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YIELD, THOU CASTLE!

"Castillo, dateme, date."

YIELD, thou castle! yield,
I march me to the field.

Thy walls are proud and high,
My thoughts all dwell with thee;
Now yield thee-yield thee-I
Am come for victory;

I march me to the field.

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ROMANCE.

"Mi padre era de Ronda."

My father was of Ronda,

My mother of Antequēr,

And I by the Moors was captured ;
'Twas neither peace nor war.
They captured me, and they dragged me
To Velez de la Gomēr ;

Six days and nights they kept me

Unsold in the slave-bazaar,
And neither Moor nor Mooress

Would be my purchaser ;
Till a dog of a Moor first offer'd
Doubloons a hundred there.

He led me to his dwelling,

And he bound me with a chain,

And I pass'd a life of misery,
And I pass'd a life of pain.
By day I braided bass-wed,

By night I mill'd the grain ;
And he put a muzzle on me,
My hunger to contain.

My hair grew coarse and tangled,

I turn'd me to my chain;

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And when the Moor went hunting
She set the prisoner free:
She press'd me to her bosom,

She clear'd my tangled hair;
I'd done her some small favour,
She hasten'd to repay.

Five score doubloons she gave me,

And sped me on my way;

Praise to the God of Heaven

Who placed that Mooress there.

Silva de Romances.

ROMANCE.

"A coronarse de flores."

THE lovely morn awakes: a wreath
Of gayest flowerets crowns her brow,
And violets with their sweetest breath,
And brightest eyes salute her now.
The linnet's music fills the wood,

Blessing the new-born light again;
And chanticleer's a time-piece good,
That calls to toil the labouring swain.
The first proud beams of opening day
Are only for the towers of kings;
The sun disdains to shed a ray

On the straw-roofs of meaner things.

A shepherd walk'd on Betis' side,

He watch'd his flocks and mourn'd his woes;

He saw the day-doors open wide,

And spoke to the sun which upward rose : "In vain dost thou scatter thy glorious light, For sadness lives in eternal night:

In vain the sun and the morn are clad

In robes that with Indian splendour vie, For all is dull to the hopeless sad,

And weary to mournful memory.

I weep,

for the light and the joy are gone

Of two immortal torches bright,

Which envying heaven has made its own,
And fix'd as stars to gild the night;
And I am left in darkness deep,

And can see no charms above, beneath,
And then I wake from dreamy sleep-
And smiles are frowns, and life is death.

My sun which had a sable brow,

And beams which Iris envied ever, Alas! 'tis sunk in the ocean now,

Never to rise again, O never!

In vain dost thou scatter thy glorious light,
For sadness lives in eternal night!"

Silva de Romances, p. 82.

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