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He'll think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well, My pearls fell in :--and what to say, alas ! I cannot tell.
“He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same; He'll
say I loved, when he was here, to whisper of his flame; But when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token. My ear-rings ! my ear-rings! Oh! luckless, luckless well! For what to say to Muça, alas ! I cannot tell!
“I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe
fell, And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the
These ballads are all from Mr. Lockhart's delightful book. I add one or two extracts from the probably more literal version of Mr. Ticknor. The first is the “Lament of the Count de Saldaña," who, in his solitary prison, complains of his son, who he supposes must know his descent, and of his wife, the Infanta, whom he presumes to be in league with her royal brother. After a description of the castle in which he is confined, the Count says :
The tale of my imprisoned life
Within these loathsome walls,
My hoary hair recalls;
so, but still
For when this castle first I saw,
My beard was scarcely grown,
Its folds hang whitening down.
And why so dull and cold ?
Speaks it not loud and bold ?
Will plead no cause of mine :
For, the whole men to quell,
Our heart's blood must rebel.
Of thy proud conquests boast;
For whom then fights thy host ?
In cruel chains to groan,
Or thou a guilty son!
By uttering words so free,
No words come back from thee.
Some of these old songs are sufficiently shrewd and humorous; witness the following, “in which an elder sister is represented lecturing a younger one on first noticing in her the symptoms of love :"
Her sister Miguela
Once chid little Jane,
Gave a great deal of pain.
"You went yesterday playing,
A child like the rest; And now you come out,
More than other girls drest.
“You take pleasure in sighs,
In sad music delight; With the dawning you rise,
Yet sit up half the night.
up your work, You look vacant, and stare; And gaze on your sampler,
Yet miss the stitch there.
“ You're in love, people say,
actions all show it; New ways we shall have,
When our mother shall know it.
“She'll nail up the windows, And lock
the door; Leave to frolic and dance
She will give us no more.
“Our old aunt will be sent for,
To take us to mass; And to stop all our talk
With the girls as we pass.
This dialogue is three hundred years old at the very least. I do not think it would be quite impossible to match it now, with a little change of names and of costume. Perhaps I may
have myself altered some of the lines, since I quote from memory,
and have not the book to refer to. It is not the least gratifying tribute to Mr. Ticknor's valuable work that it was recommended for perusal by Mr. Macaulay to the Queen of England.