27.

The Lady's gentle heart was moved, "Do up the gate," she said,
"And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed;
And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay,
These towers shall be his harbourage a twelvemonth and a day."

28.

It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad,

It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode;

"And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said, "though from a man of sin, That the true Lord stands here once more his castle gate within."

29.

Then up the hall paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow,
It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their Lord to know;
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woe and wrong,-
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little space so long.

30.

Now spent was day and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour,
The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower;
"Our castle's wont," a brides-man said, "hath been both firm and long,
No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chaunt a song.".

31.

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride,
"My merry minstrel folks," quoth he, "lay shalm and harp aside;

Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold,

And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold."

32.

"Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas thus the pilgrim sung, "Nor golden mead, nor garment gay unlocks her heavy tongue; Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine, And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine.

33.

"But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-haired,
For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left this brow and beard;
Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage,
And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age."

34.

It was the noble Lady there this woeful lay that hears,

And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimm'd with tears;
She bade her gallant cup-bearer a golden beaker take,

And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake.

35.

It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the wine
A bridal ring of burnish'd gold so costly and so fine:
Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth,
'Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth.

36.

Then to the cup-bearer he said, "Do me one kindly deed,
And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed;
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay,
And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer gray."

37.

The cup-bearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied,
The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride;
"Lady," he said, "your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray,
That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer gray.”

38.

The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it close and near, Then might you hear her shriek aloud, "The Moringer is here!" Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell,But whether 'twas for joy or woe the ladies best can tell.

39.

But loud she utter'd thanks to heaven, and every saintly power,
That had return'd the Moringer before the midnight hour;
And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was there bride
That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried.

40.

"Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, "to constant matrons due,
Who keep the troth that they have plight so stedfastly and true;
For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright,
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night."

41.

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew, He kneel'd before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw ; "My oath and knightly faith are broke," these were the words he said, "Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head."

42.

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say,

"He gathers wisdom that hath roam'd seven twelvemonths and a day; My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir."

43.

The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old,
Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told;
"But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate,
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late!""

THE GRAVE OF CRAZY JANE

From the MS. of the late John Finlay, Author of Wallace, &c.

1.

PEACEFUL is the grave of lovers,

When from all their cares they sleep,

Soft the turf their bosom covers,

And their eyes have ceased to weep.

In this valley silent wandering,

Oft I mark at dewy e'en,

Through the shades of twilight gathering,
The lone grave of Crazy Jane.

2.

Oft I heard the voice of anguish
Stealing down yon hawthorn glade,
And I mark'd the soft eyes languish
Of a poor and hapless maid.
Still my heart, with pity bleeding,
Listen'd to the melting strain;
Oh the canker, grief, was feeding
On the cheek of Crazy Jane!

3.

Now her heart has still'd its motion,
Every pang has pass'd away,
Now forsaking life's wild ocean,
Cold she mingles with the clay.
When the sun of silent evening
Tinges all the western main,
Then its radiance wild declining,
Gilds the grave of Crazy Jane.

4

Mark the spot, where, silent yonder,
Shakes the leafless hawthorn tree;

THE DEATH OF KING JUAN OF CASTILLE,

AND

DON RAYMON OF BUTRAGO.

FROM THE OLD SPANISH.

"YOUR horse is faint, my King, my Lord, your gallant horse is sick,
His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick :
Mount, mount on mine, oh mount apace, I pray thee mount and fly,
Or in my arms I'll lift your grace—their trampling hoofs are nigh.

"My King, my King, you're wounded sore, the blood runs from your feet-
But only lay your hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat-
Fly, Juan, fly, the Moors are near-I hear their Arab cry-
Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy-I'll save you though I die.

"Stand, noble steed, this hour of need, be gentle as a lamb
I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth, thy master dear I am :-
Mount, mount, and ride, whate'er betide, away the bridle fling,
And plunge your rowels in his side-Bavieca, save my King!

"Nay, never speak-my sires, Lord King, received their land from yours,
And joyfully their blood shall spring-so be it thine secures.
If you should die, and Raymon fly, 'twould stain Butrago's line-
My boy would curse my hoary hairs, and wish he were not mine."

"Oh, Raymon!"-" Nay-oh, Juan, no time for parley now-
Look back, and see their banners-they've gained the mountain's brow :
A moment more, and Juan's lost-nay, never think of me-
I mount no more-I know my post-at least I'll die with thee."

King Juan's horse fell lifeless-Don Raymon's horse stood by,
Nor king nor lord would mount him-they both prepare to die.

'Gainst the same tree their backs they placed... they hacked the king in twainDon Raymon's arms his corpse embraced-and so they both were slain.

But when the Moor Almasar beheld what had been done,
He oped Lord Raymon's vizor, while down his tears did run;
He oped his vizor, stooping then he kiss'd the forehead cold-

"God grant may ne'er to Christian men this Moorish`shame be told!”