THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA.

FROM THE SPANISH.

To the town of Atienza, Molina's brave Alcayde, The courteous and the valorous, led forth his bold brigade.

The Moor came back in triumph, he came without & wound,

With many a Christian standard, and Christian captive bound.

He passed the city portals, with swelling heart and vain,

And towards his lady's dwelling he rode with slackened rein;

Two circuits on his charger he took, and at the third, From the door of her balcony Zelinda's voice was

heard.

'Now if thou wert not shameless," said the lady to the Moor,

"Thou wouldst neither pass my dwelling, nor stop before my door.

Alas for poor Zelinda, and for her wayward mood, That one in love with peace should have loved a man

of blood!

Since not that thou wert noble I chose thee for my knight,

But that thy sword was dreaded in tournay and in fight.

Ah, thoughtless and unhappy! that I should fail to see How ill the stubborn flint and the yielding wax agree. Boast not thy love for me, while the shrieking of the fife Can change thy mood of mildness to fury and to strife.

THE ALCAYDE OF MCLINA.

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Say not my voice is magic-thy pleasure is to hear The bursting of the carbine, and shivering of the spear Well, follow thou thy choice-to the battle-field away, To thy triumphs and thy trophies, since I am less than they.

Thrust thy arm into thy buckler, gird on thy crooked brand,

And call upon thy trusty squire to bring thy spears in hand.

Lead forth thy band to skirmish, by mountain and by

mead,

On thy dappled Moorish barb, or thy fleeter border

steed.

Go, waste the Christian hamlets, and sweep away their flocks,

From Almazan's broad meadows to Siguenza's rocks. Leave Zelinda altogether, whom thou leavest oft and

long,

And in the life thou lovest, forget whom thou dost

wrong.

These eyes shall not recall thee, though they meet no more thine own,

Though they weep that thou art absent, and that I am all alone."

She ceased, and turning from him her flushed and an. gry cheek,

Shut the door of her balcony before the Moor could

speak

THE DEATH OF ALIATAR

FROM THE SPANISH.

"Tis not with gilded sabres

That gleam in baldricks blue,
Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez
Of gay and gaudy hue-
But, habited in mourning weeds,
Come marching from afar,
By four and four, the valiant men
Who fought with Aliatar.
All mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

The banner of the Phenix,

The flag that loved the sky, That scarce the wind dared wanton with It flew so proud and highNow leaves its place in battle-field, And sweeps the ground in grief, The bearer drags its glorious folds Behind the fallen chief,

As mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet, And beat of muffled drum.

Brave Aliatar led forward
A hundred Moors to go

To where his brother held Motril
Against the leaguering foe.

THE DEATH OF ALIATAR.

On horseback went the gallant Moor,
That gallant band to lead;
And now his bier is at the gate,
From which he pricked his steed.
While mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

The knights of the Grand Master
In crowded ambush lay;

They rushed upon him where the reeds
Were thick beside the way;
They smote the valiant Aliatar,
They smote the warrior dead,
And broken, but not beaten, were
The gallant ranks he led.
Now mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

Oh! what was Zayda's sorrow,
How passionate her cries!

Her lover's wounds streamed not more free,
Than that poor maiden's eyes.
Say, Love-for didst thou see her tears:
Oh, no! he drew more tight
The blinding fillet o'er his lids
To spare his eyes the sight.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come.
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.

Nor Zayda weeps him only,
But all that dwell between
The great Alhambra's palace walls
And springs of Albaicin.

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The ladies weep the flower of knights,
The brave the bravest here;
The people weep a champion,
The Alcaydes a noble peer.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum."

LOVE IN THE AGE OF CHIVALRY.

FROM PEYRE VIDAL, THE TROUBADOUR.

THE earth was sown with early flowers,
The heavens were blue and bright-

I met a youthful cavalier

As lovely as the light.

I knew him not-but in my heart
His graceful image lies,

And well I marked his open brow,
His sweet and tender eyes,
His ruddy lips that ever smiled,
His glittering teeth betwixt,
And flowing robe embroidered o'er,
With leaves and blossoms mixed.

He wore a chaplet of the rose;
His palfrey, white and sleek,
Was marked with many an ebon spot,
And many a purple streak;
Of jasper was his saddle-bow,
His housings sapphire stone,
And brightly in his stirrup glanced
The purple calcedon.