Kind in manners, fair in favour,
Mild in temper, fierce in fight,—
Warrior purer, gentler, braver,
Never shall behold the light.
They may not be good poetry, but Monk Lewis, the author, never wrote any others as good. Then Lockhart’s Spanish Ballads were given me, and in one of the best of those stirring rhymes, Bernardo del Carpio’s bearding of his King, I read—
The life of King Alphonso I saved at Roncesval,
Your word, Lord King, was recompense abundant for it all;
Your horse was down, your hope was flown; I saw the falchion
shine
That soon had drunk thy royal blood had I not ventured mine, etc.