ' the best of all his goods,' together with chains of gold of 
 costly Arabian workmanship, presents to him from the Sultan, vessels of gold 
 and silver, and many mules and war-horses. He and his knights also ac- 
 companied them for the distance of a league from the city. 
 
 ' The Cid he parted from his daughters, 
 Nought could he his grief disguise ; 
 As he clasped them to his bosom, 
 Tears did stream from out his eyes.' 
 
 And he exclaimed, ' Of a truth ye tear from me the very cords of my heart !' 
 He had a presentiment of some evil about to befall them, and he charged his 
 nephew Ordono to disguise himself and follow the Counts. These craven 
 knights continued their journey, and were everywhere well received for the 
 Cid's sake. Arriving at length at Tormes, which was beyond his territories, 
 they came to a halt, and ordered all their train to go forward, sayiug, that they 
 and their wives would follow anon. Then, entering a thick oak wood, hard 
 by the road, they dragged their wives from their mules, tore all the clothes 
 from their backs, seized them by the hair and dragged them to and fro over 
 the rough ground, buffeted and lashed their naked flesh with their saddle- 
 girths, kicked them barbarously with their rowelled heels, till their tender 
 bodies, ' white as the sun,' were bathed in blood all the while pouring forth 
 the most opprobrious language and finally lashed them to trees, saying, as 
 they left them to die of starvation, or to be torn to pieces by the wild beasts 
 of the forest, 
 
 * Though a few of the romimces agree with the Chronicle and Poem in stating that 
 Tizona was won from Bucar at this time, the rest make; frt-quent mention of it as wielded 
 by our hero during the greater portion of his life. Such anachronisms are among the 
 natural faults of ballad history.
 
 252 THE CID. 
 
 ' ' Vengeance on your cursed sire 
 Have we now obtain'd in ye ; 
 We have done with ye ye are not 
 Fit to mate with such as we.' ' 
 
 They then rode after their people, and answered their inquiries after the 
 ladies, by saying, ' they are well cared for.' 
 
 The poor women rent the air with their shrieks, calling upon heaven for 
 vengeance, 
 
 ' It was not the wounds and lashes 
 
 Not the pain that caus'd their woe : 
 'Twas the shame, the foul dishonor 
 Deadliest ills that women know.' 
 
 Don Ordono, who was following the Counts at a distance in the garb of a 
 pilgrim, heard their cries and entered the wood. On beholding his cousins in 
 such a state, he rent his clothes, tore his hair, and thundered out a thousand 
 curses on the heads of the recreant Counts. He untied the ladies, made them 
 a couch of leaves and grass, threw his own cloak over them, and left them to 
 seek assistance, saying, with tears in his eyes, as he strove to comfort them, 
 
 ' ' Cheer up, cousins, be not downcast, 
 Heaven's will must aye be done; 
 "Wherefore this thing hath befallen ye, 
 It is known to God alone. 
 
 ' Lay nought to your sire, I pray ye, 
 
 He obey'd the king's command ; 
 
 Your sire he is the Cid, fair ladies, 
 
 Leave your honor in his hands.' ' 
 
 He soon returned with an honest peasant, who conveyed them to bis own 
 cot, where his wife and daughters tended them with great care and tenderness. 
 
 Don Ordono straightway returned to Valencia and told his tale. Rodrigo 
 restrained all expression of his feelings : 
 
 ' My Cid he seemed nothing moved, 
 
 Though his grief was sore and deep : 
 Him who looketh for his vengeance, 
 It behooveth not to weep.' 
 
 But Ximena gave vent to her sorrow in floods of tears. The Cid consoled 
 her, swearing by his beard, ' which none had ever cut,' that she should have
 
 THE cm 253 
 
 speedy vengeance, and despatched messengers forthwith to the king, demand- 
 ing justice. According to another romance, the Cid went in person to the 
 royal palace at Leon. It was the hour of mid-day by the clock, and the king 
 was seated at dinner with his nobles, when the Cid, pale as death, and in com- 
 plete armor, strode into the hall, and fixing his eyes on the king, exclaimed, 
 
 1 ' Justice may I have of Heaven, 
 If I can have none of thee.' ' 
 
 All the nobles ceased to eat, in amazement at these words of the Cid ; his 
 friends moved by anxiety, his foes by terror. After a pause he continued, 
 
 ' ' Vengeance, king ! I pray thee vengeance ! 
 
 Do I ask this right in vain ? 
 I have oft in blood of traitors 
 
 Wash'd mine honor from all stain ; 
 But to thee I would leave vengeance, 
 For to thee it doth pertain. 
 
 ' Lo ! my daughters have been outrag'd ! 
 
 For thine own, thy kingdom's sake, 
 Look, Alfonso, to mine honor ! 
 Vengeance thou or I must take. 
 
 ' If I have aggriev'd these traitors, 
 
 Let me meet them in the fight 
 This right arm and this good falchion 
 Soon shall show ye who hath right.' ' 
 
 King Alfonso was exceeding wrathful when he heard this, and to confront 
 the Counts with the Cid, he commanded that a Cortes should be proclaimed 
 to be held at Toledo, and whosoever of his nobles did not obey the summons 
 within thirty days, (or three months, as the Chronicle has it,) should be ac- 
 counted a traitor and a rebel.
 
 May the God in heaven protect thee; 
 Guard thee from all treachery !' 
 
 WHEN the time was come for the departure of the Cid for Toledo, to join 
 the Cortes, which had been convoked by the king, he arrayed himself ' in 
 sable armor studded with golden crosses from the gorget unto the greaves,' 
 mounted his horse Babieca, and was arranging his cloak about him, when 
 Ximena seized his stirrup, and thus addressed him : 
 
 ' ' Look ye well, my Lord Rodrigo, 
 
 That thy vengeance perfect be, 
 For the shame that through thy daughters 
 These base counts have brought on thee! 
 
 ' Can it be that two such cravens 
 , To affront my Cid can dare, 
 When two thousand mailed warriors 
 Would not meet thee in the war? 
 
 ' May the God in heaven protect thee ; 
 
 Guard thee from all treachery! 
 For such as are cruel and craven, 
 Well, methinks, may traitors be.' ' 
 
 ' Enter not, my lord,' she added, ' into battle with these men ; verily, it 
 behooveth not one who hath vanquished so many kings thus to tarnish his 
 glory ; honor not with thy sword the filthy blood of these counts, for Babieca, 
 with his neighing alone, hath overthrown much stouter foes.' Having com- 
 mitted her and his daughters to the care of Martin Pelaez, the Cid struck 
 spurs into his steed, and set out for Toledo. 
 
 Sorely did the Counts of Carrion dread to attend the Cortes, knowing they
 
 THE CID. 255 
 
 should there meet the Cid ; but lest they should not he held for good and true 
 liegemen, they obeyed the summons, accompanied by their uncle Don Suero, 
 who had been with them in Valencia, and had counselled them to their das- 
 tardly revenge. The thirty days allowed by the king for his nobles to attend 
 the Cortes and prove their loyalty, passed, and the Cid came not. 
 
 ' Out then spake the Counts of Carrion, 
 
 ' Hold him, king, a traitor now!' 
 But the good king gave then answer, 
 ' Traitor ! none is he, I trow. 
 
 1 My Cid he is right true and loyal ; 
 He hath won full many a field f 
 Yea, in all my wide dominions 
 
 None like him the sword can wield.' * 
 
 As he thus spake, in came the Cid with nine hundred hidalgos in his train, 
 clad in robes of the same cloth and hue, and thus saluted the king: 
 
 ' ' God preserve thee, king Alfonso! 
 
 May God keep ye, nobles all ! 
 Save yon caitiff Counts of Carrion: 
 Heaven's vengeance on them fall.' ' 
 
 He would have cast himself to the earth at the king's feet, but Alfonso 
 swore by St. Isidore, (his favorite oath,) that it should not be so. ' We salute 
 thee, Cid, with heart and soul ; what grieveth thy heart, grieveth ours also.' 
 Whereon the Cid kissed his monarch's hands. The Court was adjourned 
 to the following day ; and ' he who in a good hour girt sword,' spent the night 
 in prayer and watching in San Servan.* 
 
 The Cortes assembled the next morning in the palace of Galiana, in a 
 council-chamber hung with costly brocade, and carpeted with velvet. The 
 poem gives a full description of the dress our hero wore on this occasion ; 
 and considering the great antiquity of that work, it is much more likely to be 
 accurate and characteristic of the age, than the descriptions of costume con- 
 tained in the romances, which, being preserved orally, were subjected to the 
 
 * We think the poem must here refer to a castle of that name which still stands, though 
 in ruins, on a height to the east of Toledo; It is said to have been built by the Moors, 
 and if so, must have existed in the time of the Cid ; and it was probably in this, or in a 
 sanctuary in the immediate neighborhood, that he kept his vigila, as it is evident thut it 
 was without the city, and on the opposite bank of the Tagus.
 
 THE CID. 
 
 alterations of many succeeding ages. It is briefly this : Hose of fine cloth, 
 with elaborately wrought shoes ; a linen shirt, ' white as the sun,' with fast- 
 enings of gold and silver, and tight wristbands : a gold-embroidered tunic worn 
 under a red fleece fringed with gold, which fleece ' my Cid was always wont 
 to wear,' even over his hauberk of mail ; and over all a mantle of great price. 
 His head was covered with a scarlet cap worked with gold, and his long beard 
 was tied up with a cord. In his beard the Cid took great pride, and never 
 suffered it to be cut, so that ' it was the talk of both of Moors and Christians,' 
 for, according to the poem, he had sworn, on taking Valencia 
 
 ' ' By the love of King Alfonso, who hath exiled me from home, 
 No hair shall of my beard be cut, no shears unto it come. 1 ' 
 
 When the Cid entered the Cortes, his long beard struck admiration and 
 awe into all present, and all gazed steadfastly on him, for right manly was 
 his aspect ' all save the Counts of Carrion, who dared not for shame regard 
 him. 
 
 The king opened the court by enjoining silence. He next appointed six 
 alcaldes or judges, from his own royal council, and made them swear by the 
 Evangelists that they would thoroughly inform themselves of the evidence on 
 both sides, and judge without fear, favor, or prejudice. Then he called upon 
 the Cid to state his charge. 'He of the long beard' straight arose, and com- 
 menced by urging his claims : 
 
 ' ' Long it is, oh ! King Alfonso, 
 
 Many a year hath passed o'er, 
 Since Tizona in thy service 
 
 Hath been clean of Paynim gore. 
 
 ' Many a weary year Ximena 
 
 On her widow'd couch hath mourned, 
 While a thousand Moorish banners 
 In the battle I o'erturned.' ' 
 
 He proceeded to state his charge against the Counts, and then demanded 
 his two swords Tizona and Colada, for they belonged not to the Counts, who 
 were no longer his sons-in-law ; and he said they must be ' an hungered, as 
 they were not fed as in former days." The king turned to the Counts, but 
 they said nought in their defence, and the judges ordered them to restore the 
 swords to him who had won them. The Chronicle says that they refused to 
 obey this command ; whereon the king arose in great wrath, and took them 
 from their hands, and delivered them to the Cid. Rodrigo received them with
 
 THE cm 257 
 
 great delight ; ' his whole body was gladdened and his heart laughed with 
 joy ;" and he called them his dear pledges, not precious because bought with 
 gold or silver, but dearly purchased by the sweat of his brow in battle. He 
 next demanded that the two thousand marks and all the jewels he had given 
 his daughters on their wedding-day should be returned to him. The judges, 
 seeing that the Counts had deserted their wives, immediately acceded to this 
 demand, and called upon the Counts to pay back the dowries, which they did 
 by delivering up horses, mules, and swords to the full value. The Cid a third 
 time arose from his seat, and with eyes flashing with ire, and hand grasping 
 his beard, which ' no son of woman had ever touched,' he opened his grand 
 charge against them, calling them ' false and villain-hearted dogs of traitors. 
 .... As God liveth, ye are brave knights to lay hands on women ; had ye 
 to do with king Bucar, I wot, we should hear another tale. Right truly saith 
 the proverb, that some warriors are as valiant with their feet as others with 
 their hands. Ye, methinks, are of the former.' In conclusion he challenged 
 the Counts and their uncle to mortal combat, for the stain they had inflicted 
 oil his honor was one which blood alone could wash away. 
 Ilereon the king called upon the Counts for their defence : 
 
 ' Out and spake the elder brother, 
 
 Turning to the king, said he, 
 ' Sire, thou knowest we are noblest 
 Of Castile's nobility. 
 
 ' True it is, we left these women, 
 
 Whom it was not meet to wed. 
 Dire disgrace it were to mate us 
 With the daughters of the Cid.' ' 
 
 Furious was the rage of the Cid's followers, but all held their peace save 
 Don Ordono, his nephew, who exclaimed, 
 
 ' ' Hold thy lying tongue, Diego, 
 
 Utter not such falsehood foul ! 
 
 Strong and stalwart is thy body, 
 
 But thou hast a craven soul.' ' 
 
 ' Thou tongue without hands ! how durst thou speak thus T Inasmuch as 
 they are women, and ye are men, they are in all respects better and worthier 
 than ye.' ' Remember,' he proceeds to say to the other brother, ' thy shame- 
 ful flight from the Moor beneath the walls of Valencia, when I slew thine
 
 258 THE CID. 
 
 adversary for thee, and gave thee his spoil to show it as a trophy of thy 
 prowess. I did it to honor thee, for that thou hadst wedded my cousin : 
 
 ' ' Nought of this have I e'er utter'd, 
 
 Nought should from my lips depart, 
 Were I not this day constrained 
 To proclaim how vile thou art.' ' 
 
 He then reminds them both of their cowardice when the lion broke loose, 
 and ends by branding them with baseness and cruelty : 
 
 ' ' He 'a no noble, maugre lineage, 
 
 Who doth chivalry despite J 
 
 He who layeth hands on women 
 
 Is a villain, and no knight.' ' 
 
 The Counts with their uncle Suero Gonzalez, were obliged to accept the 
 challenge, for by victory alone could they hope to establish themselves guilt- 
 less of the charges brought against them ; and the Cid was called upon by 
 the king to appoint three knights to do battle in his name, which he did, to 
 wit, Pedro Bermudez, Martin Antolinez, and Nuno Bustos. As the court 
 broke up, messengers came in from Navarre and Arragon, demanding the 
 Cid's daughters in marriage, Dona Elvira, the eldest, for Don Ramiro, son 
 of the king of Navarre, and Dona Sol for Don Sancho, heir to the throne of 
 Arragon. 
 
 My Cid had already set out for Valencia, when he turned his rein and be- 
 sought the king to take Babieca, saying, that it was not meet that he should 
 keep so renowned a steed, which belonged of right to his liege lord. ' Nay,' 
 said the king, ' not so ; for were I to take him, he would not have so good a 
 master as now. Verily, if he were mine, I would give him to thee, as to him 
 who could employ him with most honor to himself and to me.' Then the 
 king crossed himself and said, ' I swear by St. Isidore, that in all my realm 
 there is none like unto the Cid !' Rodrigo kissed his lord's hands, and with 
 great joy and contentment proceeded on his way. 
 
 The traitor Counts excused themselves from the combat in Toledo, on the 
 ground that they could not equip themselves to their satisfaction, save in their 
 own town of Carrion. King Alfonso, therefore, courteously allowed them to 
 depart, and followed them to Carrion, with the six judges of the fight and the 
 three knights appointed to do battle in the Cid's name. In the plain adjacent 
 to the town he found the tents pitched and every thing prepared for the bat- 
 tle, but the kinsmen and partisans of the Counts mustered in such numbers,
 
 THE cn>. 259 
 
 and were so formidably armed, that Alfonso suspected treachery, and, knowing 
 the Counts to have more treason than valor, he caused it to be proclaimed, 
 
 ' Whoso shall do wrong or outrage 
 
 To the squires of the Cid, 
 List ! his head and his possessions 
 Straightway shall be forfeited.' 
 
 This grieved the Counts sore, for they had agreed with their followers to 
 slay the Cid's men before the combat ; then they besought the king, saying, 
 
 ' ' King ! a boon we crave ! forbid it 
 
 That our foemen in the fight 
 Wield Tizona and Colada 
 
 Falchions they of wondrous might .'' ' 
 
 ' Nay, Sir Counts,' replied the king, ' I can grant ye none of this. Ye can 
 equip yourselves in what arms ye please, there is none to gainsay ye. Ye are 
 stout and stalwart ; fight, then, with valiant hearts.' 
 
 Our limits will not allow us to give the details of the battle. The result 
 was that the Cid's warriors were victorious, and, according to a letter which 
 the king wrote to him, giving a full description of the combat, one of the 
 brothers was left dead on the field ; though another romance agrees with the 
 Chronicle in saying that they all escaped with their lives, but were so covered 
 with shame that ' they fled from the land, and never more lifted up their 
 heads.' Pursuant to the prevalent but absurd notion of trial by combat, that 
 right was always victorious, the six judges then decreed that the two counts 
 of Carrion, with their uncle Suero Gonzalez, were base and infamous traitors, 
 thenceforward incapable of honor, and all their possessions were forfeited to 
 the crown. 
 
 The three victors returned to Valencia, to the very great joy and rejoicing 
 of the Cid. 
 
 ' Down upon his knees he cast him, 
 
 And his hands uprais'd to heaven, 
 
 Praise and thanks to God he render'd 
 
 For the vengeance he had given.' 
 
 " He grasped his beard, and cried, ' I thank the King of Heaven, my daugh- 
 ters are avenged !' He hastened to inform Ximena and his daughters of the 
 joyful news. Elvira and Sol heard the tiJings with manifestations of un- 
 bounded delight, with joy as great as joy could be.'
 
 260 THE cro. 
 
 ' Praise and thanks to God they render'd, 
 
 Then they ran with haste amain, 
 
 Forth to greet the good Bermudez 
 
 And his valiant comrades twain. 
 
 ' Eager in their arms they caught them, 
 
 And would fain their hands have kiss'd, 
 But the warriors forbade them,- 
 Great, the damsels' joy, I wist.' 
 
 After this the nuptials of the Cid's daughters were celebrated with the 
 Princes of Arragon and Navarre, ' See how honor floweth to him who in a 
 good hour was born !' and thus the Cid became the progenitor of kings, 
 ' sending,' says a modern traveller, ' through almost every royal house of 
 Europe a vein of heroism which is not slow to proclaim itself.' 
 
 STfje <Ettf.-part IHlebrntfl. 
 
 ' That when dead the foe he routed, 
 
 'Tis no folly to believe ; 
 For to whom the saints show favor 
 All is easy to achieve.' 
 
 WE now come to the closing scenes of our hero's life. When he had re- 
 tained possession of Valencia for five years, he fell sick, worn out by age and 
 the fatigues of his long continued warfare with the Moors. Tidings were at 
 the same time brought him that the Moorish king Bucar, whom he had before 
 driven from the plains of Valencia, had returned to the siege with a mighty 
 force of horse and foot, and with thirty kings in his alliance. 
 
 ' Sorely grieved the Cid these tidings, 
 
 As upon his bed he lay ; 
 Straight he pray'd the God of heaven 
 For protection and for stay ;
 
 THE cn>. 261 
 
 ' That from out this grievous peril 
 
 He would safe his servant guide , 
 Thus he pray'd, when on a sudden, 
 Lo ! a man stood at his side. 
 
 ' There he stood in bright apparel, 
 
 Robed in raiment white as snow, 
 Scarce the Cid his face could gaze on, 
 For so dazzling was its glow.' 
 
 This figure proved to be Saint Peter, sent from heaven to declare to the 
 Cid that he had but thirty days to live ; for at the expiration of that time he 
 would meet the saints in glory. 
 
 * ' Dear art thou to God, Rodrigo, 
 
 And this grace he granteth thee, 
 When thy soul hath fled, thy body 
 
 Still shall cause the Moors to flee ; 
 And, by aid of Santiago, 
 
 Gain a glorious victory.' ' 
 
 ' This,' the Saint added, ' God hath granted to my prayers, for the honor 
 thou hast always shown to my house and altar at Cardena.' With these 
 words the holy Apostle returned to heaven, leaving my Cid lost in praise and 
 thanksgiving. 
 
 These tidings cheered the Cid's heart greatly, and he straightway made 
 preparations for his approaching end. Having ordered all the Moors to quit 
 the city for the suburbs, he gathered together his followers in the church of 
 San Pedro, and there made known the prophetic vision with which he had 
 been honored ; then having charged them after his death to obey the com- 
 mands of Don Geronymo, the bishop, Alvar Fanez, and Pedro Bermudez, he 
 took a solemn farewell of all, confessed his sins, received absolution, and re- 
 turned to his palace. Here he sickened fast, and for seven days before his 
 death could take nothing but a little of the myrrh and balsam he had received 
 from the Sultan of the East. 
 
 The day before that appointed for his decease, the Cid called together his 
 wife and his nearest kinsmen and friends, to give them directions how to act 
 
 after his death : 
 
 ' ' First when that my soul hath left it, 
 
 Wash my body clean and sweet ; 
 
 Fill it next with myrrh and balsam, 
 
 And with spices, as is meet; 
 
 Then with ointments well anoint it 
 
 From the head unto the feet.
 
 262 THE CID. 
 
 ' Mourn me not, my dear Ximena 
 Mourn me not, ye maids, I pray ; 
 Lest your weeping and your wailing 
 To the foe my death betray.' ' 
 
 Then turning to Alvar Fanez and Pedro Bermudez, his kinsmen and com- 
 panions in arms, he said, 
 
 ' ' Should the Moorish king assail ye, 
 
 Call your hosts and man the wall f 
 Shout aloud, and let the trumpets 
 Sound a joyful battle-call. 
 
 ' Meantime then to quit this city 
 
 Let all seeretly prepare^ 
 And make all your chattels ready 
 Back unto Castile to bear. 
 
 ' Saddle next my Babieca, 
 
 Arm him well as for the fight ; 
 On his back then tie my body, 
 In my well-known armor dight. 
 
 ' In my right hand place Tizona ; 
 Lead me forth unto the war ; 
 Bear my standard fast behind me, 
 As it was my wont of yore. 
 
 ' Then, Don Alvar, range thy warriors 
 
 To do battle with the foe; 
 
 For right sure am I that on ye 
 
 God will victory bestow.' ' 
 
 The Cid then makes his will, which he commences in this manner, 
 
 ' ' He who spareth no man living, 
 
 Kings or nobles though they be, 
 At my door at length hath knocked, 
 And I hear him calling me. 
 
 ' As to go I am prepared, 
 
 I do make my testament,' ' (fee. 
 
 After repeating some of the above directions, he orders that Babieca, when 
 he dies, should be decently and carefully buried, ' that no dogs may eat the
 
 THE cm 263 
 
 flesh of him who hath trodden down so much dogs'-flesh of Moors.' His 
 own body he directs to be borne to San Pedro de Cardena, and there buried 
 under a bronze monument hard by the altar of the Holy Fisherman, as he 
 calls St. Peter. He forbids any female mourners to be hired to bewail his 
 death, as the tears of Ximena would suffice without the purchase of others. 
 His conscience still rebuking him for the deceit he had practised on the two 
 Jews who had lent him money on his departure into exile, he bequeaths them 
 another coffer of silver ; and after a few other legacies, he leaves the rest of 
 his property to be distributed among the poor. Then turning to his friends, 
 who were weeping around his couch, he said, 
 
 ' ' Friends, I sorrow not to leave ye ; 
 
 If this life an exile be, 
 We who leave it do but journey 
 Homeward to our family.' ' 
 
 On the day following the Cid prayed sore to heaven : ' Oh ! Lord Jesus, 
 thy kingdom is over all all rulers are in thy hands. Thou art King over all 
 kings, and Lord over all lords. I beseech thee, seeing thou hast given me so 
 much honor and glory, and so many victories over the enemies of thy holy 
 faith, to be pleased to pardon all my sins, and take my spirit to thyself.' Say- 
 ing this, he gave up the ghost. He died in the year 1099, in the seventy- 
 fourth year of his age. 
 
 Gil Diaz, his faithful servant, a Moor by birth, but a convert to Christianity, 
 fulfilled all his instructions with regard to the body, and gave it a sitting and 
 upright position, by placing it on a chair, and leaving it to stiffen between 
 two boards. 
 
 On the twelfth day after his death every thing was in readiness for the de- 
 parture of the Christians from Valencia. It was the hour of midnight when 
 they led forth Babieca, who gazed at his dead lord ' with an air of sorrow more 
 like a man than a brute.' They strapped the body firmly down to the saddle, 
 and tied the feet to the stirrups. His helmet and armor were of parchment, 
 painted so as to resemble steel. A shield of the same, marked with his own 
 device, was hung about his neck, and his beloved Tizona was fixed upright 
 and bare in his right hand : 
 
 ' There he sat all stiff and upright, 
 
 So Gil Diaz did contrive ; 
 He who had not known the secret, 
 Would have deem'd him still alive.
 
 264 THE CID. 
 
 ' By the fitful glare of torches 
 
 Forth they go at dead of night ; 
 Headed by their lifeless captain, 
 Forth they march unto the fight.' 
 
 The bishop of Valencia, Don Geronymo, led Babieca by one rein, and Gil 
 Diaz by the other. Pedro Bermudez led the van, with the Cid's banner up- 
 raised, guarded by four hundred knights of noble birth. Then followed the 
 beasts laden with the baggage under a similar guard. Next caine the Cid's 
 body, guarded by a hundred knights ; and Ximena and her women, with six 
 hundred knights, brought up the rear. The procession moved on into the 
 plain 
 
 ' All so silent and so softly, 
 
 That there seemed not twenty there.' 
 
 As the day broke, they were met by the Moorish hosts, but Alvar Fanez 
 assailed them with great fury. 
 
 At the head of the foe rode a Moorish woman, called ' the Star,' from her 
 great skill in shooting, and by the Chronicle termed a queen, who with a 
 hundred female companions, like the Amazons of old, did great execution with 
 their long-bows. Had they been said to be Spanish Arabs, at that period the 
 most polished and chivalrous race in Europe, we might deem this account 
 unworthy of credit ; but if we suppose them Africans, as we are at liberty to 
 do, considering they were in the army of the king of Morocco, the fact loses 
 all improbability, as we know, from the Arabian epic of ' Antar,' that among 
 the tribes of the desert women not unfrequently took part in the perils of 
 warfare, martial courage being regarded as one of the female virtues. These 
 heroines were all conquered and slain by the Christians. 
 
 King Bucar and his thirty royal allies were astounded at beholding what, 
 through a miraculous illusion, seemed to their eyes a prodigious force advan- 
 cing against them : 
 
 ' Seventy thousand Christian warriors, 
 
 All in snowy garments dight, 
 Led by one of giant stature, 
 Mounted on a charger white ; 
 
 ' On his breast a cross of crimson, 
 
 In his hand a sword of fire, 
 With it hew'd he down the Paynims, 
 As they fled, with slaughter dire.'
 
 THE CID. 265 
 
 This terrible warrior was no other than Santiago, or St. James, who, as 
 foretold by St. Peter, was to lend his aid to the Christians. Panic-struck, the 
 Moors fled to their ships, but ten thousand were drowned in the attempt to 
 get on board, and multitudes more were left dead on the field of battle. King 
 Bucar himself escaped, but twenty of his confederate kings were slain. His 
 camp fell into the hands of the Christians, who found in it so vast a spoil, that 
 the poorest that entered came away rich. Thus laden, they continued their 
 way to Castile ; and wherever they halted on the road, they took the Cid's 
 body from Babieca's back, and set it upright on a wooden horse which Gil 
 Diaz had made for the purpose. 
 
 The Moors in the suburbs of Valencia, who had beheld the rout of King 
 Bucar and his host, remained quiet all that day and the ensuing night, through 
 fear of the Christians, but having neither seen nor heard them return to the 
 city, they marvelled greatly, and on the following morning one of them ven- 
 tured to ride round the walls. He saw no warders on the ramparts, heard no 
 clashing of arms within, and found every gate closed, save that through which 
 the Christians had gone forth, and on the wall he found a paper saying that 
 the Cid was dead, and that the Christians had left Valencia to the Moors. 
 Great was their joy to return within its walls. 
 
 <it. part 
 
 THE good Ximena had sent messengers to the princes of Arragon and Na- 
 varre, her sons-in-law, as well as to the other kinsmen of the Cid, inviting 
 them to come and do his body honor. Alvar Fanez proposed that before they 
 came the body should be put into a coffin, fastened down with nails of gold, 
 and covered with a purple pall ; but Ximena would not listen to this, saying 
 that his daughters would rather behold him as he was : 
 
 ' ' My Cid hath still a jjeauteous visage, 
 
 And his eyes are nothing dim ; 
 
 Whilst so fresh his body keepeth, 
 
 'Twere not meet*) bury him.' ' 
 
 34
 
 266 THE CID. 
 
 As the procession drew nigh to Olmedo, it was met by the Cid's daughters 
 and their husbands. All the Aragonese knights in their train had their shields 
 hanging reversed at their saddle-bows, and were clad in black cloaks with the 
 hoods rent, according to the Castilian fashion of deep mourning, while the 
 ladies were arrayed in robes of black serge. They would have wailed, but 
 Ximena withstood them, as the Cid himself had forbidden it Dona Elvira 
 and Dona Sol, with their royal husbands, approached the body of their father : 
 
 ' Weeping sore, his hands they kissed, 
 
 Greatly marvelling at the sight ; 
 
 For no dead man then he seemed, 
 
 But a live and stalwart knight.' 
 
 All joined the procession as it continued on its way to San Pedro de Car- 
 dena. Thither also came the good king Alfonso, to do honor to the dead hero, 
 and he commanded that the Cid's body should not be buried at once, but should 
 be clad in rich vestments sent him by the Sultan, and be set hard by the altar, 
 on the seat he had been wont to use, on a cushioned cloth of gold, with his 
 own good sword Tizona in his hand. All this was done, and 
 
 ' There it sat, within that chapel, 
 More than ten long years, I ween.' 
 
 And a festival was held each year in honor of him, who ' though dead, hath 
 a name that ne'er will die.' 
 
 On one of these yearly festivals, which were celebrated at San Pedro de 
 Cardena, whither multitudes flocked from every part of Castile, it chanced 
 that a Jew entered the chapel at an hour when no one else was within its 
 walls, as the abbot, by reason of the crowd, was preaching to the people with- 
 out There he beheld the Cid's body sitting upright on his seat, with his 
 long white beard hanging down on his bosom, as though he were ' endowed 
 with great gravity, and worthy of all reverence ;' his left hand holding the 
 scabbard of his sword, and his right the strings of his mantle. This august 
 sight failed however to awe the unbeliever, and he said within himself, as he 
 gazed on the dead warrior : 
 
 ' ' Lo, the Cid ! this is his body, 
 
 Who through all the world was fear'd. 
 I've heard say in his lifetime 
 None did ever touch his beard.
 
 THE cm 
 
 267 
 
 4 Come, methinks I now will pluck it 
 
 Nought can harm me, now he's dead. 
 Forth his hand the Hebrew stretched, 
 As these impious words he said. 
 
 ' Ere the beard his fingers touched, 
 
 Lo, the silent man of death 
 Grasp'd the hilt, and drew Tizona 
 Full a span from out the sheath ! 
 
 ' Deadly fear the Hebrew seized 
 
 When lie did behold this sight 
 Down he fell unto the earth 
 
 Well nigh lifeless with affright.' 
 
 And there he was found by some of the congregation who entered the 
 church. On recovering from his swoon, he recounted what had past, and 
 gave thanks to God for that miracle, which wrought his immediate conversion 
 to Christianity. He assumed the cowl in the same convent of Cardefia, and 
 ' there ended his days, like any other good Christian.' But the Jew's word, 
 if we may believe the Chronicle, was not the only voucher for this miracle ; 
 from that day forth the right hand of the dead Cid kept firm hold of the hilt of 
 Tizona, so that his garments could no more be changed when dirty, as had 
 been the wont before. 
 
 At the end of ten years, the tip of the Cid's nose dropped off; whereon the 
 abbot and Gil "Diaz thought it time for him to be interred, which was done 
 accordingly in the same chapel ; a deep pit being dug before the high altar, 
 and his body being placed upright in it, on his own chair, as it had sat since 
 his death. 
 
 Ximena and the faithful Gil Diaz spent the remainder of their lives in the 
 convent of San Pedro, watching their lord's body ; keeping vigils and singing 
 masses for the benefit of his soul. Xirnena died four years after him, but Gil 
 Diaz lived many years longer. He carefully tended Babieca and took especial 
 care that none should ever mount him who had carried the Cid for forty-two 
 years ; and that his race might not be lost, he made him the progenitor of the 
 best breed of horses that ever existed in the realm of Spain. Babieca died 
 two years after his master, and was buried by Gil Diaz before the gate of the 
 monastery. 
 
 The remains of the Cid have several times been removed in the course of 
 the seven centuries and a half which have elapsed since his death, the last 
 time being by the French in 1809, to the Espolon or public promenade of
 
 268 . THE CID. 
 
 Burgos, but in 1826 they were restored with great solemnity to their original 
 resting-place in the convent of San Pedro de Cardena. 
 
 In the centre of a small chapel called ' the chapel of kings, counts, and 
 illustrious men,' now stands the monument containing the remains of our 
 hero and ' his wife so perfect, whom he loved as his own soul,' as says the 
 Poem. Their effigies in marble repose above, side by side. On a tablet be- 
 low is a Latin inscription in doggerel hexameters, saying that ' as Rome was 
 honored by the warlike deeds of her heroes, as King Arthur was the glory of 
 the Britons, and Charlemagne of the French, so is Spain no less ennobled by 
 her unconquered Cid.' The walls of this chapel are thickly covered with 
 painted escutcheons, to each of which some name is attached, serving as the \ 
 epitaph of the person whose remains lie enclosed in the wall at that spot. ' 
 Here you read the name of the Cid's great ancestor, Lain Calvo, the first 
 judge of Castile of his father Diego Lainez, and mother Dona Teresa of 
 the proud Count of Gormaz, who fell by his maiden sword. Here are also 
 interred our hero's two daughters Elvira and Sol, together with their royal 
 husbands of Navarre and Arragon ; and his only son Diego Rodriquez, of 
 whom no mention is made by the romances, but who died at an early age, 
 fighting by his father's side against the Moors of Consuegra. Here also lies 
 the dust of the Cid's brave companions in arms of Alvar Fanez Minaya, his 
 first cousin, whom he was wont to call ' his right arm, his better arm ;' of 
 Martin Antolinez, Pedro Bermudez, and Ordono, his nephews ; of Martin 
 Pelaez, the Asturian ; and of others of his captains whose names we have 
 not recorded. 
 
 Over the principal entrance to the convent is a mounted figure of the Cid, 
 larger than life, and painted striking the Moors to the ground beneath the 
 feet of Babieca. It was sadly mutilated during the War of Independence. 
 Since the suppression of the monastic orders in Spain, in 1835, the convent 
 has been uninhabited, save by a man who keeps it in order, and who, happily 
 for the visitor, is deeply read in the Cid's history. It stands about six or 
 : seven miles to the east of Burgos, in the midst of a bleak and dreary coun- 
 try, but which is yet not unfertile, as it is in many parts covered with corn. 
 The village of Bivar lies about the same distance to the north of Burgos. > 
 We did not visit it when recently at that city, but heard that some remains 
 of the Cid's castle are still standing. The site of the house in Burgos in 
 which the Cid was born is marked by three obelisks bearing escutcheons and 
 a commemorative inscription, which informs us that ' these monuments were 
 raised on the ancient ruins of his family mansion in the year 1784.' This, 
 and the chest already spoken of as preserved in the cathedral, are, we be-
 
 269 
 
 lieve, the only relics pertaining to the Cid now to be seen in Burgos ; but 
 we must not forget that his statue has a prominent place as 'the dread and 
 terror of the Moors,' in the quaint gateway of Santa Maria, erected by 
 Charles V. to the memory of the heroes of Burgos. 
 
 It may be remembered by the readers of ' Don Quixote' that the Manchegan 
 knight speaks of Babieca's saddle being preserved in the Royal Armory at 
 Madrid. We were there a few months since, but saw no such saddle, only 
 the suit of armor mentioned in a former article as belonging to the Cid, but 
 which is evidently of later date by several centuries ; and a sword which is 
 called Colada, but of which, judging from the hilt, we think the same maybe 
 said. We had no opportunity of examining it, but Southey states that on 
 one side of the blade is graven, ' Yes, yes,' on the other, ' No, No.' ' Tizona,' 
 according to the same authority, ' is an heir-loom in the family of the Marquis 
 of Falces.' On one side of the blade is engraved, 'I am Tizona, made in 
 era 1040,' i. e. A. D. 1002 ; on the other, ' Hail, Mary, full of grace !' 
 
 In concluding our sketch of the Cid's history, we must state our regret 
 that the necessity we have all along felt of curtailing and condensing our 
 matter as much as possible, has prevented us from dealing with the subject 
 A as it deserved. Yet we think our readers will allow that these ballads of the 
 \ Cid, though seen through the medium of our defective translation, are far 
 1 from deserving the sweeping condemnation of Dr. Southey, that ' the greater 
 i part of them are utterly worthless.' Among the nearly two hundred which 
 I are extant, there are certainly some of little value or interest, but we are 
 ,| satisfied that few who read them in the original will allow that this is charac- 
 teristic of the mass, and that not a few will say, with Mr. Lockhart, that they 
 have derived great pleasure from the perusal. In fact, those only who so 
 read them can adequately admire them, for, to adopt the words of a modern 
 critic on the early poetry of Spain, ' Spanish literature is of all others that 
 which can be least appreciated by extracts or transitions. Its excellence 
 consists not in insulated beauties, but in that noble national spirit which, like 
 a great connecting principle, pervades and harmonizes the whole.' 
 
 END OF THE ROMANCE OF THE CID.
 
 
 FERNANDO DEL 
 CASTILLO. 
 
 PEDRO DE FLORES. 
 
 MIGUEL DE MADRIGAL. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 THOMAS ROOD. 
 
 C. B. DEPFJNG. 
 
 Cancionero general d^los mas principales trobadores 
 de Espana, compilado del Fernado del Castillo, 
 folio, Valentia de Arragon, 1510. 
 
 Cancionero general : que contiene muchas obras de 
 diuersos autores antiguos, con algunas cosas 
 nuevas de modernos, de nueuo corregido y im- 
 presso, 8vo. Antwerp, 1557. 
 
 Romancero general, en que se contienen todos los 
 Romances que andan impresses en las nueve 
 partes de Romanceros, 4to. Medina de Campo, 1602. 
 
 Romancero general, en que se contienen todos loa 
 Romances que andan impressos, aora nuevamente 
 anadido y emendado, 4to. Madrid, 1604. 
 
 This edition is more complete than that of 1602. 
 
 El Mismo, aora anadido y emendado por Pedro de 
 Flores, 4to. Madrid, 1614. 
 
 Segunda parte del Romancero general, y flor de di- : 
 versa poesia, recopilados por Miguel de Madrigal* 
 4to. Valladolid, 1605, 
 
 Poesias escogidas de nuestros Cancioneros y Roman- 
 ceros antiguos, Madrid, 1796. 
 
 Ancient Ballads from the Civil Wars of Granada and 
 the Twelve Peers of France, by Thos. Rodd, Svo.i 
 
 London, 1801 
 
 The History of Charles the Great and Orlando, as- 
 cribed to Archbishop Turpin ; translated from the 
 Latin in Spanheim's Lives of Ecclesiastical Wri- 
 ters ; together with the most celebrated Ballads 
 relating to the Twelve Peers of France : by Thos 
 Rodd, 2 vols. 8vo. London, 1812 
 
 Sammlung der besten alten Spanischen Historischen 
 Ritter- und Maurischen Romanzen. Geordnet unc 
 mit Anmerkungen und einer Einleitung versehen, 
 von Ch. B. Depping, &c., 12mo. 
 
 Altenburg und Leipzig, 1817
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 
 
 271 
 
 C. B. DEPPIXG. 
 
 JUAN DE ESCOBAR. 
 BOHL DE FABER. 
 
 F. DIEZ. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 B. PANDIN. 
 
 ATTGUSTIN DURAN. 
 
 JAC. GRIMM. 
 
 JOHN BOWKING. 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 Colleccion de los mas celebres Romances Antiguos 
 Espanoles, Historicos y Caballerescos, publicada 
 por C. B. Depping, y ahora considerablemente em- 
 mendada por un Espanol Reiugiado, 2 torn. 16mo. 
 
 London, 1825. 
 
 This edition has the merit of being much more correctly 
 printed than its prototype, nnd the editor has, hrsides trans- 
 lating Depping's notes into Spanish, added several new ones 
 of his own. 
 
 Romancero del Cid Ruy Diaz, en language antiguo, 
 recopiladopor Juaude Escobar, 12mo. Madrid, 1818. 
 
 Floresta de Rimas Antiguas Castellanas, ordenada 
 por Don Juan Nicolas Bbhl de Faber, de la Real 
 Academia Espanola, 3 torn. 8vo. 
 
 Hamburgo, 1821-1825. 
 
 Alt-Spanische Romanzen, ubers. von F. Diez, 2 vols. 
 8vo. Frankfurt, 1818-21. 
 
 Spanische Romanzen aus der fruhern Zeit, 8vo. 
 
 Aarau, 1822. 
 
 Spanische Romanzen, ubersetz von B. Pandin, 12mo. 
 
 Berlin, 1823. 
 
 Romancero de Romances Moriscos, compuesto de to- 
 dos los de esta clase que contiene el Romancero 
 General, imprese en 1614, por Don Augustin Duran, 
 8vo. Madrid, 1828. 
 
 Romancero de romances doctrinales, amatorios, fes- 
 tivos, jocosos, satiricos y burlescos, sacados de va- 
 rias colecciones generales, y de las obras de di- 
 versos poetas de los siglos xv. xvi. y xvii. por D. 
 Augustin Duran, small 8vo. Madrid, 1829. 
 
 Canciero y Romancero de Coplas y canciones de arte 
 menor, letras, letrillas, romances cortos y glosas, 
 sagados por D. Augustin Duran, 8vo. 
 
 Madrid, 1829. 
 
 Romancero de romances caballerescos e historicos 
 anteriores al siglo xviii. que contiene los de amor, 
 los de la Fabla redonda, los de Carlo Magno y los 
 doce Pares, los de Bernardo del Carpio, del Cid 
 Campeador, de los infantes de Lara, etc., ordenado 
 y recopilado por D. Augustin Duran, 2 part, small 
 8vo. Madrid, 1832. 
 
 Silva de Romances viejos Espanoles, publicada por 
 Jac. Grimm, 12mo. Vienna, 1831. 
 
 Contains 69 romances. 
 
 Ancient Poetry and Romances of Spain, selected and 
 translated by John Bowring, 8vo. London, 1824. 
 
 Ancient Spanish Ballads, historical and romantic, 
 translated, with notes, by J. G. Lockhart, 4to. 
 
 London, 1841.
 
 SISMONDI (j. C. L. SI 
 MONDE BE) 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Ancient Spanish Ballads, historical and romantic, 
 translated, with notes, by J. G. Lockhart, 8vo. 
 
 New- York, 1841. 
 
 Re-printed from the above, wiih the addition of an Intro- 
 ductory Essay on the origin, antiquity, character and influ- 
 en> e of the ancient ballads of Spain, and an Analysis of the 
 romance of the Cid, with specimens. 
 
 Geschichte des Cid Ruy Diaz Campeador von Bivar, 
 nach den Quellen beaibeitet von V. A. Huber, 
 8vo. Bremen, 1829. 
 
 Der Cid, ein Romanzen-Kranz. Im Versmaasse der 
 Urschrift aus der Span, vollstandig ubers. v. F. M. 
 Duttenhofer, 8vo. Stuttgart, 1833. 
 
 Der Cid, nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen, 
 neue unverand. Auflage, 16mo. Stuttgart, 183<5. 
 
 The Same, beautifully illustrated with 70 plates, after 
 designs by Neureuther, royal 8vo. Stuttgart, 1839. 
 
 Tesoro de los Romanceros y Cancioneros Espanoles, 
 historicos, caballerescos, moriscos y otros por D. E. 
 de Ochoa, 8vo. Paris, 1838. 
 
 Chronicle of the Cid Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar, the 
 Campeador, from the Spanish, by Robert Southey, 
 LL. D., 4to. London, 1808. 
 
 Ancient Spanish Romances with English versions, 2 
 vols. 8vo. London, 18 . 
 
 Historia de la literatura Espanola, traducida al cas- 
 tellano y adicionada por Don Jose Gomez de la 
 Cortina y D. Nicolas Hugalde y Mollinedo, small 
 8vo. Madrid, 1829. 
 
 This translation is much to be preferred to the German 
 text, ' Geschichte der Poesie und Beredsamkeit, Gottingen, 
 1801-12,' from the numerous literary, biographical and biblio- 
 graphical notices added by the translator. 
 
 De la Litlerature du midi de 1'Europe, nouvelle edi- 
 tion (3me), revue et corrigee, 4 vols. in 8vo. 
 
 Paris, 1829. 
 
 Essay on Spanish Literature, followed by a History 
 of the Spanish Drama, and specimens of the dif- 
 ferent ages, by A. Anaya, 12mo. London, 1818. 
 
 Foreign Quarterly Review, No. 7, Art. 3, Ancient 
 National Poetry of Spain. 
 
 Edinburgh Review, January, 1841, No. 146, Art. 4, 
 Lockhart's Spanish Ballads. 
 
 Penny Magazine, New Series, 1841, Art. The Ro- 
 mances of Spain The Cid. 
 This series of articles forms part of the present volume. 
 
 Longfellow, Henry W., Outre Mer. (Vol. 2,) 2 vols. 
 12mo. New-York, 1835. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 . 
 
 
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