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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
That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve;
That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone,
His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone;
And that my mind was o’er the sea, when from my hand they

fell, And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the

well !"

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,
Each moment as it lingers by,

My hoary hair recalls;

so, but still

For when this castle first I saw,

My beard was scarcely grown,
And now, to purge my youthful sins,

Its folds hang whitening down.
Then where art thou, my careless son?

And why so dull and cold ?
Doth not my blood within thee run ?

Speaks it not loud and bold ?
Alas! it


Thy mother's blood is thine;
And what is kindred to the King

Will plead no cause of mine :
And thus all three against me stand;-

For, the whole men to quell,
'Tis not enough to have our foes,

Our heart's blood must rebel.
Meanwhile, the guards that watch me here,

Of thy proud conquests boast;
But if for me thou lead'st it not,

For whom then fights thy host ?
And since thou leav'st me prisoned here,

In cruel chains to groan,
Or I must be a guilty sire,

Or thou a guilty son!
Yet pardon me, if I offend

By uttering words so free,
For, while oppressed with age I moan,

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,
And the words that she spake

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.

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may have

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 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.

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