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THE ADMIRAL GUARINOS.
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.
Then captured was Guarinos, King Charles's Admiral,
Seven Moorish kings surrounded him, and seized him for their thrall;
Much joy had then Marlotes, and his captive much did prize,
"Now, for the sake of Allah, Lord Admiral Guarinos,
Be thou a Moslem, and much love shall ever rest between us.
"The one shall be thy waiting-maid, thy weary feet to lave,
"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 minute 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.
Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when thus he heard him say,
With iron bands they bound his hands; that sore unworthy plight
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 Samson long agc,
On these high feasts they bring him forth, a spectacle to be-
And on that morn, more solemn yet, when the maidens strip the bowers, And gladden mosque and minaret with the first fruits of the flowers.
Days come and go of gloom and show. Seven years are past and gone.
Christian and Moslem tilts and jousts, to give it honor due,
Marlotes in his joy and pride a target high doth rear,
Below the Moorish knights must ride and pierce it with the spear;
Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when he beheld them fail,
The whisker trembled on his lip, and his cheek for ire was pale.
The herald's 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 cry so loud? O, Queen of Heaven! be vengeance given on these thy haters proud!
"Oh! is it that some Paynim gay doth Marlotes' daughter wed, And that they bear my scorned fair in triumph to his bed?
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?"
These words the jailer chanced to hear, and thus to him he said:
"This is the joyful morning of John the Baptist's day,
Then out and spoke Guarinos: "Oh! soon each man should feed,
"Give me my horse, my old gray horse, so be he is not dead,
And give me the lance I brought from France, and if I win it not
The jailer wondered at his words. Thus to the knight said he :
The jailer put his mantle on and came unto the King,
That were he mounted but once more on his own gallant gray,
Much marveling, then said the King: "Bring Sir Guarinos forth,
"Now this will be a sight indeed to see the enfeebled lord
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
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 calm and gentle grace.
Oh! lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree,
And slowly riding down made halt before Marlotes' knee;
With that Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode,
The "old gray steed" plays no mean part in the foregoing story; and of the many ballads that celebrate the glories of the Cid, I hardly know one more pleasing than that which describes the mingled spirit and gentleness of his favorite horse.
The King looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true;
"For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring
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."
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,
And all that saw them praised them; they lauded man and horse,
Thus to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed
And so he led him prancing and panting to the King;
By any mortal but Bivar:-Mount, mount again, my Cid!"
In these two ballads there is little mention of the ladies. But two of the most charming of the Moorish series are devoted to Spain exclusively. "The following," says Mr. Lockhart, been often imitated in Spain and Germany." Its elegance could scarcely be increased in any language.
THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA.
"Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Risc 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 everywhere,
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;
"What aileth thee, Xarifa? what makes thine eyes look down?
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;
"Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down? Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing town?
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 shall I discover
The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover?
I will not rise with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town."
The next, still of a Moorish maiden, is even more charming.
"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropped into the well,
And what to say to Muça, I can not, can not tell."