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Ancient National Poetry of Spain III

II. The Romances Caballerescos are, we think, even superior in attraction to those on which we have just dwelt. They are, as before observed, fragments of that chivalric lore which once formed the delight of most European nations, but the vestiges of which have long ceased to be discernible in living tradition.

Of this class Depping presents us with fewer specimens than we had a right to expect; but as those few are, without exception, interesting, we will not quarrel with him. Among them we have the bitter reproaches of the Moorish King, Marsin, to the Prophet Mahomet, as that king fled, sore and bleeding, from the famous field of Roncevalles:

"I deny thee, Mahomet, and it repenteth me of all I have done for thee. Did I not make thee a silver body,—hands and feet of the finest marble? And to honour thee the more, did I not furnish thee with a head of gold? A house, too, I built for thee at Mecca, where thou mightest be adored. And did I not devote to thy service 70,000 horsemen, and my queen 30,000 more?"— (Depping, No. 3, p. 254.— Lond. edit. vol. ii. p. 246.)

Then we have Rosa Florida, who rejected the suit of seven counts and three dukes for the love she bore to the gallant Montesinos, and who sent an offer of herself and her seven castles to the favoured hero. Then we have Durandarte, who though distrustful of his fair one's constancy, was faithful to the last, and who, in dying, charged Montesinos to convey his heart to his beloved Belerma. Then we have the damsel whom one of the king's knights robbed, and who, having begged the loan of the robber's knife, stabbed him to the heart, and thereby revenged the death of her parents and brothers, slain by the same knight. Here we read the baptism and death of King Agrican—there the exploits of the renowned Gayferos. Here we have the Moor Bravonel feasted by King Marsilio, before his departure for France; his apostrophe to the waters of the Ebro, to bear histears to his beloved Guadalara; the lamentations of that lady, who in her lover's absence, weaves a web allegorically descriptive of her constancy; his triumphant return, and his discovery of his.

Guadalara seated in a balcony. Then we have Rugero, Medoro, Angelica, Orlando, and other well-known characters in the chivalry of the times.

The following ballad is one of the most interesting of the class under consideration.

THE PALMER. 1

"From Merida, that city fair,
Issued a Palmer good;
And as be went, his fret were bare,
And eke his nails ran blood.

A habit vile that Palmer bore,— [5]
If worth a groat, I lie—
But underneath it one he wore
Which might a city buy;

For never king nor emperor,
A suit so rich han on.— [10]
To Paris went our traveller,
That gay and lordly town.

He asketh not for hostelry,
Nor auberge doth he name,
But where the palace proud might be [15]
Of royal Charlemagme.

Before the gate in idle state
A porter is reclined:—
'Tell me, thon knave, I do thee crave,
'Where I the hing may find!' [20]

The porter at the palace door
Look'd long and wondering:—
'How comes it that this pilgrim poor
'Should wish to see the king!'

'Tell me, thou porter!' still he cried, [25]
'And cease thy staring, man!'
Then to the church he nimbly hied
Of St. John Lateran.

The mass a grave archbishop reads,
A cardinal likewise. [30]
To the holy pile that pilgrim speeds,
To join the sacrifice.

That holy building entered—
Now hear what he hath done!—
To the Virgin pure he bends his head, [35]
And her Almighty Son.

To the archbishop eke he bends,
The cardinal also:
God's minister he thus intends
To honour by his bow. [40]

He bends him to that hero crown'd,
Who fills the lofty seat:
He bends him to the twelve around,
Who at one table eat.

But unto two he bendeth not,— [45]
Now listen who they were!
The one Orlando named, I wot,
The other Oliver.

A nephew brave those heroes have,
In Moorish bonds, I ween: [50]
The power is theirs, but neither stirs
That kinsman to redeem.

When this the proud Orlando saw,
And Oliver the fierce,
With fury each his sword did draw, [55]
That Palmer good to pierce.

That Palmer good undaunted stood,
And much he scorn'd to wend;
His pilgrim's stave did stoutly wave,
His body to defend. [60]

The loudly quoth that emperor,—
What quoth he shall be told,—
'Oh saty thee, stay thee, Oliver!
'And thou, Orlando, hold!

'This Palmer must a madman be, [65]
'Or else of royal blood.'
His hand doth take the monarch free,
And question hi, he would.

'Sir stranger, I would know of thee—
'Of falsehood thou beware!— [70]
'When hast thou pasy the rolling sen?—
'The year,—the month declare!'

'Sir king, ’twas in the month of May—
'The time I know full well!—
'Sir king, ’twas in the month of May [75]
'This chance to me befel.

'As in my father's garden I
'On the lone sea-shore play'd,
'The Moors came on mu suddenly
'And to their ships convey'd. [80]

'They bore me o'er the rolling sea,
'And to their princess led,
'Who, as she cast her eyes on me,
'Became enamoured.

'Sir king, what cheer did wait me there, [85]
'To thee shall soon be said:
'By day I at her table sat,—
'By night I shared her bed.'

Out spoke that good king merrily,
And what he spake was this: [90]
'St. Mary! Such captivity
'Would no man take amiss!

'But tell me, sooth, thou Palmer youth,
'If I that place might win.'
'Oh go not there,—good king, beware! [95]
'Oh go not there, good king!

'For Merida is great and strong,
'Nor easy to subdue;
'Three hundred forts its walls along
'Are wonderful to view. [100]

'And of those forts, the least I fear
'A brave defence might make.'
Then out in scorn spake Oliver,—
In scorn Orlando spake.

'Sir king, this Palmer doth but lie; [105]
'He saith not what is true:
'Well mayst thou Merida defy,—
'Its forts are very few.

'Not ninety doth the place possess,
'And those unguarded are; [110]
'For neither chief nor soldiers rest,
'To wage defensive war.’

When this was told, that Palmer bold,
With ire began to frown;
By fury craz'd, his fist he raised, [115]
And knock'd Orlando down.

Then loud doth cry that monach high—
For full of wrath is he,—
'My provost there! That fellow bear
'Unto the gallows-tree!' [120]

Full readily the provost strives
That Palmer bold to hang,
Who at the gallows' foot arrives
And loudly doth harangue.

'Now shame be thine, thou murderous king! [125]
'May evil thee attend!
'That to a death so lingering
'Thine only son dost send!'

'The queen hath heard the culprit's moan,
And she hath come to see: [130]
'Sir provost, let that man alone!
'No harm to him may be.

'If of a truth that comely youth
'Is mine own noble son,
'None can it hide, for on his side [135]
'He bears a perfect moon.'

'Unto the queen he soon is brought,
Who troubled us by anxious thought.

'His habit vile they off him tore,—
If worth a groat, I lie,— [140]
But underneath it one he wore,
Which might a city buy.

His marked side now all have spied,
The prince they know full well! [144]
And there is joy without alloy,
Such as may no man tell."

Among the chivalric ballads, we meet, as before observed, with some of our old acquaintances of King Arthur's court. The following very romantic one relates to the renowned Sir Lancelot, who was unrivalled by all but his peerless son, the successful hunter of the Sangreal; and who was distinguished not only for every knightly accomplishment, but for every knightly virtue, except the injury he inflicted on his royal patron by his amours with Queen Guenever.

SIR LANCELOR AND THE DEER 2

"Three children had the king to weep,
Three children just had he
Whom, in his angree, stern and deep,
He cursed recklessly.

Thus one a hunted stag becomes, [5]
And one a dog, alas!
And one a darkened paynim roams
Who o'er the seas did pass.

As brave Sin Lancelot one play'd
With dames of high degree, [10]
One lady raised her voice and said,
'Sir knight, attend to me!

'If it should be my destiny,
'By happy stars ordain'd,
'Thy willing bride will I abide [15]
'In wedlock's bons retain'd:

'But first a nuptial gift I claim,
'The milk-whitw-footed deer.'
'Lady! That benat so know to fame,
'Soon will I bring thee here. [20]

'Would that I know what place has got
'That mil-white-footed deer!'
Now onward went Sir Lancelot,—
Onward that knight sans peer.

With him his hunting-equipage, [25]
His dog in leash had he;
And soon he reach'd a hermitage,
A hermit there to see.

'Now God thee save! thou stranger brave!
'Pass not my open door. [30]
'A spotsmen thou to me dost seem,
'Thy hunting dogs before.'

'Tell me, I pray, thou hermit gray,
'Who liv'st so holy here,
'Where I may wend, that beast to find,— [35]
'The milk-white-flooted deer!'

'Thou seest, my son, the night is come,—
'My guest remain till day;
'Soon shalt thou ween what I have seen,
'And eke what people say. [40]

'Two hours before the dawn doth pass,
'Thar milk-white-footed deer!'
'Seven lions and their dam, alas!
'Which that strange beast appear.

'Dead on the groundseven counts are found, [45]
'And many knights also.
'Now God thee save! thou hunter brave,
'Whithersoe'er thou go!

'Whoever thee hath sent to see
'The milk-white-footed deer, [50]
'Thy life would take, knight of the lake!
'As plainly doth appear.

'So thine be shame, thou wicked dame!
'May vengeance on thee light!
'Who with such joy didst here destroy [55]
'This good and noble knight.'"

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