Against her virgin fame. He spread abroad Whispers that travel fast, and ill reports, Which soon obtain belief; how Zillah's

eye,

When in the temple heaven-ward it was raised,
Did swim with rapturous zeal, but there were those
Who had beheld the enthusiast's melting glance
With other feelings fill'd;-that 't was a task
Of easy sort to play the saint by day
Before the public eye, but that all eyes

Were closed at night;-that Zillah's life was foul,
Yea forfeit to the law.

Shame-shame to man,
That he should trust so easily the tongue
Which stabs another's fame! The ill report
Was heard, repeated, and believed, and soon,
For Hamuel by his damned artifice
Produced such semblances of guilt, the Maid
Was judged to shameful death.

Without the walls,
There was a barren field; a place abhorr'd,
For it was there where wretched criminals
Received their death; and there they built the stake,
And piled the fuel round, which should consume
The injured Maid, abandon'd, as it seem'd,
By God and Man. The assembled Bethlemites
Beheld the scene, and when they saw the Maid
Bound to the stake, with what calm holiness
She lifted up her patient looks to Heaven,
They doubted of her guilt. With other thoughts
Stood Hamuel near the pile; him savage joy
Led thitherward, but now within his heart
Unwonted feelings stirr'd, and the first pangs
Of wakening guilt, anticipating Hell.
The eye of Zillah as it glanced around
Fell on the murderer once, and rested there
A moment; like a dagger did it pierce,
And struck into his soul a cureless wound.
Conscience! thou God within us! not in the hour
Of triumph dost thou spare the guilty wretch,
Not in the hour of infamy and death
Forsake the virtuous! They draw near the stake,-
And lo! the torch!-hold, hold your erring hands!
Yet quench the rising flames!-they rise! they spread!
They reach the suffering Maid! oh God protect
The innocent one!

They rose, they spread, they raged;
The breath of God went forth; the ascending fire
Beneath its influence bent, and all its flames
In one long lightning-flash concentrating,
Darted and blasted Hamuel,-him alone.
Hark! what a fearful scream the multitude

Pour forth!-and yet more miracles! the stake
Buds out, and spreads its light green leaves, and bowers
The innocent Maid, and Roses bloom around,
Now first beheld since Paradise was lost,

And fill with Eden odours all the air.

1798.

THE LOVER'S ROCK.

De la Pena de los Enamorados.

Un moço Christiano estava cautivo en Granada, sus partes y diligencia eran tales, su buen término y cortesia, que su amo hazia mucha confiança dél dentro y fuera de su casa. Una bija suya al tanto se le aficiona, y puso en él los ojos. Pero como quier que ella fuesse casadera, y el moço esclavo, no podian passar adelante como deseavan; ca el amor mal sa puede encubrir, y temian si el padre della, y amo dél, lo sabia, pagarian con las cabeças. Acordaron de huir á tierra de Christianos, resolucion que al moço venia mejor, por bolver á los suyos, que á ella por desterrarse de su patria: si ya no la movia el deseo de hazerse Christiana, lo que yo no creo. Tomaron su camino con todo secreto, hasta llegar al peñasco ya dicho, en que la moça cansada se puso á reposar. En esto vieron assomar á su padre con gente de acavallo, que venia en su seguimiento. Que podían hazer, ó á que parte bolverse? que consejo tomar ? mentirosas las esperanças de les hombres y miserables sus intentos. Acudieron à lo que solo les quedava de encumbrar aquel peñol, trepando por aquellos riscos, que era reparo assaz flaco. El padre con un semblante sañudo los mandó abaxar: amenaçavales sino obedecian de executar en ellos una muerte muy cruel. Los que acompanavan al padre los amonestaven lo mismo, pues solo les restava aquella esperança de alançar perdon de la misericordia de su padre, con hacer lo que les mandava, y echarseles á los pies. No quisieron venir en esto. Los Moros puestos à pie acometieron á subir el peñasco: pero el moço les defendió la subida con galgas, piedras y palos, y todo lo demas que le venia á la mano, y le servia de armas en aquella desesperacion. El padre visto esto, hizo venir de un pueblo alli cerca vallesteros para que de lexos los flechassen. Ellos vista su perdicion, acordaron con su muerte librarse de los denuestos y tormentos mayores que temian. Las palabras que en este trance se dixeron, no ay para que relatarlas. Finalmente abraçados entre si fuertemente, se echaron del peñol abaxo, por aquella parte en que los mirava su cruel y sañudo padre. Deste manera espiraron antes de llegar á lo baxo, con lastima de los presentes, y aun con lagrimas de algunos que se movian con aquel triste espectaculo de aquellos moços desgraciados, y á pesar del padre, como estavan, los enterraron en aquel mismo lugar. Constancia que se empleara mejor en otra hazana, y les fuera bien contada la muerte, si la padecieron por la virtud y en defensa de la verdadera religion, y no por satisfacer á sus apetitos desenfrenados.-MARIANA.

THE Maiden through the favouring night
From Granada took her flight,
She bade her father's house farewell,
And fled away with Manuel.

No Moorish maid might hope to vie With Laila's cheek or Laila's eye, No maiden love with purer truth, Or ever loved a lovelier youth.

In fear they fled across the plain,

The father's wrath, the captive's chain,
In hope to Murcia on they flee,
To Peace, and Love, and Liberty,

And now they reach the mountain's height,

And she was weary with her flight,
She laid her head on Manuel's breast,

And pleasant was the maiden's rest.

But while she slept, the passing gale Waved the maiden's flowing veil, Iler father, as he crost the height, Saw the veil so long and white,

Young Manuel started from his sleep, He saw them hastening up the steep, And Laila shriek'd, and desperate now They climb'd the precipice's brow.

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

In an evil day and an hour of woe
To Garci's Hall did Count Aymerique go;
In an evil day and a luckless night
From Garci's Hall did he take his flight,
And bear with him that lady bright,

That lady false, his bale and bane.

There was feasting and joy in Count Aymerique's bower,
When he with triumph, and pomp, and pride,

Brought home the adult'ress like a bride:
His daughter only sate in her tower,
She sate her in 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 sees him go, He talks with her handmaid in accents low; Oh then she thought that time went slow, And long were the minutes that she must wait Till her handmaid came from the castle-gate.

From the castle-gate her handmaid came, And told her that a Knight was there, Who sought to speak with Abba the fair, Count Aymerique's beautiful daughter and heir. She bade the stranger to her bower; His stature was tall, his features bold; A goodlier form might never maid At tilt or tourney hope to see ; And though in pilgrim-weeds arrayed, Yet noble in his weeds was he, And his arms in them enfold As they were robes of royalty.

He told his name to the damsel fair,

He said that vengeance led him there;

The wine hath warm'd Count Aymerique,
That mood his crafty daughter knew;
She came and kiss'd her father's cheek,
And stroked his beard with gentle hand,
And winning eye and action bland,
As she in childhood used to do.
«< A boon! Count Aymerique,» quoth she;
If I have found favour in thy sight,
Let me sleep at my father's feet to-night.
Grant this,» quoth she, «so I shall see

That you will let your Abba be
The daughter she was wont to be.»>
With asking eye did Abba speak,
Her voice was soft and sweet;

The wine had warm'd Count Aymerique,
And when the hour of rest was come,
She lay at her father's feet.

In Aymerique's arms the leman lay, Their talk was of the distant day,

How they from Garci fled away

In the silent hour of night; And then amid their wanton play They mock'd the beautiful Knight. Far, far away his castle lay, The weary road of many a day; «And travel long,» they said, « to him, It seem'd, was small delight, And he belike was loth with blood To stain his hands so white.>> They little thought that Garci then Heard every scornful word! They little thought the avenging hand Was on the avenging sword! Fearless, unpenitent, unblest, Without a prayer they sunk to rest, The adulterer on the leman's breast.

Then Abba, listening still in fear, To hear the breathing long and slow, At length the appointed signal gave And Garci rose and struck the blow. One blow sufficed for Aymerique,He made no moan, he utter'd no groan; But his death-start waken'd Argentine, And by the chamber-lamp she saw The bloody falchion shine! She raised for help her in-drawn breath, But her shriek of fear was her shriek of death. In an evil day and an hour of woe Did Garci Ferrandez wed!

One wicked wife has he sent to her grave, He hath taken a worse to his bed.

KING RAMIRO.

1801.

The story of the following Ballad is found in the Nobiliario of the Conde D. Pedro; and also in the Livro Velho das Linhagens, a work of the 13th century.

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

In traveller's weeds Ramiro sate By the fountain at the castle-gate; But under the weeds was his breast-plate, And the sword he had tried in so many fights, And the horn whose sound would ring around, And be known so well by his knights. From the gate Aldonza's damsel came To fill her pitcher at the spring, And she saw, but she knew not, her master the king. In the Moorish tongue Ramiro spake,

And begg'd a draught for mercy's sake,
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.

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 alcove thou hast thy foe, yon 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 a day,
Like a foe I stole your sister away;
The sin was great, and I felt its weight,

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

Breathe shamefully out my latest breath.

Let me be led to your bull-ring,
And call your sons and daughters all,
And assemble the people both great and small,
And let me be set upon a stone,
That by all the multitude I may be known,
And bid me then this horn to blow,
And I will blow a blast so strong,
And wind the horn so loud and long
That the breath in my body at last shall be gone,
And I shall drop dead in sight of the throng.
Thus your revenge, O King, will be brave,
Granting the boon which I come to crave,
And the people a holiday sport will have,

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

<<This man repents his sin, be sure !» To Queen Aldonza said the Moor, « He hath stolen my sister away from me, I have taken from him his wife; Shame then would it be when he comes to me, And I his true repentance see,

If I for vengeance should take his life.»>

«O Alboazar!» then quoth she,

« Weak of heart as weak can be!
Full of revenge and wiles is he;
Look at those eyes beneath that brow,
I know Ramiro 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 show friendship-and thou didst believe
him?

How he ravish'd thy sister, and wouldst thou forgive

him?

And hast thou forgotten that I am his wife, And that now by thy side I lie like a bride, The worst shame that can ever a Christian betide? And cruel it were when you see his despair, If vainly you thought in compassion to spare, And refused him the boon he comes hither to crave; For no other way his poor soul can he save, Than by doing the Penance his confessor gave.»

As Queen Aldonza thus replies, The Moor upon her fixed his eyes, And he said in his heart, unhappy is he Who putteth his trust in a woman! Thou art King Ramiro's wedded wife, And thus wouldst thou take away his life! What cause have I to confide in thee? I will put this woman away from me. These were the thoughts that past in his breast, But he call'd to mind Ramiro's might: And he fear'd to meet him hereafter in fight, And he granted the king's request.

So he gave him a roasted capon first,
And a skinful of wine to quench his thirst;
And he call'd for his sons and daughters all,
And assembled the people both great and small;
And to the bull-ring he led the king;
And he set him there upon a stone,
That by all the multitude he might be known,
And he bade him blow through his horn a blast,
As long as his breath and his life should last.

Oh then his horn Ramiro wound:
The walls rebound the pealing sound,
That far and wide rings echoing round;

Louder and louder Ramiro blows,
And farther the blast and farther goes;
Till it reaches the galleys where they lie close
Under the alders, by St Joam da Foz.

It roused his knights from their repose, And they and their merry men arose. Away to Gaya they speed them straight; Like a torrent they burst through the city gate; And they rush among the Moorish throng, And slaughter their infidel foes.

Then his good sword Ramiro drew,
Upon the Moorish king he flew,

And he gave him one blow which cleft him through.
They killed his sons and his daughters too;
Every Moorish soul they slew;
Not one escaped of the infidel crew;
Neither old nor young, nor babe nor mother;
And they left not one stone upon another.

They carried the wicked Queen aboard,
And they took counsel what to do to her;
They tied a mill-stone round her neck,
And overboard in the sea they threw her.
She had water enow in the sea I trow!
But glad would Queen Aldonza be,
Of one drop of water from that salt sea,
To cool her where she is now.

THE INCHCAPE ROCK.

1802.

An old writer' mentions a curious tradition which may be worth quoting. By east the Isle of May, says he, twelve miles from all land in the German seas, lyes a great hidden rock, called Inchcape, very dangerous for navigators, because it is overflowed everie tide. It is reported in old times, upon the side rocke there was a bell, fixed upon a tree or timber, which rang continually, being moved by the sea, giving notice to the saylers of the danger. This bell or clocke was put there and maintained by the Abbot of Aberbrothok, and being taken down by a sea pirate, a yeare thereafter he perished upon the same rocke, with ship and goodes, in the righteous judgement of God."-STODDART's Remarks on Scotland.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea;
The ship was still as she could be;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock
The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

1 See a Brief Description of Scotland, etc. by J. M., 1633.

The Abbot of Aberbrothok

Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

The sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds scream'd as they wheel'd round,
And there was joyaunce in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck,
And he fix'd his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.