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But, quoth the Traveller, wherefore did he

leave A flock that knew his saintly worth go well? Why, said the Landlord, Sir, it so befell He heard unluckily of our intent To do him a great honour; and, you know, He was not covetous of fame below, And so by stealth one night away he went

What might this honour be? the Traveller cried.

Why, Sir, the Host replied, Wc thought perhaps that he might one day

leave us; And then-should strangers have

The good man's grave, A loss like that would naturally grieve us, For he'll be made a Saint of to be sure. Therefore we thought it prudent to secure

His relics while we might; And so we meant to strangle him one night.


Nay, Edith! spare the Rose;—perhaps it

lives, And feels the noon-tide sun, and drinks

rcfresh'd The dews of night; let not thy gentle hand Tear its life-strings asunder, and destroy The sense of being .'—Why that infidel smile? Come, I will bribe thee to be merciful; And thou shalt have a tale of other days, For I am skill'd in legendary lore, So thou wilt let it live. There was a time Ere this, the freshest, sweetest flower that

blooms, Bcdeck'd the bowers of earth. Thou hast

not heard How first by miracle its fragrant leaves Spread to the sun their blushing loveliness.

There dwelt at Bethlehem a Jewish maid, And Zillah was her name, so passing fair That all Judea spake the virgin's praise. He who had seen her eyes' dark radiance How it revcal'd her soul, and what a soul Bcam'd in the mild effulgence, woe was he, For not in solitude, for not in crowds, Might he escape remembrance, nor avoid Her imaged form which followed every

where, And fill'd the heart, and fix'd the absent eye. Woo was he, for her bosom own'd no love Save the strong ardours of religious zeal, For Zillah on her God had ccntcr'd all Her spirit's deep afl'ections. So for her Her tribes-men sigh'd in vain, yet reverenced The obdurate virtue that destroy'd their

hopes. One man there was, u vain and wretched man,

Who saw, desired, dcspalr'd, andlaWt His sensual eye had gloated on her An Even till the flush of angry modest; Gave it new charms, and made hrart

the more. She loath'd the man, for HamueTt en i

bold, And the strong workings of brute Rimi Had moulded his broad features; isf >

fcar'd The bitterness of wounded vanity That with a fiendish hue would dinar His faint and lying smile. Nor Tain itVFor Hamucl vow'd revenge, and UH i t Against her virgin fame. He spread in Whispers that travel fast, and illrtp^ Which soon obtain belief; howZilbti' When in the temple heaven-ward i. •

raised. Did swim with rapturous zeal; bit u

were tho« Who had beheld the enthusiast > ».:

glance With other feelings fill'd ;—that 'twu»»" Of easy sort to play the saint by di; Before the public eye, but that all era Were closed at night;—that ZilUiT'

was foul. Yea forfeit to the law. Shame—ihamt t» a That he should trust so easily the Me: Which stabs another's fame! The ill* Was heard, repeated, and belie>ei~"

soon, For Hamucl by his damned artifice Produced such semblances of guilt,ll»JWas judged to shameful death. Wii"

the wallThere was a barren field; a place alt For it was there where wretched rrc.Received their death; and there th.;

the stake. And piled the fuel round, which >

consume The injured Maid, ahandon'd, ai it -" By God and man. The assembled BnK~ Beheld the scene, and when they 8'

Maid Bound to the stake, with what calm k"5"5 She lifted up her patient looks to Her They doubted of her guilt. Wilb'

thought! Stood Hamuel near the pile; him nnr Led thitherward, but now within b:< • Unwonted feelings stirr'd. and the G«J Of wakening guilt, anticipating H'] The eye of Zillah as it glanced art>r; Fell on the murderer once, and mt^ A moment; like a dagger did it p-;'"' And struck into his soul n currlco '• Conscience! thou God within as! *■

hour Of triumph dost thou spare the .-■

wrctrli. Not in the hour or infamy and dr*t! Forsake the virtuous! They tlra* «■»'


id lo! the torch!—hold, hold your erring

hands! ■i quench the rising flames !—they rise!

they spread! ley reach the suffering Maid! oh God

protect ic innocent one! They rose, they spread,

they raged;— ic breath of God went forth; the ascending fire neath its influence Lent, and all its flames one long lightning-flash concentrating, irted and Masted Harauel,—him alone, irk!—what a fearful scream the multitude mr forth!—and yet more miracles! the

stake ids out, and spreads its light green leaves,

and howers ic innocent Maid, and Roses bloom around, >w first beheld since Paradise was lost, d fill with Eden odours all the air.


Ik Maiden through the favouring night

• ■in Granada took her flight,

e bade her father's house farewell, d fled away with Manuel.

> Moorish maid might hope to vie itli Laila's cheek or Laila's eye, ,

i maiden loved with purer truth,
ever loved a lovelier youth.

fear they fled across the plain,
e father's wrath, the captive's chain,
hope to Murcia on they flee,
Peace, and Love, and Liberty.

A now they reach the mountain's height,
d she was weary with her flight,
a laid her head on Manuel's breast,
d pleasant was the maiden's rest.

t while she slept, the passing gale
ived the maiden's flowing veil,
i- father, as he crust the height,
v the veil so long and white.

ung Manuel started from his sleep,
saw them hastening up the steep,
il Laila shrick'd, and desperate now
ey climb'd the precipice's brow.

ey saw him raise his angry hand,
t follow with his armed band,
cy saw them climbing up the steep,
I heard his curses loud and deep.

en Manuel's heart grew wild with woe, looscn'd stones and roll'd below, Joosen'd crags, for Manuel strove

• life, and liberty, and love

The ascent was steep, the rock was high,
The Moors they durst not venture nigh,
The fugitives stood safely there,
They stood in safety and despair.

The Moorish chief unmoved could see
His daughter bend the suppliant knee;
He heard his child for pardon plead.
And swore the offenders both should bleed.

He bade the archers bend the bow,
And make the Christian fall below,
He bade the archers aim the dart,
And pierce the Maid's apostate heart.

The archers aim'd their arrows there,
She clasp'd young Manuel in despair,
Death, Manuel, shall set us free!
Then leap below and die with me.

He clasp'd her close and cried farewell,
In one another's arms they fell;
They leapt adown the craggy side,
In one another's arms they died.

And side by side they there arc laid,
The Christian youth and Moorish maid,
But never Cross was planted there,
Because they perish'd for despair.

Yet every Murcian maid can tell
Where Laila lies who loved so well,
And every youth who passes there
Says for Manuel's soul a prayer.


In an evil day and an hour of woe

Did Garci Fcrrandez wed!

He wedded the Lady Argentine,

He loved the Lady Argentine,

The Lady Argentine hath fled;

In an evil day and an hour of woe

She hath left the husband who loved her so,

To go to Count Aymcrique's bed.

Garci Ferrandez was brave and young,
The comelicst of the land;
There was never a knight of Leon in fight
Who could meet the force of his matchless

There was never a foe in the infidel band
Who against his dreadful sword could stand;
And yet Count Garci's strong right hand
Was shapely, and soft, and white;
As white and as soft as a lady's hand
Was the hand of the beautiful knight.

In An evil day and an hour of woe

To Garci's Hall did Count Aymcrique go;

In an evil day and a luckless night
From Garci'n Hall did he take his flight,
And bear with him that lady bright,
That lady false, his hale and bane.
There was feasting and joy in Count Aymc-

riquc's bower,
When he with triumph, and pomp, and pride,
Brought home the adultress like a bride:
His daughter only sate in her tower,
She sate in her lonely tower alone,
And for her dead mother she made her moan.
Methinks, said she, my father for me
Might have brought a bridegroom home.
A stepmother he brings hither instead,
Count Aymerique will not his daughter

should wed, But he brings home a Leman for his own bed. So thoughts of good and thoughts of ill Were working thus in Abba's will; And Argentine with evil intent Ever to work her woe was bent; That still she sate in her tower alone, And in that melancholy gloom, When for her mother she made her moan, She wish'd her father too in the tomb.

She watches the pilgrims and poor who wait

For daily food at her father's gate.

I would some knight were there, thought she,

Disguised in pilgrim-weeds for me!

For Aymerique's blessing I would not stay,

Nor he nor his Leman should say me nay,

But I with him would wend away.

She watches her handmaid the pittance deal,

They took their dole and went away;

But yonder is one who lingers still

As though he had something in his will,

Some secret which he fain would say;

And close to the portal she gees him go,

He talks with her handmaid in accents low;

Oh then she thought that time went slow,

And long were the minutes that she must wait

Till her handmaid came from the castle-gate.

From the castlc-gatc her handmaid came,
And told her that a knight was there.
Who sought to speak with Ablia tbe fair,
Count Aymerique's beautiful daughter and

She bade the stranger to her bower;
His stature was tall, his features bold;
A goodlier form might never maid
At tilt or tourney hope to sec;
And though in pilgrim-weeds arrayed,
Yet noble in his weeds was he,
And his arms in them enfold
As they were robes of royalty.

He told his name to the damsel fair,
He said that vengeance led him there;
Now aid me, lady dear, quoth he.
To smite the adultrrss in her pride;
Your wrongs and mine avenged shall he,

And I will take yon for my bride.
He pledged the word of a true knirl
From out the weeds his hand he drev
She took the hand that Garci gan.
And then she knew the tale wai trw.
For she saw the warrior's hand so rji
And she knew the fame of the tad

'Tis the hour of noon,

The bell of the convent hath done.

And the Sexta are begun;

The Count and his Leman arc gone t»


They look to their pages, and lo! tM Where Abba, a stranger so long Id* The ewer, and bason, and napkin lw; She came and knelt on her bended is*, And first to her father ministred shr; | Count Aymerique look'd on hii itm

down. He look'd on her then without a frtn

And next to the Lady Argentine
Humbly she went and knelt;
The Lady Argentine the while
A haughty wonder felt;
Her face put on an evil smile;
I little thought that I should set
The Lady Abba kneel to me
In service, of love and courtesy!
Count Aymerique, the Leman cried.
Is she weary of her solitude.
Or hath she quell'd her pride?

Abba no angry word replied.
She only raised her eyes and cried:
Let not the Lady Argentine
Be wroth at ministry of mine!
She look'd at Aymerique and sigh"'-
My father will not frown, I wee*
That Abba again at his board should bj
Then Aymerique raised her from kf'
And kiss'd her eyes, and bade her bf
The daughter she was wont to he-

The wine hath warm'd Count Ay**"**]
That mood his crafty dntightrr l«f'
She came and kiss'd her father'" rhrf'
And stroked his beard with gentlf •"■
And winning eye and action bland,
As she in childhood used to do. j

A boon! Count Aymerique. quOl''""''L
If I have found favour in thy rig1'1- J
Let rac sleep at my father's fee' I* ''*
Grant this, quoth she, so I shall f
That you will let your Abba be
The daughter she was wont to be-
With asking eye did Abba «pcal%
Her voice was soft and sweet;
The wine had warm'd Count Aynf'"1
And when the hour of rest Wm clffll'
She lay at her father's feet.

n Aymeriquc's arms the Lcman lay, riirir talk was of the distant day, low they from Garni fled away 11 the silent hour of night; Vihi then amid their wanton play I'liry mock'd the beautiful Knight. 'iir. far away his castle lay, The weary road of many a day; Ind travel long, they said, to him, t scem'd, was small delight, Ind he belike was loth witb blood To stain his hands so white.

I'liry little thought that Garci then

leard every scornful word!

They little thought the avenging hand

iVas on the avenging sword!

''earless, unpenitent, unblest,

rV ithout a prayer they sunk to rest,

I'lie adulterer on the Leman's breast.

Then Abba, listening still in fear,

To hear the breathing long and slow,

It length the appointed signal gave,

lnd Garci rose and struck the blow.

)ne blow sufficed for Ayraerique,—

le made no moan, he utter'd no groan;

lut his death-start waken'd Argentine,

lnd by the chamber-lamp she saw

The bloody falchion shine!

the raised for help her in-drawn breath,

lut her shriek of fear was her shriek of

death, n an evil day and an hour of woe )id Garci Fcrrandez wed! )ne wicked wife has he sent to her grave, ic hath taken a worse to his bed.


Giikkn grew the aider-trees, and close To the water-side by St. Joam da Foz. From the castle of Gaya the warden sees The water and the alder-trees; And only these the warden sees, No danger near doth Gaya fear, No danger nigh doth the warden spy; He sees not where the gallies lie Under the alders silently, ■"or the gallies with green are covcr'd o"er, They have crept by night along the shore, And they lie at anchor, now it is morn, Awaiting the sound of Ramiro's horn.

In traveller's weeds Ramiro sate

By the fountain at the castlc-gntc;

lut under the weeds was his breast-plate,

Lnd the sword he had tried in so ninny fights,

i nil the horn whose sound would ring around,

And he known so well by his knights.

From the gate Aldonza's damsel came
To fill her pitcher at the spring,
And she saw, but she knew not, her master,
the king.
In the Moorish tongue Hamiro spnkc.
And begg'd a draught for mercy's sake,
That he his burning thirst might slake;

For worn by a long malady,
Not strength enow, he said, had he

To lift it from the spring.

She gave her pitcher to the king,

And from his mouth he dropt a ring

Which he had with Aldonza broken;

So in the water from the spring

Queen Aldonza found the token.

With that she bade her damsel bring Secretly the stranger in. What brings thee hither, Ramiro? she, cried: The love of you, the king replied. Nay! nay! it is not so! quoth she, Ramiro, say not this to me! I know your Moorish concubine Hath now the love which once was mine.

If you had loved me as you say,
You would never have stolen Ortiga away;

If you had never loved another,
I had not been here in Gaya to-day

The wife of Ortiga's brother!
But hide thee here,—a step I hear,—
King Alboazar drawcth near.

In her alcove she bade him hide: King Alboazar, my lord, she cried, What wouldst thou do, if at this hour King Ramiro were in thy power? This I would do, the Moor replied, I would hew him limb from limb, As he, I know, would deal by me,

So I would deal by him. Alboazar! Queen Aldonza said, Lo! here I give him to thy will; In yon alcove thou hast thy foe, Now thy vengeance then fulfil!

With that upspake the Christian king:

O! Alboazar deal by me As I would surely deal with thee, If I were you, and you were me! Like a friend you guested me many n day,

Like a foe I stole your sister away; The sin was great, and I felt its weight,

All joy by day the thought opprcst. And all night long it troubled my rest; Till I could not bear the burthen of care, But told my confessor in despair. And he, my sinful soul to save This penance for atonement gave; That I before you should appear And yield myself your prisoner here, If my repentance was sincere, That I might by a public death Breathe shamefully out my latest breath.

King Alboazar, thin I would do, If you were I nnd I were you; I would give you a roasted capon first, And a skinful of wine to quench your thirst, And after that I would grant you the thing Which you came to me petitioning. Now this, oh King, is what I crave, That I my sinful soul may save: Let mc l>e led to your bull-ring. And call your sons and daughters all, And assemble the people both great and small, And let me be sot upon a stone. That by all the multitude I may be known, And bid mc then this horn to blow, And I will blow a blast so strong, And wind the horn so loud and long That the breath in my body at last shall be

gone, And I shall drop dead in sight of the throng. Thus your revenge, oh King, will be brave, Granting the boon which I come to crave. And the people a holy-day-sport will have,

And I my precious soul shall save; For this is the penance my confessor gave. King Alboazar, this I would do, If you were I, and I were you.

This man repents his sin, be sure!

To Queen Aldonza said the Moor, He hath stolen my sister away from me,

I have taken from him his wife; Shame then would it he when he comes to me,

And I his true repentance see,
If I for vengeance should take his life.

0 Alboazar! then quoth she,
Weak of heart as weak can be!
Full of revenge and wiles is he.

Look at those eyes beneath that brow,

1 know Kamiro better than thou!
Kill him, for thou hast him now,
He must die, be sure, or thou.
Hast thou not heard the history

How, to the throne that he might rise,
He pluck'd out his brother Ordono's eyes?
And dost not remember his prowess in fight,
How often he met thee and put thee to flight,
And plunder'd thy country for many a day;
And how many Moors he has slain in the

strife, And how many more he has carried away? How he came to Biiow friendship—and thou

didst believe him? How heravish'd thy sister, and wouldst thou

forgive him? And hast thou forgotten that I am his wife, And that now by thy side, I lie like a bride. The worst shame that can ever a Christian

betide? And cruel it were when you sec his despair, If vainly you thought in compassion to spare. And refused him the boon he comes hither

to crave;

For no other way his poor sool can be vThen by doing the penance his confess* p»

As Queen Aldonza thus replies, The Moor upon her fixed hia eyes. And he said in his heart, unhappy »• Who pulteth his trust in a wonm' Thou art King Ramiro's wedded sift. And thus wouldst thou take away hiift What cause have I to confide in th«* I will put this woman away from m These were the thoughts that pa« ii ■ breast, But he call'd to mind Ramiro's augst' And he fear'd to meet him hereafter ii "ft And he granted the king's request

So he gave him a roasted capon fint. And a skinful of wine to quench his tiff And he call'd for his sons and daughter And assembled the people both gmu » small;

And to the bull-ring he led the kin-;

And he set him there upon n »t»ne. That by all the multitude he might be im* And he bade him blow through hit be"-'

blast, As long as his breath and his life shonW U*

Oh then his horn Rarairo would: The walls rebound the pealing soo»i That far nnd wide rings echoing roo«i Louder and louder Ramiro blows. And farther the blast and farther prTill it reaches the gallics, where they ■*'" Under the alders, by St. Joam da It roused his knights from their rep** And they and their merry men am* Away to Gaya they speed them strai?'1; Like a torrent they burst through ■••?

gate; And they rush among the Moorish tin* And slaughter their infidel foesThen his good sword Ramiro drr* Upon the Moorish king he flew. And he gave him one blow which cleft '*


They killed his sons and hisdaughl"'1"'

Every Moorish soul they sic*!

Not one escaped of the infidel rT,w'.

Neither old nor young, nor babe nor ■•*"

And they left not one atone upon «•»"'

They carried the wicked Queen »W And they took counsel what to do 1°'" They tied a mill-stone round her Bit* And overboard in the sea they threw'" She had water enow in the sea 11"' Rut glad would Queen Aldonia l>rOf one drop of water from that »»!• ** To cool her where she is now

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