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Up sprang each knight; like a beam of light Forth flash'd each trenchant blade,

And the backward start of the quivering sheath

A stirring answer made

When, lo, on the breeze again was borne
The cadence wild of that echoing horn!

And see, where up the hall proceeds,
A sad yet stately group;

A ladye, clad in mourning weeds,
Is foremost of the troop.

Her tearful eyes betray her grief,

Her mien shows her degree;
And forward to the wondering chief

She steps right gracefully.

She wrung her hands, and down she kneel'd,

So sorrowful, so fair,

That heart must have been triply steel'd

That could resist her prayer.

Scarce have her trembling lips the power

Their suppliant words to frame, She sinks upon the marble floor, Murmuring her husband's name!

Her husband's name!-unwelcome sound
In proud Medina's ears:

A wrathful whisper circles round
The band of knights and peers;
From lip to lip is past the word,
In tones of fierce rebuke,
"Is it the wife of Cadiz' lord

Who seeks Medina's duke ?"

Alas, that deadly feud should be

Between two hearts so brave and free!

Alas, that long ancestral hate

Such kindred souls should separate!

Up rose that ladye at the word, And spake with queenly brow: "It is the wife of Cadiz' lord

Who seeks Medina now!

I come to tell my husband's plight,-
A captive doom'd is he;

And I charge thee as a Christian knight
Go forth and set him free!

"Pent in Alhama's fort he lies, Bereft of every hope;

In vain his utmost strength he tries

With triple force to cope;

The Moor hath sworn, ere break of morn

The fortress shall be won,

And he will hang in ruthless scorn
Its valiant garrison.

"Then canst thou, wilt thou, not forget, The stormy words when last ye met?" "Say rather, will I not contemn

The heart that could remember them?
Fear nothing, gentle ladye,—I

Am slave to love and chivalry.

Let each who keeps his honour bright
And holds his conscience free,

Let each who boasts the name of knight,
Forward and follow me!"

He spake, and shook his flashing sword, Then darted from the festal board.

Him follow'd Guzman of Mindore

With words of counsel wise:
"Oh, cross not thou thy castle-door
On such a mad emprise!
Recall, recall thy hasty word,

Nor set false Cadiz free!"

But out then spoke that generous lord,
"He is mine enemy!"

And never another word spoke he,
But on his steed he sprang;
And forth he rode right joyously,
As though for his wedding revelry
The merry church-bells rang:
O glorious time, and noble race,
Where hate to honour thus gave place!

Behind him then his vassals crowd

In legions bold and bright,

The prancing of their coursers proud,

It was a stately sight;

And the music of their eager swords,

In warlike fury clashing,

Was a stirring sound, like the wild rebound Of waves o'er dark rocks dashing.

Like the torrent plunging from the rock,
Or the lightning from the skies,
So roll'd the thunder of their shock
Against their enemies!

How should a mortal foe resist

The charge of such a band? They scatter'd like an April mist Cleft by the sun-god's hand!

Oh, brightly on Alhama's fort

The morning sun was beaming,
Where many a chief of lordly port
Stood in his armour gleaming;
Fair is the scene its towers disclose
In their high banquet-hall;

But the first embrace of those two foes
Was a fairer sight than all!

Oh, fast through all the Spanish land
That victory was told,

Right gladsome was King Ferdinand,
Right gay his warriors bold;
From lip to lip the bright tale darts,
All laud the high emprise;

But the union of those generous hearts
Was dear in God's own eyes!

The Heir of Linne.


LITHE and listen, gentlemen,

To sing a song I will beginne: It is of a lord of faire Scotland,

Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.

His father was a right good lord,

His mother a lady of high degree; But they, alas! were dead, him froe, And he lov'd keeping companie.

To spend the daye with merry cheare,
To drinke and revell every night,

To card and dice from eve to morne,

It was, I ween, his hearts delighte.

To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare,
To always spend and never spare,
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe,
Of gold and fee he mote be bare.

So fares the unthrifty Lord' of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent ;
And he maun sell his landes so broad,
His house, and landes, and all his rent.

His father had a keen stewàrde,

And John o' the Scales was called hee:
But John is become a gentel-man,
And John has gott both gold and fee.

Sayes, "Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne,
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;
Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,
Good store of gold I'll give thee heere.”

"My gold is gone, my money is spent,
My lande nowe take it unto thee:
Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,
And thine for aye my lande shall bee."

1 "Lord" means here probably nothing more than the Scotch "Laird," or landed proprietor.

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