I.
At Sansueña,[3] in the tower, fair Melisendra lies,
Her heart is far away in France, and tears are in her eyes;
The twilight shade is thickening laid on Sansueña's plain,
Yet wistfully the lady her weary eyes doth strain.
II.
She gazes from the dungeon strong, forth on the road to Paris,
Weeping, and wondering why so long her Lord Gayferos tarries,
When lo! a knight appears in view—a knight of Christian mien,
Upon a milk-white charger he rides the elms between.
III.
She from her window reaches forth her hand a sign to make,
"O, if you be a knight of worth, draw near for mercy's sake;
For mercy and sweet charity, draw near, Sir Knight to me,
And tell me if ye ride to France, or whither bowne ye be.
IV.
"O, if ye be a Christian knight, and if to France you go,
I pr'ythee tell Gayferos that you have seen my woe;
That you have seen me weeping, here in the Moorish tower,
While he is gay by night and day, in hall and lady's bower.
V.
"Seven summers have I waited, seven winters long are spent,
Yet word of comfort none he speaks, nor token hath he sent;
And if he is weary of my love, and would have me wed a stranger,
Still say his love is true to him—nor time nor wrong can change her."—
VI.
The knight on stirrup rising, bids her wipe her tears away,—
"My love, no time for weeping, no peril save delay—
Come, boldly spring, and lightly leap—no listening Moor is near us,
And by dawn of day we'll be far away"—so spake the Knight Gayferos.
VII.
She has made the sign of the Cross divine, and an Ave she hath said,
And she dares the leap both wide and deep—that damsel without dread;
And he hath kissed her pale pale cheek, and lifted her behind,
Saint Denis speed the milk-white steed—no Moor their path shall find.

THE MARCH OF BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

Of Bernardo del Carpio, we find little or nothing in the French romances of Charlemagne. He belongs exclusively to Spanish History, or rather perhaps to Spanish Romance; in which the honour is claimed for him of slaying the famous Orlando, or Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne, in the fatal field of Roncesvalles.

The continence which procured for Alonzo, who succeeded to the precarious throne of the Christians, in the Asturias, about 795, the epithet of the Chaste, was not universal in his family. By an intrigue with Sancho Diaz, Count of Saldaña, or Saldenha, Donna Ximena, sister of this virtuous prince, bore a son. Some historians attempt to gloss over this incident, by alleging that a private marriage had taken place between the lovers: but King Alphonso, who was well-nigh sainted for living only in platonic union with his wife Bertha, took the scandal greatly to heart. He shut up the peccant princess in a cloister, and imprisoned her gallant in the castle of Luna, where he caused him to be deprived of sight. Fortunately, his wrath did not extend to the offspring of their stolen affections, the famous Bernardo del Carpio. When the youth had grown up to manhood, Alphonso, according to the Spanish chroniclers, invited the Emperor Charlemagne into Spain, and having neglected to raise up heirs for the kingdom of the Goths in the ordinary manner, he proposed the inheritance of his throne as the price of the alliance of Charles. But the nobility, headed by Bernardo del Carpio, remonstrated against the king's choice of a successor, and would on no account consent to receive a Frenchman as heir of their crown. Alphonso himself repented of the invitation he had given Charlemagne, and when that champion of Christendom came to expel the Moors from Spain, he found the conscientious and chaste Alphonso had united with the infidels against him. An engagement took place in the renowned pass of Roncesvalles, in which the French were defeated, and the celebrated Roland, or Orlando, was slain. The victory was ascribed chiefly to the prowess of Bernardo del Carpio.

The following ballad describes the enthusiasm excited among the Leonese, when Bernard first raised his standard to oppose the progress of Charlemagne's army.

I.
With three thousand Men of Leon, from the city Bernard goes,
To protect the soil Hispanian from the spear of Frankish foes
From the city which is planted in the midst between the seas,
To preserve the name and glory of old Pelayo's victories.
II.
The peasant hears upon his field the trumpet of the knight,
He quits his team for spear and shield, and garniture of might,
The shepherd hears it 'mid the mist—he flingeth down his crook,
And rushes from the mountain like a tempest-troubled brook.
III.
The youth who shows a maiden's chin, whose brows have ne'er been bound
The helmet's heavy ring within, gains manhood from the sound;
The hoary sire beside the fire forgets his feebleness,
Once more to feel the cap of steel a warrior's ringlets press.
IV.
As through the glen his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills,
They swelled his host, as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills;
They round his banner flocked, in scorn of haughty Charlemagne,
And thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain.
V.
"Free were we born," 'tis thus they cry, "though to our King we owe
The homage and the fealty behind his crest to go;
By God's behest our aid he shares, but God did ne'er command,
That we should leave our children heirs of an enslavèd land.
VI.
"Our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak,
Nor are our veins so bloodless, that we our vow should break,
To sell our freedom for the fear of Prince or Paladin,—
At least we'll sell our birthright dear, no bloodless prize they'll win.
VII.
"At least King Charles, if God decrees he must be lord of Spain,
Shall witness that the Leonese were not aroused in vain;
He shall bear witness that we died, as lived our sires of old,
Nor only of Numantium's pride shall minstrel tales be told.
VIII.
"The Lion[4] that hath bathed his paws in seas of Libyan gore,
Shall he not battle for the laws and liberties of yore?
Anointed cravens may give gold to whom it likes them well,
But steadfast heart and spirit bold Alphonso ne'er shall sell."

LADY ALDA'S DREAM.

The following is an attempt to render one of the most admired of all the Spanish ballads.

En Paris esta Doña Alda, la esposa de Don Roldan,
Trecientas damas con ella, para la accompañar,
Todas visten un vestido, todas calçan un calçar, &c.

In its whole structure and strain it bears a very remarkable resemblance to several of our own old ballads—both English and Scottish.