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But Guarinos whispered in his ear, and looked into his face, Then stood the old charger, like a lamb, with calm and gentle


Oh! lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree,
And slowly riding down made halt before Marlotes' knee;
Again the heathen laughed aloud. ** All hail, Sir Knight !"

quoth he, “Now do thy best, thou champion proud; thy blood I look

to see.”

With that Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode, Pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban

trode. Now ride, now ride, Guarinos! nor lance nor rowel spare, Slay, slay, and gallop for thy life! The land of France lies there!

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The “old grey steed” plays no mean part in the foregoing story; and of the many ballads that celebrate the glories of the Cid, I hardly know one more pleasing than that which describes the mingled spirit and gentleness of his favourite horse.


The King looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true;
Then to the King Ruy Dias spake, after reverence due :
“O King, the thing is shameful, that any man beside
The liege lord of Castile himself should Bavieca ride;

“For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring So good as he, and certes the best befits my King.

But that you may behold him, and know him to the core,
I'll make him go as he was wont, when his nostrils smelt

the Moor.”

With that the Cid, clad as he was in mantle furred and wide,
On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side;


and down, and round and round so fierce was his career, Streamed like a pennon on the wind, Ruy Dias' minivere.

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And all that saw them praised them; they lauded man and

horse, As matched well, and rivalless for gallantry and force Ne’er had they looked on horseman might to this knight

come near, Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier.

Thus to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed
He snapt in twain his hither rein :-"God pity now the Cid!
God pity Dias!" said the lords ; but when they looked again,
They saw Ruy Dias ruling him with the fragment of his rein ;
They saw him firmly ruling, with gesture firm and calm,
Like a true lord commanding-and obeyed as by a lamb.

And so he led him prancing and panting to the King ;
But “No!” said Don Alphonso, “it were a shameful thing
That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid
By any mortal but Bivar :-Mount, mount again, my Cid !"

In these two ballads there is little mention of the ladies. But two of the most charming of the Moorish series are devoted to Spain exclusively. “The following,” says Mr. Lockhart, “has been often imitated in Spain and in Germany.” Its elegance could scarcely be increased in any language. .


“Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.
From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,
And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly

blowing; And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere, And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats

proudly in the air. Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.

“ Arise, arise, Xarifa ; I see Andalla's face;
He bends him to the people, with a calm and princely grace ;
Through all the land of Xeres, and banks of Guadalquiver,
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely,


Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of azure mixed with

white, I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night. Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.

“ What aileth thee, Xarifa ? what makes thine eyes look

down? Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the.

town? I've heard you say on many a day, and sure you said the

truth, Andalla rides without a peer among all Granada's youth; Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow.

Then rise, oh rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Unseen here, through the lattice, you may gaze with all the


The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down;
Nor came she to the window, to gaze with all the town;
But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers

strove, And though her needle prest the silk, no flower Xarifa wove. One bonny rose-bud she had traced before the noise drew

nigh; That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow dropping from her eye. “No, no,” she sighs, “ bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion

down, To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town.”

“Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down? Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing town? Hear, hear the trumpet. how it swells! and how the people

cry! He stops at Zara's palace-gate. Why sit ye still? Oh, why?”

“At Zara's gate stops Zara’s mate; in him shall I discover The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was

my lover?

I will not rise with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town.”

The next, still of a Moorish maiden, is even more charming.


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“My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! they've dropt into the well, And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell.” 'Twas thus, Granada’s fountain by, spoke Albuharez'

daughter. “The well is deep; far down they lie, beneath the cold blue

water. To me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell; And what to say, when he comes back, alas ! I cannot tell.

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings ! they were pearls in silver set, That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget; That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's

tale, But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings

pale. When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in

the well, Oh! what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot tell!


My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! he'll say they should have been
Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen,
Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear,
Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere;
That changeful mind unchangeful gems are not befitting well :
Thus will he think :--and what to say, alas ! I cannot tell !

“He'll think, when I to market went, I loitered by the way;
He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say;
He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed
From the ears where he had placed them my rings of pearl


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