HORE HISPANICE.

No II.

The Morning of St John the Baptist, and Don Alonzo of Aguilar.

[We have no doubt our readers will thank us for inserting the two follow ing ballads, immediately after the preceding article on the Faustus of Goethe. To say nothing of the merits of the translations themselves, it cannot but af ford a delightful sensation, to pass at once from the awful dreams and terrors of the most wildly imaginative poem that has been produced in these days, to the simplicity of those natural feelings, that are painted in both the pastoral song and the warlike ballad of the old days of Spain. It is like being thrown back at once, from the midst of the agonies of disturbed and perverted reason, into the clear open daylight of external things. It is like passing from some gloomy cathedral aisle, hung round with all the emblems of human nothingness, and human vanity, into the smiling freshness of the green meadow, or the healthy breezes of the mountain. We are sensible to the relief afforded by the exchange of things tangible for things intangible, things intelligible for things unintelligible,-the "common thoughts of mother earth," for the musings and the mysteries even of the most majestic of poets.-EDITOR.]

MR EDITOR,-Since you are pleased with the specimens I formerly sent you of my translations from the Spanish Ballads, I am happy to send you two more, although I am afraid you will not regard them as equally interesting with the others. The first is a very literal version of the ballad, which has been, for many centuries, sung by the maidens on the banks of the Guadalquiver, when they go forth to gather flowers, on the morning of the day of St John the Baptist. In my former communication I had occasion to allude to the fact, that this holiday, in the old time, was equally reverenced by the Christian and the Moorish inhabitants of Andalusia, and such of your readers as are acquainted with the ballad of the Admiral Guarinos, (which Cervantes, in one of his most beautiful passages, has introduced Don Quixote as hearing sung by a peasant going to his work at daybreak) will recollect the mention that is made of it there.

"Three days alone they bring him forth a spectacle to be

The feast of Pasch and the great day of the Nativity,

And on that morn more solemn yet when the maidens strip the bowers,
And gladden mosque and minaret with the first fruits of the flowers."

Depping, in his annotations to the ballad I am about to give you, mentions that a custom, and a belief similar to those commemorated Stanza 5th, are even at this time to be found extant among the Catholic peasantry of Southern Germany. In short, the morning of St John the Baptist's day seems to have been, and still to be regarded in many parts of Europe, in something like the same light with our own Allhallows Eve, the Scottish observances and superstitions connected with which have been so beautifully treated by Burns in his Halloween.

SONG FOR THE MORNING OF THE DAY OF ST JOHN THE BAPTIST.

COME forth, come forth, my maidens, 'tis the day of good St John,
It is the Baptist's morning that breaks the hills upon,

And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new,

To dress with flowers the snow white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew,

Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the hedgerows all are green,
And the little birds are singing the opening leaves between,
And let us all go forth together, to gather trefoil by the stream,
Ere the face of Guadalquiver glows beneath the strengthening beam,
Come forth, come forth, &c.

VOL. VII.

2 K

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, and slumber not away
The blessed blessed morning of John the Baptist's day;
There's trefoil on the meadow, and lilies on the lee,
And hawthorn blossoms on the bush, which you must pluck with me,

Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, the air is calm and cool,
And the violet blue far down ye'll view, reflected in the pool;
The violets and the roses, and the jasmines all together,
We'll bind in garlands on the brow of the strong and lovely wether,
Come forth, come forth, &c.

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, we'll gather myrtle boughs,
And we all shall learn from the dews of the fern, if our lads will keep their vows.
If the wether be still, as we dance on the hill, and the dew hangs sweet on the

flowers,

Then well kiss off the dew, for our lovers are true, and the Baptist's blessing is ours.*

Come forth, come forth, my maidens, 'tis the day of good St John,

It is the Baptist's morning that breaks the hills upon;

And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new,

To dress with flowers the snow white wether, ere the sun has dried the dew.

The next ballad I now send you has been selected out of a great number I have lying by me, because it contains another version of that same tragic story, which has already been made familiar to all English readers, by the balladGentle river, gentle river,

"Now thy streams are stained with gore."

It follows in the Romancero general, immediately after "Rio verde, rio verde,” the original of that exquisite version; but the commentators observe that, from the style both of its versification and its structure, it is probably of a much more ancient date. As it gives the details much more fully, we may, perhaps, be permitted to believe, that it gives them more exactly. This much is cer tain, that the pass of Sierra Nevada is expressly mentioned by the author of the Historia de las guerres civiles de Grenada, as the scene of the catastrophefor it cannot, according to his account, or to the ballad which follows, be called the battle at which the gallant Alonzo of Aguilar lost his life.

THE DEATH OF DON ALONZO OF AGUILAR.

Fernando, King of Arragon, before Grenada lies,

With dukes and barons many a one, and champions of emprize;
With all the captains of Castille that serve his lady's crown,
He chaces Zagal from his gates, and plucks the crescent down.

The cross is reared upon the towers, for our Redeemer's sake;
The king assembles all his powers his triumph to partake,

Yet at the royal banquet there's trouble in his eye

Now speak thy wish, it shall be done, great king, the lordlings cry.
Then spake Fernando, Hear, grandees! which of ye all will go
And give my banner in the breeze of Alpuxar to blow?
Those heights along, the Moors are strong, now who, by dawn of day,
Will plant the cross their cliffs among, and drive the dogs away?

Then champion on champion high, and count on count doth look ;
And faultering is the tongue of lord, and pale the cheek of duke;
Till starts up brave Alonzo, the knight of Aguilar,

The lowmost at the royal board, but foremost still in war.

"They enclose the wether in a hut of heath," says Depping," and if he remains quiet while the girl sings, all is well, but if he puts his horns through the frail wall or door, then the lover is false hearted."

And thus he speaks: I pray, my lord, that none but I may go;
For I made promise to the queen, your consort, long ago,
That ere the war should have an end, I, for her royal charms,
And for my duty to her grace, would shew some feat of arms.
Much joyed the king these words to hear-he bids Alonzo speed-
And long before their revel's o'er the knight is on his steed;
Alonzo's on his milk-white steed, with horsemen in his train-
A thousand horse, a chosen band, ere dawn the hills to gain.
They ride along the darkling ways, they gallop all the night;
They reach Navada ere the cock hath harbinger'd the light;
But ere they've climb'd that steep ravine the east is glowing red,
And the Moors their lances bright have seen, and Christian banners spread.
Beyond the sands, between the rocks, where the old cork-trees grow,
The path is rough, and mounted men must singly march and slow;
There, o'er the path, the heathen range their ambuscado's line,
High up they wait for Aguilar, as the day begins to shine.

There nought avails the eagle eye, the guardian of Castille,
The eye of wisdom, nor the heart that fear might never feel,
The arm of strength that wielded well the strong mace in the fray,
Nor the sheer mail wherefrom the edge of faulchion glanced away.
Not knightly valour there avails, nor skill of horse and spear,
For rock on rock comes rumbling down from cliff and cavern drear;
Down-down like driving hail they come, and horse and horsemen die,
Like cattle whose despair is dumb when the fierce lightnings fly.
Alonzo, with a handful more, escapes into the field,

There like a lion stands at bay, in vain besought to yield,
A thousand foes around are seen, but none draws near to fight;
Afar with bolt and javelin they pierce the stedfast knight.

An hundred and an hundred darts are hissing round his head;
Had Aguilar a thousand hearts their blood had all been shed;
Faint and more faint he staggers upon the slippery sod,
Then falls among a lake of gore, and gives his soul to God.
With that the Moors plucked up their hearts to gaze upon his face,
And caitiffs mangled where he lay the scourge of Africk's race ;-
To woody Oxijera then the gallant corpse they drew,

And there upon the village green they laid him out to view.

Upon the village green he lay, as the moon was shining clear,
And all the village damsels to look at him drew near ;
They stood around him all a-gaze beside the big oak tree,
And much his beauty did they praise, tho' mangled sore was he.

Now, so it fell, a Christian dame, that knew Alonzo well,
Not far from Oxijera did as a captive dwell,

And hearing all the marvels, across the woods came she,
To look upon this Christian corpse, and wash it decently.

She looked upon him, and she knew the face of Aguilar,
Although his beauty was disgraced with many a ghastly scar,
She knew him, and she cursed the dogs that pierced him from afar,
And mangled him when he was slain-the Moors of Alpuxar.
The Moorish maidens, while she spake, around her silence kept,
But her master dragged the dame away-then loud and long they wept,
They washed the blood, with many a tear, from dint of dart and arrow,
And buried him near the waters clear of the brook of Alpuxarra.

THE AYRSHIRE LEGATEES,

Or the Correspondence of the Pringle Family.