MINGUILLO.

"Pues por besarte, Minguillo."

SINCE for kissing thee, Minguillo,
Mother's ever scolding me,

Give me swiftly back, thou dear one!
Give the kiss I gave to thee.

Give me back the kiss-that one now,
Let my mother scold no more;

Let us tell her all is o'er:
What was done is all undone now.
Yes! it will be wise, Minguillo,

My fond kiss to give to me,-
Give me swiftly back, thou dear one!
Give the kiss I gave to thee.
Give me back the kiss, for mother

Is impatient-prithee do!

For that one thou shalt have two;

Give me that, and take another.
Help me-let them be contented,

Let them not complain of me;
Give me swiftly back, thou dear one!
Give the kiss I gave to thee.

Cancionero de Linares, M. S. Böhl,

p. 344.

ROMANCE.

Specimen of Asonante Rhymes, (a and e).

"En el valle de Pisuerga."

In the vale of Pisuerga,

'Midst the rocks I saw an angel,

'Twas a lovely mountain maiden

'Neath the heaven of Manzanares.
Every river, every streamlet,

Flow'd to be her silvery glasses,
Hurrying from their beds to meet her ;-
Crystals in the gentle valley.

But her cheeks are pale and gloomy,
Chill'd by melancholy sadness,

Careless she of all around her,

Sports, and songs, and joyous dances.
Solitude is her enjoyment,

And to her the day is darkness,
Good and evil-bliss and suffering,
Neither wounds and neither gladdens.
Fellow maidens now invite her,
Flower-crown'd to the vale she hastens,
Witnessing the laughing revels,
Swains and nymphs alike partakers.
Then there came an unknown shepherd,
Thither not in vain he wander'd:

When he saw the nymph of beauty,
How his eyes with passion sparkled!
But the dance is still continued,
And the shepherd, as he watch'd her,
To the song of oaks and willows,
Thus her tale to heaven related:

Virgin, thy cheeks as the snow are white,

They are ashes sure of love's fire so bright.

Sylva de Romances, 1644.

The waters of the sea,

Though cold, inflame my soul; My love's pure light would glow Ev'n at the icy pole. That love on whirlwind's breast

Would fly across the main,

To let my lover rest

Who drags the heavy chain.

O wait! bright galleys now,
In some fair harbour wait,
Or guard the narrow pass
Of some not-distant strait :
Or, at the maid's behest,

In tranquil port remain,
That he, my love, may rest,
Who drags your heavy chain.

The winter hours draw nigh;
Come, galleys, then, and lay,
In cheerful solitude,

Within a shelter'd bay ;
There ye may anchor best,
For there no dangers reign-

So let my lover rest,

Who drags your heavy chain.

Romancero General, 1604, p.

404.