XV.BRYAN AND PEREENE,

In aunciente days tradition showesA base and wicked elfe arose,The Witch of Wokey hight:Oft have I heard the fearfull taleFrom Sue, and Roger of the vale,5On some long winter's night.Deep in the dreary dismall cell,Which seem'd and was ycleped hell,This blear-eyed hag did hide:Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne,10She chose to form her guardian trayne,And kennel near her side.Here screeching owls oft made their nest,While wolves its craggy sides possest,Night-howling thro' the rock:15No wholesome herb could here be found;She blasted every plant around,And blister'd every flock.Her haggard face was foull to see;Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee;20Her eyne of deadly leer,She nought devis'd, but neighbour's ill;She wreak'd on all her wayward will,And marr'd all goodly chear.All in her prime, have poets sung,25No 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.30From Glaston came a lerned wight,Full bent to marr her fell despight,And well he did, I ween:Sich mischief never had been known,And, since his mickle lerninge shown,35Sich mischief ne'er has been.He chauntede out his godlie booke,He crost the water, blest the brooke,Then—pater noster done,—The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er;40When 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,45I'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,50She 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,55The sex have found it to this day,That men are wondrous scant:Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,With all that's good and virtuous join'd,Yet hardly one gallant.60Shall then sich maids unpitied moane?They might as well, like her, be stone,As thus forsaken dwell.Since Glaston now can boast no clerks;Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks,65And, oh! revoke the spell.Yet stay—nor thus despond, ye fair;Virtue's the gods' peculiar care;I hear the gracious voice:Your sex shall soon be blest agen,70We only wait to find sich men,As best deserve your choice.

In aunciente days tradition showesA base and wicked elfe arose,The Witch of Wokey hight:Oft have I heard the fearfull taleFrom Sue, and Roger of the vale,5On some long winter's night.

Deep in the dreary dismall cell,Which seem'd and was ycleped hell,This blear-eyed hag did hide:Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne,10She chose to form her guardian trayne,And kennel near her side.

Here screeching owls oft made their nest,While wolves its craggy sides possest,Night-howling thro' the rock:15No wholesome herb could here be found;She blasted every plant around,And blister'd every flock.

Her haggard face was foull to see;Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee;20Her eyne of deadly leer,She nought devis'd, but neighbour's ill;She wreak'd on all her wayward will,And marr'd all goodly chear.

All in her prime, have poets sung,25No 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.30

From Glaston came a lerned wight,Full bent to marr her fell despight,And well he did, I ween:Sich mischief never had been known,And, since his mickle lerninge shown,35Sich mischief ne'er has been.

He chauntede out his godlie booke,He crost the water, blest the brooke,Then—pater noster done,—The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er;40When 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,45I'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,50She 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,55The sex have found it to this day,That men are wondrous scant:Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,With all that's good and virtuous join'd,Yet hardly one gallant.60

Shall then sich maids unpitied moane?They might as well, like her, be stone,As thus forsaken dwell.Since Glaston now can boast no clerks;Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks,65And, oh! revoke the spell.

Yet stay—nor thus despond, ye fair;Virtue's the gods' peculiar care;I hear the gracious voice:Your sex shall soon be blest agen,70We only wait to find sich men,As best deserve your choice.

A West Indian Ballad,

Isfounded on a real fact, that happened in the island of St. Christophers about the beginning of the present reign. The Editor owes the following stanzas to the friendship of Dr.James Grainger[1025]who was an eminent physician in that island when this tragical incident happened, and died there much honoured and lamented in 1767. To this ingenious gentleman the public are indebted for the fineOde on Solitude, printed in the fourth vol. of Dodsley'sMiscel.p. 229, in which are assembled some of the sublimest images in nature. The reader will pardon the insertion of the first stanza here, for the sake of rectifying the two last lines, which were thus given by the author:

"O Solitude, romantic maid,Whether by nodding towers you tread,Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom,Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,Or climb the Andes' clifted side,Or by the Nile's coy source abide,Or starting from your half-year's sleepFrom Hecla view the thawing deep,Or at the purple dawn of dayTadmor's marble wastes survey," &c.

alluding to the account of Palmyra published by some late ingenious travellers, and the manner in which they were struck at the first sight of those magnificent ruins by break of day.[1026]

The north-east wind did briskly blow,The ship was safely moor'd;Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,And so leapt over-board.Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,5His 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,10Nor once in thought or deed would stray,Tho' ladies sought his hand.For Bryan he was tall and strong,Right blythsome roll'd his een,Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,15He scant had twenty seen.But who the countless charms can draw,That grac'd his mistress true;Such charms the old world seldom saw,Nor oft I ween the new.20Her raven hair plays round her neck,Like tendrils of the vine;Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck,Her eyes like diamonds shine.Soon as his well-known ship she spied,25She cast her weeds away,And to the palmy shore she hied,All in her best array.In sea-green silk so neatly clad,She there impatient stood;30The crew with wonder saw the ladRepell the foaming flood.Her hands a handkerchief display'd.Which he at parting gave;Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,35And manlier beat the wave.Her fair companions one and all,Rejoicing crowd the strand;For now her lover swam in call,And almost touch'd the land.40Then 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,45Streaming with purple gore,And soon it found a living grave,And ah! was seen no more.Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,Fetch water from the spring:50She falls, she swoons, she dies away,And soon her knell they ring.Now each May morning round her tombYe fair, fresh flowerets strew,So may your lovers scape his doom,55Her hapless fate scape you.

The north-east wind did briskly blow,The ship was safely moor'd;Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,And so leapt over-board.

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,5His 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,10Nor once in thought or deed would stray,Tho' ladies sought his hand.

For Bryan he was tall and strong,Right blythsome roll'd his een,Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,15He scant had twenty seen.

But who the countless charms can draw,That grac'd his mistress true;Such charms the old world seldom saw,Nor oft I ween the new.20

Her raven hair plays round her neck,Like tendrils of the vine;Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck,Her eyes like diamonds shine.

Soon as his well-known ship she spied,25She cast her weeds away,And to the palmy shore she hied,All in her best array.

In sea-green silk so neatly clad,She there impatient stood;30The crew with wonder saw the ladRepell the foaming flood.

Her hands a handkerchief display'd.Which he at parting gave;Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,35And manlier beat the wave.

Her fair companions one and all,Rejoicing crowd the strand;For now her lover swam in call,And almost touch'd the land.40

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,45Streaming with purple gore,And soon it found a living grave,And ah! was seen no more.

Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,Fetch water from the spring:50She falls, she swoons, she dies away,And soon her knell they ring.

Now each May morning round her tombYe fair, fresh flowerets strew,So may your lovers scape his doom,55Her hapless fate scape you.

FOOTNOTES:[1025]Author of a poem on the Culture of theSugar-Cane, &c.[1026]So in p.235, it should be,Turn'd her magic ray.

[1025]Author of a poem on the Culture of theSugar-Cane, &c.

[1026]So in p.235, it should be,Turn'd her magic ray.

Translated from the Spanish.

Althoughthe English are remarkable for the number and variety of their ancient ballads, and retain perhaps a greater fondness for these old simple rhapsodies of their ancestors, than most other nations; they are not the only people who have distinguished themselves by compositions of this kind. The Spaniards have great multitudes of them, many of which are of the highest merit. They call them in their languageRomances, and have collected them into volumes under the titles ofEl Romancero,El Cancionero,[1027]&c. Most of them relate to their conflicts with the Moors, and display a spirit of gallantry peculiar to that romantic people. But of all the Spanish ballads none exceed in poetical merit those inserted in a little SpanishHistory of the civil wars of Granada, describing the dissensions which raged in that last seat of Moorish empire before it was conquered in the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, in 1491. In this history (or perhaps romance) a great number of heroic songs are inserted and appealed to as authentic vouchers for the truth of facts. In reality the prose narrative seems to be drawn up for no other end, but to introduce and illustrate those beautiful pieces.

The Spanish editor pretends (how truly I know not) that they are translations from the Arabic or Morisco language. Indeed, from the plain unadorned nature of the verse, and the native simplicity of the language and sentiment, which runs through these poems, one would judge them to have been composed soon after the conquest of Granada[1028]above mentioned; as the prose narrativein which they are inserted was published about a century after. It should seem, at least, that they were written before the Castillians had formed themselves so generally, as they have done since, on the model of the Tuscan poets, or had imported from Italy that fondness for conceit and refinement, which has for near two centuries past so much infected the Spanish poetry, and rendered it so frequently affected and obscure.

As a specimen of the ancient Spanish manner, which very much resembles that of our English bards and minstrels, the reader is desired candidly to accept the two following poems. They are given from a small collection of pieces of this kind, which the Editor some years ago translated for his amusement when he was studying the Spanish language. As the first is a pretty close translation, to gratify the curious it is accompanied with the original. The metre is the same in all these old Spanish ballads: it is of the most simple construction, and is still used by the common people in their extemporaneous songs, as we learn fromBaretti's Travels. It runs in short stanzas of four lines, of which the second and fourth alone correspond in their terminations; and in these it is only required that the vowels should be alike, the consonants may be altogether different, as

Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple harmonious flow, which atones for the imperfect nature of the rhyme, and renders it not unpleasing to the ear. The same flow of numbers has been studied in the following versions. The first of them is given from two different originals, both of which are printed in theHist. de lasciviles guerras de Granada, Mad. 1694. One of them hath the rhymes ending inaa, the other inia. It is the former of these that is here reprinted. They both of them begin with the same line:

"Rio verde, rio verde,"[1029]

which could not be translated faithfully:

"Verdant river, verdant river,"

would have given an affected stiffness to the verse; the great meritof which is easy simplicity; and therefore a more simple epithet was adopted, though less poetical or expressive.

[The two following Spanish ballads are peculiarly out of place in a collection of English ballads, and they are not very good specimens of the class from which they are taken. Those who wish for information on Spanish ballads must refer to Ticknor'sHistory ofSpanish Literature; T. Rodd'sAncient Spanish Ballads, relatingto the Twelve Peers of France mentioned in Don Quixote, 2 vols. London, 1821; and J. G. Lockhart'sAncient Spanish Ballads,historical and romantic, 1823.]

Rio verde, rio verde,Quanto cuerpo en ti se bañaDe Christianos y de MorosMuertos por la dura espada!Y tus ondas cristalinas5De roxa sangre se esmaltan:Entre Moros y ChristianosMuy gran batalla se trava.Murieron Duques y Condes,Grandes señores de salva:10Murio gente de valiaDe la nobleza de España.En ti murio don Alonso,Que de Aguilar se Ilamaba;El valeroso Urdiales,15Con don Alonso acababa.Por un ladera arribaEl buen Sayavedra marcha;Naturel es de Sevilla,De la gente mas granada.20Tras el iba un Renegado,Desta manera le habla;Date, date, Sayavedra,No huyas de la Batalla.Yo te conozco muy bien,25Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa;Y en la Plaça de SevillaBien te vide jugar cañas.

Rio verde, rio verde,Quanto cuerpo en ti se bañaDe Christianos y de MorosMuertos por la dura espada!

Y tus ondas cristalinas5De roxa sangre se esmaltan:Entre Moros y ChristianosMuy gran batalla se trava.

Murieron Duques y Condes,Grandes señores de salva:10Murio gente de valiaDe la nobleza de España.

En ti murio don Alonso,Que de Aguilar se Ilamaba;El valeroso Urdiales,15Con don Alonso acababa.

Por un ladera arribaEl buen Sayavedra marcha;Naturel es de Sevilla,De la gente mas granada.20

Tras el iba un Renegado,Desta manera le habla;Date, date, Sayavedra,No huyas de la Batalla.

Yo te conozco muy bien,25Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa;Y en la Plaça de SevillaBien te vide jugar cañas.

Gentle river, gentle river,Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore,Many a brave and noble captainFloats along thy willow'd shore.All beside thy limpid waters,5All beside thy sands so bright,Moorish Chiefs and Christian WarriorsJoin'd in fierce and mortal fight.Lords, and dukes, and noble princesOn thy fatal banks were slain:10Fatal banks that gave to slaughterAll the pride and flower of Spain.There the hero, brave AlonzoFull of wounds and glory died:There the fearless Urdiales15Fell a victim by his side.Lo! where yonder Don SaavedraThro' their squadrons slow retires;Proud Seville, his native city,Proud Seville his worth admires.20Close behind a renegadoLoudly shouts with taunting cry;Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra,Dost thou from the battle fly?Well I know thee, haughty Christian,25Long I liv'd beneath thy roof;Oft I've in the lists of glorySeen thee win the prize of proof.Conozco a tu padre y madre,Y a tu muger doña Clara;30Siete anos fui tu cautivo,Malamente me tratabas.Y aora lo seras mio,Si Mahoma me ayudara;Y tambien te tratare,35Como a mi me tratabas.Sayavedra que lo oyera,Al Moro bolvio la cara;Tirole el Moro una flecha,Pero nunca le acertaba.40Hiriole SayavedraDe una herida muy mala:Muerto cayo el RenegadoSin poder hablar palabra.Sayavedra fue cercado45De mucha Mora canalla,Y al cabo cayo alli muertoDe una muy mala lançada.Don Alonso en este tiempoBravamente peleava,50Y el cavallo le avian muerto,Y le tiene por muralla.Mas cargaron tantos MorosQue mal le hieren y tratan:De la sangre, que perdia,55Don Alonso se desmaya.Al fin, al fin cayo muertoAl pie de un pena alta.——----Muerto queda don Alonso,Eterna fama ganara.60

Gentle river, gentle river,Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore,Many a brave and noble captainFloats along thy willow'd shore.

All beside thy limpid waters,5All beside thy sands so bright,Moorish Chiefs and Christian WarriorsJoin'd in fierce and mortal fight.

Lords, and dukes, and noble princesOn thy fatal banks were slain:10Fatal banks that gave to slaughterAll the pride and flower of Spain.

There the hero, brave AlonzoFull of wounds and glory died:There the fearless Urdiales15Fell a victim by his side.

Lo! where yonder Don SaavedraThro' their squadrons slow retires;Proud Seville, his native city,Proud Seville his worth admires.20

Close behind a renegadoLoudly shouts with taunting cry;Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra,Dost thou from the battle fly?

Well I know thee, haughty Christian,25Long I liv'd beneath thy roof;Oft I've in the lists of glorySeen thee win the prize of proof.

Conozco a tu padre y madre,Y a tu muger doña Clara;30Siete anos fui tu cautivo,Malamente me tratabas.

Y aora lo seras mio,Si Mahoma me ayudara;Y tambien te tratare,35Como a mi me tratabas.

Sayavedra que lo oyera,Al Moro bolvio la cara;Tirole el Moro una flecha,Pero nunca le acertaba.40

Hiriole SayavedraDe una herida muy mala:Muerto cayo el RenegadoSin poder hablar palabra.

Sayavedra fue cercado45De mucha Mora canalla,Y al cabo cayo alli muertoDe una muy mala lançada.

Don Alonso en este tiempoBravamente peleava,50Y el cavallo le avian muerto,Y le tiene por muralla.

Mas cargaron tantos MorosQue mal le hieren y tratan:De la sangre, que perdia,55Don Alonso se desmaya.

Al fin, al fin cayo muertoAl pie de un pena alta.——----Muerto queda don Alonso,Eterna fama ganara.60

Well I know thy aged parents,Well thy blooming bride I know;30Seven years I was thy captive,Seven years of pain and woe.May our prophet grant my wishes,Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine:Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow,35Which 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.40Back the hero full of furySent a deep and mortal wound:Instant sunk the Renegado,Mute and lifeless on the ground.With a thousand Moors surrounded,45Brave Saavedra stands at bay:Wearied out but never daunted,Cold at length the warrior lay.Near him fighting great AlonzoStout resists the Paynim bands;50From his slaughter'd steed dismountedFirm intrench'd behind him stands.Furious press the hostile squadron,Furious he repels their rage:Loss of blood at length enfeebles:55Who can war with thousands wage!Where yon rock the plain o'ershadowsClose beneath its foot retir'd,Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,And without a groan expir'd.60* * * * *

Well I know thy aged parents,Well thy blooming bride I know;30Seven years I was thy captive,Seven years of pain and woe.

May our prophet grant my wishes,Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine:Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow,35Which 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.40

Back the hero full of furySent a deep and mortal wound:Instant sunk the Renegado,Mute and lifeless on the ground.

With a thousand Moors surrounded,45Brave Saavedra stands at bay:Wearied out but never daunted,Cold at length the warrior lay.

Near him fighting great AlonzoStout resists the Paynim bands;50From his slaughter'd steed dismountedFirm intrench'd behind him stands.

Furious press the hostile squadron,Furious he repels their rage:Loss of blood at length enfeebles:55Who can war with thousands wage!

Where yon rock the plain o'ershadowsClose beneath its foot retir'd,Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,And without a groan expir'd.60

* * * * *

⁂ In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad follow a few more stanzas, but being of inferior merit were not translated.Renegadoproperly signifies an Apostate; but it is sometimes used to express an Infidel in general; as it seems to do above in ver. 21, &c.The image of theLion, &c. in ver. 37, is taken from the other Spanish copy, the rhymes of which end inia, viz.

⁂ In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad follow a few more stanzas, but being of inferior merit were not translated.

Renegadoproperly signifies an Apostate; but it is sometimes used to express an Infidel in general; as it seems to do above in ver. 21, &c.

The image of theLion, &c. in ver. 37, is taken from the other Spanish copy, the rhymes of which end inia, viz.

"Sayavedra, que lo oyera,"Como un leon rebolbia."

FOOTNOTES:[1027]i.e.The ballad-singer.[1028]See vol. iii. Appendix.[1029]Literally,Green river, green river. [Percy found out, after writing this, thatRio Verdeis the name of a river in Spain, a fact, which he writes, "ought to have been attended to by the translator, had he known it."]

[1027]i.e.The ballad-singer.

[1028]See vol. iii. Appendix.

[1029]Literally,Green river, green river. [Percy found out, after writing this, thatRio Verdeis the name of a river in Spain, a fact, which he writes, "ought to have been attended to by the translator, had he known it."]

A MOORISH TALE,

Imitated from the Spanish.

Theforegoing version was rendered as literal as the nature of the two languages would admit. In the following a wider compass hath been taken. The Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view is preserved in the same history of theCivil Wars of Granada, f. 22, and begins with these lines:

"Por la calle de su dama"Passeando se anda," &c.

Softly blow the evening breezes,Softly fall the dews of night;Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,Shunning every glare of light.In yon palace lives fair Zaida,5Whom he loves with flame so pure:Loveliest she of Moorish ladies;He a young and noble Moor.Waiting for the appointed minute,Oft he paces to and fro;10Stopping now, now moving forwards,Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.Hope and fear alternate teize him,Oft he sighs with heart-felt care.——See, fond youth, to yonder window15Softly steps the timorous fair.Lovely seems the moon's fair lustreTo the lost benighted swain,When all silvery bright she rises,Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.20Lovely seems the sun's full gloryTo the fainting seaman's eyes,When some horrid storm dispersingO'er the wave his radiance flies.But a thousand times more lovely25To her longing lover's sightSteals half-seen the beauteous maidenThro' the glimmerings of the night.Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,Whispering forth a gentle sigh:30Alla[1030]keep thee, lovely lady;Tell me, am I doom'd to die?Is it true the dreadful story,Which thy damsel tells my page,That seduc'd by sordid riches35Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age?An old lord from AntiqueraThy stern father brings along;But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,Thus consent my love to wrong?40If '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,45While the pearly tears descend:Ah! my lord, too true the story;Here our tender loves must end.Our fond friendship is discover'd,Well are known our mutual vows:50All my friends are full of fury;Storms of passion shake the house.Threats, reproaches, fears surround me;My stern father breaks my heart:Alla knows how dear it costs me,55Generous youth, from thee to part.Ancient wounds of hostile furyLong have rent our house and thine;Why then did thy shining meritWin this tender heart of mine?60Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd theeSpite of all their hateful pride,Tho' I fear'd my haughty fatherNe'er would let me be thy bride.Well thou know'st what cruel chidings65Oft I've from my mother borne;What I've suffered here to meet theeStill at eve and early morn.I no longer may resist them;All, to force my hand combine;70And to-morrow to thy rivalThis weak frame I must resign.Yet think not thy faithful ZaidaCan survive so great a wrong;Well my breaking heart assures me75That my woes will not be long.Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor!Farewell too my life with thee!Take this scarf a parting token;When thou wear'st it think on me.80Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maidenShall reward thy generous truth;Sometimes tell her how thy ZaidaDied for thee in prime of youth.—To him all amaz'd, confounded,85Thus she did her woes impart:Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd,—O Zaida!Do not, do not break my heart.Canst thou think I thus will lose thee?Canst thou hold my love so small?90No! a thousand times I'll perish!——My curst rival too shall fall.Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?O break forth, and fly to me!This fond heart shall bleed to save thee,95These 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.100Hark, I hear my father storming!Hark, I hear my mother chide!I must go: farewell for ever!Gracious Alla be thy guide!

Softly blow the evening breezes,Softly fall the dews of night;Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,Shunning every glare of light.

In yon palace lives fair Zaida,5Whom he loves with flame so pure:Loveliest she of Moorish ladies;He a young and noble Moor.

Waiting for the appointed minute,Oft he paces to and fro;10Stopping now, now moving forwards,Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.

Hope and fear alternate teize him,Oft he sighs with heart-felt care.——See, fond youth, to yonder window15Softly steps the timorous fair.

Lovely seems the moon's fair lustreTo the lost benighted swain,When all silvery bright she rises,Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.20

Lovely seems the sun's full gloryTo the fainting seaman's eyes,When some horrid storm dispersingO'er the wave his radiance flies.

But a thousand times more lovely25To her longing lover's sightSteals half-seen the beauteous maidenThro' the glimmerings of the night.

Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,Whispering forth a gentle sigh:30Alla[1030]keep thee, lovely lady;Tell me, am I doom'd to die?

Is it true the dreadful story,Which thy damsel tells my page,That seduc'd by sordid riches35Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age?

An old lord from AntiqueraThy stern father brings along;But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,Thus consent my love to wrong?40

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,45While the pearly tears descend:Ah! my lord, too true the story;Here our tender loves must end.

Our fond friendship is discover'd,Well are known our mutual vows:50All my friends are full of fury;Storms of passion shake the house.

Threats, reproaches, fears surround me;My stern father breaks my heart:Alla knows how dear it costs me,55Generous youth, from thee to part.

Ancient wounds of hostile furyLong have rent our house and thine;Why then did thy shining meritWin this tender heart of mine?60

Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd theeSpite of all their hateful pride,Tho' I fear'd my haughty fatherNe'er would let me be thy bride.

Well thou know'st what cruel chidings65Oft I've from my mother borne;What I've suffered here to meet theeStill at eve and early morn.

I no longer may resist them;All, to force my hand combine;70And to-morrow to thy rivalThis weak frame I must resign.

Yet think not thy faithful ZaidaCan survive so great a wrong;Well my breaking heart assures me75That my woes will not be long.

Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor!Farewell too my life with thee!Take this scarf a parting token;When thou wear'st it think on me.80

Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maidenShall reward thy generous truth;Sometimes tell her how thy ZaidaDied for thee in prime of youth.

—To him all amaz'd, confounded,85Thus she did her woes impart:Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd,—O Zaida!Do not, do not break my heart.

Canst thou think I thus will lose thee?Canst thou hold my love so small?90No! a thousand times I'll perish!——My curst rival too shall fall.

Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?O break forth, and fly to me!This fond heart shall bleed to save thee,95These 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.100

Hark, I hear my father storming!Hark, I hear my mother chide!I must go: farewell for ever!Gracious Alla be thy guide!

FOOTNOTES:[1030]Allais the Mahometan name of God.

[1030]Allais the Mahometan name of God.

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

APPENDIX I.

TheMinstrels[A][1031]were an order of men in the middle ages, who subsisted by the arts of poetry and music, and sang to the harp verses composed by themselves, or others.[1032]They also appear to have accompanied their songs with mimicry and action; and to have practised such various means of diverting as were much admired in those rude times, andsupplied the want of more refined entertainment.[B]These arts rendered them extremely popular and acceptable in this and all the neighbouring countries; where no high scene of festivity was esteemed complete, that was not set off with the exercise of their talents; and where, so long as the spirit of chivalry subsisted, they were protected and caressed, because their songs tended to do honour to the ruling passion of the times, and to encourage and foment a martial spirit.

The Minstrels seem to have been the genuine successors of the ancient Bards,[C]who under different names were admired and revered, from the earliest ages, among the people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, and the North; and indeed by almost all the first inhabitants of Europe, whether of Celtic or Gothic race;[1033]but by none more than by our own Teutonic ancestors,[1034]particularly by all the Danish tribes.[1035]Among these they were distinguished by the name of Scalds, a word which denotes "Smoothers and Polishers of language."[1036]The origin of their art was attributed to Odin or Woden, the father of their gods; and the professors of it were held in the highest estimation. Their skill was considered as something divine; their persons were deemed sacred; their attendance was solicited by kings; and they were everywhere loaded with honours and rewards. In short, Poets and their art were held among themin that rude admiration, which is ever shewn by an ignorant people to such as excel them in intellectual accomplishments.

As these honours were paid to Poetry and Song, from the earliest times, in those countries which our Anglo-Saxon ancestors inhabited before their removal into Britain, we may reasonably conclude that they would not lay aside all their regard for men of this sort immediately on quitting their German forests. At least so long as they retained their ancient manners and opinions, they would still hold them in high estimation. But as the Saxons, soon after their establishment in this island, were converted to Christianity; in proportion as literature prevailed among them, this rude admiration would begin to abate, and Poetry would be no longer a peculiar profession. Thus the Poet and the Minstrel early with us became two persons.[D]Poetry was cultivated by men of letters indiscriminately, and many of the most popular rhymes were composed amidst the leisure and retirement of monasteries. But the Minstrels continued a distinct order of men for many ages after the Norman Conquest, and got their livelihood by singing verses to the harp at the houses of the great.[E]There they were still hospitably and respectfully received, and retained many of the honours shewn to their predecessors, the Bards and Scalds.[F]And though, as their art declined, many of them only recited the compositions of others, some of them still composed songs themselves, and all of them could probably invent a few stanzas on occasion. I have no doubt but most of the old heroic ballads in this collection were composed by this order of men; for although some of the larger metrical romances might come from the pen of the monks or others, yet the smaller narratives were probably composed by the minstrels who sang them. From the amazing variations which occur in different copies of the old pieces, it is evident they made no scruple to alter each other's productions; and the reciter added or omitted whole stanzas according to his own fancy or convenience.

In the early ages, as was hinted above, the profession of oral itinerant poet was held in the utmost reverence among all the Danish tribes; and therefore we might have concluded that it was not unknown or unrespected among their Saxon brethren in Britain, even if history had been altogether silent on this subject. The original country of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors is well known to have lien chiefly in the Cimbric Chersonese, in the tracts of land since distinguished by the name of Jutland, Angelen, and Holstein.[1037]The Jutes and Angles in particular, who composed two-thirds of the conquerors of Britain, were a Danish people, and their country at this day belongs to the crown of Denmark;[1038]so that when the Danes again infested England, three or four hundred years after, they made war on the descendants of their own ancestors.[1039]From this near affinity we might expect to discover a strong resemblance between both nations in their customs, manners, and even language; and, in fact, we find them to differ no more than would naturally happen between a parent country and its own colonies, that had been severed in a rude, uncivilized state, and had dropt allintercourse for three or four centuries, especially if we reflect that the colony here settled had adopted a new religion, extremely opposite in all respects to the ancient paganism of the mother country; and that even at first, along with the original Angli, had been incorporated a large mixture of Saxons from the neighbouring parts of Germany; and afterwards, among the Danish invaders, had come vast multitudes of adventurers from the more northern parts of Scandinavia. But all these were only different tribes of the same common Teutonic stock, and spoke only different dialects of the same Gothic language.[1040]

From this sameness of original and similarity of manners we might justly have wondered if a character so dignified and distinguished among the ancient Danes as the Scald or Bard, had been totally unknown or unregarded in this sister nation. And, indeed, this argument is so strong, and, at the same time, the early annals of the Anglo-Saxons are so scanty and defective,[G]that no objections from their silence could be sufficient to overthrow it. For if these popular bards were confessedly revered and admired in those very countries which the Anglo-Saxons inhabited before their removal into Britain, and if they were afterwards common and numerous among the other descendants of the same Teutonic ancestors, can we do otherwise than conclude that men of this order accompanied such tribes as migrated hither, that they afterwards subsisted here, though perhaps with less splendor than in the North, and that there never was wanting a succession of them to hand down the art, though some particular conjunctures may have rendered it more respectable at one time than another? And this was evidently the case; for though much greater honoursseem to have been heaped upon the northern Scalds, in whom the characters of historian, genealogist, poet, and musician were all united, than appear to have been paid to the minstrels and harpers[H]of the Anglo-Saxons, whose talents were chiefly calculated to entertain and divert, while the Scalds professed to inform and instruct, and were at once the moralists and theologues of their pagan countrymen. Yet the Anglo-Saxon minstrels continued to possess no small portion of public favour, and the arts they professed were so extremely acceptable to our ancestors that the word "Glee," which particularly denoted their art, continues still in our own language to be of all others the most expressive of that popular mirth and jollity, that strong sensation of delight, which is felt by unpolished and simple minds.[I]

II. Having premised these general considerations, I shall now proceed to collect from history such particular incidents as occur on this subject; and, whether the facts themselves are true or not, they are related by authors who lived too near the Saxon times, and had before them too many recent monuments of the Anglo-Saxon nation, not to know what was conformable to the genius and manners of that people; and therefore we may presume that their relations prove at least the existence of the customs and habits they attribute to our forefathers before the Conquest, whatever becomes of the particular incidents and events themselves. If this be admitted, we shall not want sufficient proofs to show that minstrelsy and song were not extinct among the Anglo-Saxons, and that the professor of them here, if not quite so respectable a personage as the Danish Scald, was yet highly favoured and protected, and continued still to enjoy considerable privileges.

Even so early as the first invasion of Britain bythe Saxons an incident is recorded to have happened, which, if true, shews that the minstrel or bard was not unknown among this people, and that their princes themselves could, upon occasion, assume that character. Colgrin, son of that Ella who was elected king or leader of the Saxons in the room of Hengist,[1041]was shut up in York, and closely besieged by Arthur and his Britons. Baldulph, brother of Colgrin, wanted to gain access to him, and to apprize him of a reinforcement which was coming from Germany. He had no other way to accomplish his design but to assume the character of a minstrel. He therefore shaved his head and beard, and dressing himself in the habit of that profession, took his harp in his hand. In this disguise he walked up and down the trenches without suspicion, playing all the while upon his instrument as an harper. By little and little he advanced near to the walls of the city, and, making himself known to the sentinels, was in the night drawn up by a rope.

Although the above fact comes only from the suspicious pen of Geoffry of Monmouth,[K]the judicious reader will not too hastily reject it, because, if such a fact really happened, it could only be known to us through the medium of the British writers: for the first Saxons, a martial but unlettered people, had no historians of their own; and Geoffry, with all his fables, is allowed to have recorded many true events that have escaped other annalists.

We do not, however, want instances of a less fabulous æra, and more indubitable authority: for later history affords us two remarkable facts,[L]which I think clearly shew that the same arts of poetry and song, which were so much admired among the Danes,were by no means unknown or neglected in this sister nation, and that the privileges and honours which were so lavishly bestowed upon the northern Scalds, were not wholly withheld from the Anglo-Saxon minstrels.

Our great King Alfred, who is expressly said to have excelled in music,[1042]being desirous to learn the true situation of the Danish army, which had invaded his realm, assumed the dress and character of a minstrel,[M]when, taking his harp, and one of the most trusty of his friends disguised as a servant[1043](for in the early times it was not unusual for a minstrel to have a servant to carry his harp), he went with the utmost security into the Danish camp; and, though he could not but be known to be a Saxon by his dialect, the character he had assumed procured him a hospitable reception. He was admitted to entertain the king at table, and staid among them long enough to contrive that assault which afterwards destroyed them. This was in the year 878.

About fifty years after,[1044]a Danish king made use of the same disguise to explore the camp of our king Athelstan. With his harp in his hand, and dressed like a minstrel,[N]Aulaff,[1045]king of the Danes, went among the Saxon tents; and, taking his stand near the king's pavilion, began to play, and was immediately admitted. There he entertained Athelstan and his lords with his singing and his music, and wasat length dismissed with an honourable reward, though his songs must have discovered him to have been a Dane.[O]Athelstan was saved from the consequences of this stratagem by a soldier, who had observed Aulaff bury the money which had been given him, either from some scruple of honour or motive of superstition. This occasioned a discovery.

Now, if the Saxons had not been accustomed to have minstrels of their own, Alfred's assuming so new and unusual a character would have excited suspicions among the Danes. On the other hand, if it had not been customary with the Saxons to shew favour and respect to the Danish Scalds, Aulaff would not have ventured himself among them, especially on the eve of a battle.[P]From the uniform procedure, then, of both these kings, we may fairly conclude that the same mode of entertainment prevailed among both people, and that the minstrel was a privileged character with each.

But if these facts had never existed, it can be proved from undoubted records that the minstrel was a regular and stated officer in the court of our Anglo-Saxon kings: for in Doomesday book, "Joculator Regis," the king's minstrel, is expressly mentioned in Gloucestershire, in which county it should seem that he had lands assigned him for his maintenance.[Q]

III. We have now brought the inquiry down to the Norman Conquest; and as the Normans had been a late colony from Norway and Denmark, where the Scalds had arrived to the highest pitch of credit before Rollo's expedition into France, we cannot doubt but this adventurer, like the other northern princes, had many of these men in his train, who settled with him in his new duchy of Normandy, and left behind them successors in their art; so that when his descendant, William the Bastard, invadedthis kingdom in the following century,[1046]that mode of entertainment could not but be still familiar with the Normans. And that this is not mere conjecture will appear from a remarkable fact, which shews that the arts of poetry and song were still as reputable among the Normans in France as they had been among their ancestors in the north; and that the profession of Minstrel, like that of Scald, was still aspired to by the most gallant soldiers. In William's army was a valiant warrior, named Taillefer, who was distinguished no less for the minstrel-arts,[R]than for his courage and intrepidity. This man asked leave of his commander to begin the onset, and obtained it. He accordingly advanced before the army, and with a loud voice animated his countrymen with songs in praise of Charlemagne and Roland, and other heroes of France; then rushing among the thickest of the English, and valiantly fighting, lost his life.

Indeed, the Normans were so early distinguished for their minstrel-talents, that an eminent French writer[S]makes no scruple to refer to them the origin of all modern poetry, and shews that they were celebrated for their songs near a century before the troubadours of Provence, who are supposed to have led the way to the poets of Italy, France, and Spain.[1047]

We see then that the Norman Conquest was rather likely to favour the establishment of the minstrel profession in this kingdom, than to suppress it: and although the favour of the Norman conquerors would be probably confined to such of their owncountrymen as excelled in the minstrel arts—and in the first ages after the Conquest, no other songs would be listened to by the great nobility but such as were composed in their own Norman French—yet as the great mass of the original inhabitants were not extirpated, these could only understand their own native gleemen or minstrels; who must still be allowed to exist, unless it can be proved that they were all proscribed and massacred, as, it is said, the Welsh Bards were afterwards by the severe policy of King Edward I. But this we know was not the case; and even the cruel attempts of that monarch, as we shall see below, proved ineffectual.[S2]

The honours shewn to the Norman or French minstrels by our princes and great barons, would naturally have been imitated by their English vassals and tenants, even if no favour or distinction had ever been shewn here to the same order of men, in the Anglo-Saxon and Danish reigns. So that we cannot doubt but the English harper and songster would, at least in a subordinate degree, enjoy the same kind of honours, and be received with similar respect among the inferior English gentry and populace. I must be allowed, therefore, to consider them as belonging to the same community, as subordinate members at least of the same college; and therefore, in gleaning the scanty materials for this slight history, I shall collect whatever incidents I can find relating to minstrels and their art, and arrange them, as they occur in our own annals, without distinction, as it will not always be easy to ascertain, from the slight mention of them by our regular historians, whether the artists were Norman or English; for it need not be remarked that subjects of this trivial nature are but incidentally mentioned by our ancient annalists, and were fastidiously rejected by other grave and seriouswriters; so that, unless they were accidentally connected with such events as became recorded in history, they would pass unnoticed through the lapse of ages, and be as unknown to posterity as other topics relating to the private life and amusements of the greatest nations.

On this account it can hardly be expected that we should be able to produce regular and unbroken annals of the minstrel art and its professors, or have sufficient information whether every minstrel or harper composed himself, or only repeated, the songs he chanted. Some probably did the one, and some the other: and it would have been wonderful indeed if men whose peculiar profession it was, and who devoted their time and talents to entertain their hearers with poetical compositions, were peculiarly deprived of all poetical genius themselves, and had been under a physical incapacity of composing those common popular rhymes which were the usual subjects of their recitation. Whoever examines any considerable quantity of these, finds them in style and colouring as different from the elaborate production of the sedentary composer at his desk or in his cell, as the rambling harper or minstrel was remote in his modes of life and habits of thinking from the retired scholar, or the solitary monk.[T]

It is well known that on the Continent, whence our Norman nobles came, the bard who composed, the harper who played and sang, and even the dancer and the mimic, were all considered as of one community, and were even all included under the common name of Minstrels.[1048]I must therefore be allowed the same application of the term here without being expected to prove that every singercomposed, or every composer chanted, his own song; much less that every one excelled in all the arts, which were occasionally exercised by some or other of this fraternity.

IV. After the Norman Conquest, the first occurrence which I have met with relating to this order of men is the founding of a priory and hospital by one of them: scil. the Priory and Hospital of St. Bartholomew, in Smithfield, London, by Royer or Raherus, the King's Minstrel, in the third year of King Henry I.A.D.1102. He was the first prior of his own establishment, and presided over it to the time of his death.[T2]

In the reign of K. Henry II. we have upon record the name of Galfrid or Jeffrey, a harper, who in 1180 received a corrody or annuity from the Abbey of Hide, near Winchester: and, as in the early times every harper was expected to sing, we cannot doubt but this reward was given to him for his music and his songs; which, if they were for the solace of the monks there, we may conclude would be in the English language.[U]

Under his romantic son, K. Richard I., the minstrel profession seems to have acquired additional splendor. Richard, who was the great hero of chivalry, was also the distinguished patron of poets and minstrels. He was himself of their number, and some of his poems are still extant.[1049]They were no less patronized by his favourites and chief officers. His Chancellor, William Bishop of Ely, is expresslymentioned to have invited singers and minstrels from France, whom he loaded with rewards; and they in return celebrated him as the most accomplished person in the world.[U2]This high distinction and regard, although confined, perhaps, in the first instance to poets and songsters of the French nation, must have had a tendency to do honour to poetry and song among all his subjects, and to encourage the cultivation of these arts among the natives, as the indulgent favour shewn by the monarch or his great courtiers to the ProvençalTroubadour, or NormanRymour, would naturally be imitated by their inferior vassals to the English gleeman or minstrel. At more than a century after the Conquest, the national distinctions must have begun to decline, and both the Norman and English languages would be heard in the houses of the great[U3]; so that probably about this æra, or soon after, we are to date that remarkable intercommunity and exchange of each other's compositions which we discover to have taken place at some early period between the French and English minstrels: the same set of phrases, the same species of characters, incidents, and adventures, and often the same identical stories being found in the old metrical romances of both nations.[V]

The distinguished service which Richard received from one of his own minstrels, in rescuing him from his cruel and tedious captivity, is a remarkable fact, which ought to be recorded for the honour of poets and their art. This fact I shall relate in the following words of an ancient writer.[1050]

"The Englishmen were more then a whole yeare, without hearing any tydings of their king, or in what place he was kept prisoner. He had trained up in his court a Rimer or Minstrill,[1051]called Blondell de Nesle: who (so saith the Manuscript of old Poesies,[1052]and an auncient manuscript French Chronicle) being so long without the sight of his lord, his life seemed wearisome to him, and he became confounded with melancholly. Knowne it was, that he came backe from the Holy Land: but none could tell in what countrey he arrived. Whereupon this Blondel, resolving to make search for him in many countries, but he would heare some newes of him; after expence of divers dayes in travaile, he came to a towne[1053](by good hap) neere to the castell where his maister king Richard was kept. Of his host he demanded to whom the castell appertained, and the host told him, that it belonged to the duke of Austria. Then he enquired whether there wereany prisoners therein detained or no: for alwayes he made such secret questionings wheresoever he came. And the hoste gave answer, there was one onely prisoner, but he knew not what he was, and yet he had bin detained there more then the space of a yeare. When Blondel heard this, he wrought such meanes, that he became acquainted with them of the castell,as Minstrels doe easily win acquaintanceany where:[1054]but see the king he could not, neither understand that it was he. One day he sat directly before a window of the castell, where king Richard was kept prisoner, and began to sing a song in French, which king Richard and Blondel had sometime composed together. When king Richard heard the song, he knew it was Blondel that sung it: and when Blondel paused at halfe of the song, the king 'began the other half and completed it.'[1055]Thus Blondel won knowledge of the king his maister, and returning home into England, made the barons of the countrie acquainted where the king was." This happened about the year 1193.

The following old Provençal lines are given as the very original song:[1056]which I shallaccompany with an imitation offered by Dr. Burney (ii. 237.)

BLONDEL.

RICHARD.

The access which Blondel so readily obtained in the privileged character of a minstrel, is not the only instance upon record of the same nature.[V2]In this very reign of K. Richard I. the young heiress of D'Evreux, Earl of Salisbury, had been carried abroad and secreted by her French relations in Normandy. To discover the place of her concealment, a knight of the Talbot family spent two years in exploring that province: at first under the disguise of a pilgrim, till having found where she was confined, in order to gain admittance he assumed the dress and character of a harper, and being a jocose person exceedingly skilled in "the Gests of the ancients"[1057]—so they called the romances and stories which were the delight of that age—he was gladly received into the family, whencehe took an opportunity to carry off the young lady, whom he presented to the king; and he bestowed her on his natural brother William Longespee (son of fair Rosamond), who became in her right Earl of Salisbury.[V3]

The next memorable event which I find in history, reflects credit on the English minstrels; and this was their contributing to the rescue of one of the great Earls of Chester when besieged by the Welsh. This happened in the reign of K. John, and is related to this effect:[1058]—

Hugh the first Earl of Chester, in his charter of foundation of St. Werburg's Abbey in that city, had granted such a privilege to those, who should come to Chester fair, that they should not be then apprehended for theft or any other misdemeanor, except the crime were committed during the fair. This special protection, occasioning a multitude of loose people to resort to that fair, was afterwards of signal benefit to one of his successors. For Ranulph the last Earl of Chester, marching into Wales with a slender attendance, was constrained to retire to his castle of Rothelan (or Rhuydland) to which the Welsh forthwith laid siege. In this distress he sent for help to the Lord De Lacy, Constable of Chester: "Who, making use of the minstrells of all sorts, then met at Chester fair, by the allurement of their musick, got together a vast number of such loose people, as, by reason of the before specified priviledge, were then in that city; whom he forthwith sent under the conduct of Dutton (his steward)," a gallant youth, who was also his son in law. The Welsh, alarmed at the approach of this rabble,supposing them to be a regular body of armed and disciplined veterans, instantly raised the siege and retired.

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