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

Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows,
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.1

*

*

ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA,

A MOORISH TALE.

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

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,
Whom 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;
Stopping now, now moving forwards,

Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.

A few stanzas, which seemed to be of inferior merit, were not translated.

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,
When all silvery bright she rises,
Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.

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
To her longing lover's sight
Steals half seen the beauteous maiden
Thro' the glimmerings of the night.

Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,
Whispering forth a gentle sigh:
Alla' 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 riches
Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age?

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.

1 Alla is the Mahometan name of God.

Our 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:
Alla 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
Spite of all their hateful pride,
Tho' I fear'd my haughty father
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!
Take this scarf a parting token;
When thou wear'st it think on me.

Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden
Shall reward thy generous truth;
Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida
Died for thee in prime of youth.

To him all amaz'd, confounded,
Thus 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?
No! 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, 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 Alla be thy guide!

END OF SERIES THE FIRST.

SERIES THE SECOND.

Book E.

RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE,

FROM a very ancient MS. (Harl. MSS. 2253 s. 23) in the British Museum, and supposed to be not later than the time of Richard II. The ballad was "made by one of the adherents of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, soon after the battle of Lewes, May 14th, 1264." Α few words will explain this antique libel. The battle followed the failure of the Barons to procure a peace by a payment of 30,000l. to the brother of Henry III. The King, Prince Edward his son, his brother Richard, and many of his friends fell into the hands of their enemies; while two great Barons of the king's party, John Earl of Warren, and Hugh Bigot, the king's Justiciary, escaped into France. This Ballad is said to have been a chief cause of the law made in the third year of Edward I., “Against slanderous reports or tales, to cause discord betwixt king and people."

In the first stanza the sum of 30,000l., as the demand of the king's brother, is misrepresented. In the second stanza the reader is to remember that Richard, with the Earldom of Cornwall, had the honours of Wallingford and Eyre confirmed to him, on his marriage with Sanchia, daughter of the Count of Provence, in 1243. The third stanza refers to the flight of Richard, who took refuge in a windmill which he defended for some time, but in the evening was obliged to surrender. The fourth stanza is explained by the clamour against the attendants whom Richard was about to bring over from Italy in 1259. In the fifth stanza the writer regrets the escape of the Earl of Warren; and in the sixth and seventh stanzas, he intimates the peril of the Earl of Warren and Sir Hugh Bigot, in the event of their capture. This allusion fixes the date of the Ballad; for in 1265 they landed in South Wales, and the Royal party soon afterwards gained the upper hand.

SITTETH' alle stille, ant herkneth to me;
The kyng of Alemaigne, bi mi leaute,3
Thritti thousent pound askede he
For te make the pees' in the countre,

Ant so he dude more.

Richard, thah" thou be ever trichard,"
Tricthen shalt thou never more.

1 Sitteth, &c.-Sit ye all still, and hearken unto me.

2 Alemaigne-Germany. 5 Thah-though.

3 Leaute-loyalty. Trichard-treacherous.

• Pees-peace. 7 Trichthen-deceive.

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