Dealing round eternal slumber,
Still Guarino kept his sword;
Moorish monarchs, seven in number,
Seized at length the Christian lord.

Whose the knight should be, deciding,
Seven times seven the dice they shake;
Seven times seven the rest deriding,
Proud Marlotes wins the stake.

More rejoiced that he possest him,
Than Arabia's realms to sway,
'Captive-thus the Prince addrest him,-
'Captive,' hear, and then obey!

Quit the faith to Mahom hateful,
Curst by Heaven, and curst by me;
Follow mine; thy master, grateful,
Shall thy friend and father be.

Of two daughters, high descended,
This shall in your arms be prest;
That shall work your garments splendid,
Deck your bed and watch your rest.

And because I prize thee dearly,
Thine Arabia's crown shall be!
Now, Sir Christian, speak sincerely;
Wilt thou more, I'll give it thee!'

Spoke the knight, to Heaven appealing,--
Hark, and heed the word he said,-
'Subtly now is Satan dealing,

Blessed Virgin be my aid!'

Moor, I'll ne'er be Mahom's servant,
Ne'er the name of Christ profane,
And my heart, with faith most fervent,
Wears a Christian maiden's chain.

Ha!' the Pagan roars in anger;
'Guards, in dungeon dark as night
Instant plunge this haughty stranger,
Ne'er again to see the light.

Heap on him from spur to shoulder
Weight on weight, and chain on chain,

Till his sinews shrink and moulder,

:

Last, the slave before me bringing,
Bid his gaoler thrice a year
Scourge him, till the blood is springing
When the solemn feasts are near!

Dark in dungeons, deep in water,
Shall he mourn his scorn and pride :
Since he dares reject my daughter,
Now let sorrow be his bride.'

Days they came and days they perisht
Till Saint John the Baptist came :
Day, by both religions cherisht,

Day, which both a fast proclaim.

Moors were then seen myrtle strewing
Christians then burnt frankincense;
And a royal prize bestowing

Bade the King the sports commence.

At a shield with jewels flaming,
Which aloft was seen to rise,
All the Moors, their lances aiming,
Strove in vain to win the prize.

From the lists with shame returning
All confest their skill too weak;
Till with scorn and anger burning,
Thus the King was heard to speak :-

'Touch no breast shall babe complaining
Man no bread shall dare to eat,'
Till some knight, the mark attaining,
Lays it at my royal feet.

Of the noise was well aware he,

In the dungeon dèpth who lay :-

'Holy Cross and Blessed Mary, Wherefore shout the Moors to-day?

Does their chief some blooming virgin
Home as bride in triumph bring?
Or is come my time of scourging,
To delight the cruel King?

Spoke the gaoler :-'Tis no virgin,
Who to-day must lose the name,
Nor is this your time of scourging,

Tis Saint John's day thus respected;
And his feast to honour more,
Hath the King a shield erected,
Bright with gems and precious ore.

All the Moors, their lances throwing,
Vainly hoped the mark to reach,
Till, with quick impatience glowing,
Vowed the King in angry speech,

Till on earth the shield was seen, no
Bread should in his realm be broke.'-
'Sayst thou?' cried with joy Guarino,—
Hark, and heed the words he spoke,-

Give me back my courser trusty,
Which was wont my weight to bear;
Give my armour, now so rusty,
Which I erst was wont to wear;

From its lofty station driven,
Soon I'll bring the buckler low;
This I'll do, or else, by Heaven,

On the block my blood shall flow!

'Seven long winters,' spoke the gaoler,
'In this dungeon hast thou seen,
And another's force would fail here
When he scarcely one had been ;

Yet presumest thou now to proffer
Deeds of strength and skill to show?
Slave, farewell! thy daring offer

Soon the Moorish King shall know.'

Thus he said with taunts and chidings,
Then with speed he sought the king:
Monarch, deign to hear my tidings,
Wondrous is the tale I bring!

Know, my prisoner boasts full loudly,
Steed and armour but restore,
Yonder shield now placed so proudly,
Soon he'll lay your throne before.'

This the king with wonder learning
Bade him straight the knight produce;

Then, Guarino's arms returning,

Spoke Marlotes, grimly smiling,-
Now, brave Sir, your course pursue;
Lies a warrior's life defiling,

Mount, and make your boasting true!'

Soon his steed Guarind mounted,

In the well-known weight who joyed: Seven long years the beast had counted, In the vilest tasks employed.

Then with speed of lightning flying,-
Calm his eye was, mild his mien,-
Hurled the knight his lance; and lying
On the earth the shield was seen.

Straight the Moors the victor leap on,
Envying sore that gallant feat;
But Guarino's Spanish weapon

Makes them bleeding soon retreat.

Though their numbers are so mighty,
They obscure the light of day,
Through the ranks of hostile fight, he
Boldly hews his desperate way.

Then with vigour still unshaken
Home his course Guarino shaped ;-
Many a knight the Moor have taken,
But like him hath none escaped!

[This ballad, like The Admiral Guarino, is a translation, and, to use again his own words,

as he believed, a very faithful one,' by M. G. Lewis, commonly called Monk Lewis-of what he denominates an ancient Spanish Romance.' It was first published in the same work as the ballad above mentioned; and from that work it is here taken. Respecting the original, Mr. Lewis furnishes no farther information. It is probably to be found, however, in the same storehouse from which Mr. Lockhart has culled so many beauties, in his Ancient Spanish Ballads,' London, 1841; in which work the reader may see translations of two other ballads relating to the hero of the present. Southey and Scott have also made the English reader familiar with his history, in their poems entitled respectively, 'Roderick, the last of the Goths, and The Vision of Don Roderick. The reader of Don Quixote, too, will remember more than one allusion to the monarch's misfortunes. (Part ii. ch. 26, 33.)]

HE moon was full, and full the tide;
The warring winds were heard to rave;
The fish in anxious terror sighd,