All in her prime, have poets sung, No gaudy youth, gallant and young, E'er blest her longing armes ; And hence arose her spight to vex, And blast the youth of either sex, By dint of hellish charms. From Glaston came a lerned wight, And well he did, I ween; He chauntede out his godlie booke, He crost the water, blest the brooke, Then-pater noster done, The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er ; When lo! where stood a hag before, Now stood a ghastly stone, Full well 'tis known adown the dale: Tho' passing strange indeed the tale, And doubtfull may appear, I'm bold to say, there's never a one, That has not seen the witch in stone, With all her household gear. But tho' this lernede clerke did well; With grieved heart, alas! I tell, She left this curse behind: That Wokey nymphs forsaken quite, Tho' sense and beauty both unite, Should find no leman kind. For lo! even, as the fiend did say, Shall then sich maids unpitied moane? Since Glaston now can boast no clerks; Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks, And, oh! revoke the spell. Yet stay-nor thus despond, ye fair; I hear the gracious voice: XV.-BRYAN AND PEREENE. A WEST-INDIAN BALLAD, Is founded on a real fact, that happened in the island of St. Christophers about the beginning of the reign of George III. The editor owes the following stanzas to the friendship of Dr. James Grainger, physician in that island when this tragical incident | happened, and died there much honoured and lamented in 1767. THE north-east wind did briskly blow, Pereene, the pride of Indian dames, His heart long held in thrall; And whoso his impatience blames, I wot, ne'er lov'd at all. A long long year, one month and day, He dwelt on English land, Nor once in thought or deed would stray, For Bryan he was tall and strong, But who the countless charms can draw, Her raven hair plays round her neck, Like tendrils of the vine; Soon as his well-known ship she spied, All in her best array. In sea-green silk so neatly clad, She there impatient stood; Her hands a handkerchief display'd, Her fair companions one and all, Rejoicing crowd the strand; For now her lover swam in call, And almost touch'd the land. Then through the white surf did she haste, To clasp her lovely swain; When, ah! a shark bit through his waste: His heart's blood dy'd the main ! He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave, Streaming with purple gore, And soon it found a living grave, And ah! was seen no more. Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray, Now each May morning round her tomb, May our prophet grant my wishes, Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine: Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, Which I drank when I was thine. Like a lion turns the warrior, Back he sends an angry glare: Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, Vainly whizzing thro' the air. Back the hero full of fury Sent a deep and mortal wound: Instant sunk the Renegado, Mute and lifeless on the ground. With a thousand Moors surrounded, Brave Saavedra stands at bay: Wearied out but never daunted, Cold at length the warrior lay. Near him fighting great Alonzo Stout resists the Paynim bands; From his slaughter'd steed dismounted Firm intrench'd behind him stands. Furious press the hostile squadron, Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows, XVII.-ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA: A MOORISH TALE. IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH. SOFTLY blow the evening breezes, In yon palace lives fair Zaida, Waiting for the appointed minute, Hope and fear alternate teize him, Oft he sighs with heart-felt care.See, fond youth, to yonder window Softly steps the timorous fair. Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre To the lost benighted swain, Lovely seems the sun's full glory To the fainting seaman's eyes, When some horrid storm dispersing O'er the wave his radiance flies. But a thousand times more lovely Thro' the glimmerings of the night. Tip-toe stands the anxious lover, Tell me, am I doom'd to die? Is it true the dreadful story, An old lord from Antiquera Thy stern father brings along ; But canst thou, inconstant Zaida, Thus consent my love to wrong? If 'tis true now plainly tell me, Nor thus trifle with my woes; Hide not then from me the secret, Which the world so clearly knows. Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden, While the pearly tears descend: Ah! my lord, too true the story; Here our tender loves must end. Cur fond friendship is discover'd, Well are known our mutual vows: All my friends are full of fury; Storms of passion shake the house. Threats, reproaches, fears surround me ; My stern father breaks my heart: Allah knows how dear it costs me, Generous youth, from thee to part. Ancient wounds of hostile fury Long have rent our house and thine; Why then did thy shining merit Win this tender heart of mine? Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee Ne'er would let me be thy bride. Well thou know'st what cruel chidings Oft I've from my mother borne ; What I've suffer'd here to meet thee Still at eve and early morn. I no longer may resist them; All, to force my hand combine; And to-morrow to thy rival This weak frame I must resign. Yet think not thy faithful Zaida Can survive so great a wrong; Well my breaking heart assures me That my woes will not be long. Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor ! Farewell too my life with thee! Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden -To him all amaz'd, confounded, Canst thou think I thus will lose thee? Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them? This fond heart shall bleed to save thee, These fond arms shall shelter thee. 'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor, Spies surround me, bars secure : Scarce I steal this last dear moment, While my damsel keeps the door. Hark, I hear my father storming! Hark, I hear my mother chide! I must go farewell for ever! Gracious Allah be thy guide! THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. SERIES THE SECOND.-BOOK I. I.-RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE, A BALLAD made by one of the adherents of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, soon after the battle of Lewes, which was fought May 14, 1264, affords a curious specimen of ancient satire, and shows that the liberty assumed by the good people of this realm, of abusing their kings and princes at pleasure, is a privilege of very long standing. The reader to understand the libel must know that just before the battle of Lewes, which proved so fatal to the interests of Henry III., the barons had offered his brother Richard, king of the Romans, £30,000 to promise peace upon such terms as would have divested Henry of all regal power. The treaty proved abortive, the battle was the sequence, and the royal party fell into the hands of the Barons, whilst the Earl of Warren and Hugh Bigot, who had remained faithful to the king, fled to France. The satire points at the supposed rapacity and greediness of Richard, thirty thousand pounds being in those days an exorbitant sum; but this sum is a malevolent exaggeration of the libeller, The ballad is said to have occasioned a law in our statute book against slanderous reports or tales to cause discord between king and people (Westm. Primer, c. 34, anno 3, Edw. I.). The ballad is copied from a very ancient MS. in the British Museum (Harl. MSS. 2253, § 23). |