But when I heard the dreadful tale
I fell all senseless on the ground;
Twelve hours as in a swoon I lay,
And saw no sight, and heard no sound;
And then I rose, and sought the
Where that beloved lady slept, And o'er her resting place I pour'd
These sorrowing breathings as I wept: "O lady! take me to thy arms,
O! take me-let me rest with thee!"
I cried, and from the silent tomb
A mournful voice thus spoke to me:
"Live on-live on, enamour'd knight!
Live on-for I am dead; and go,
To gather glory in the fight,
And other loves to chase thy woe:
My spirit mourns in love and light,
My mortal dust dissolves below."
Romances de Sepulveda; Amberes, 1580, p. 219.
"Mucho ha que el alma duerme."
LONG sleep has veil'd my spirit's eyes; "Tis time to rise!-'tis time to rise!
O! 'tis a dull and heavy sleep,
As if death's robe had wrapp'd the soul;
As if the poisons vices steep
In life's deep-dregg'd and mingled bowl,
Had chill'd the blood, and dimm'd the eyes:
But lo! the sun towers o'er the deep-
"Tis time to rise!-'tis time to rise!
But angels sang in vain: above
Their voices blended. Soul, awake!
Hark to yon babe!—what wondrous love
Bids God an infant's weakness take?
Long hast thou slept-that infant's cries
Shall the dark mist of night remove:
"Tis time to rise!-'tis time to rise!"
"Madre mia, amores tengo."
I'm sure 'tis love, O mother mine!
Else what it is I can't divine.
I'm sure 'tis love, O mother mine!
And surely love is fair and sweet:
I know not why, but, O! I pine,
And faint and feel; I can't repeat
My thoughts-but let that eye of thine
Just mark me as I cross the street,
For what it is I can't divine.
I feel a void, O mother mine!
A solitude within my breast
Which seems as though it were a shrine
Where some enamour'd youth should rest,
And there, 'midst fragrant flowers recline,
Sure that would make a maiden blest!
Else what it is I can't divine.
O MY comrade! O my comrade!
She is wed that rul'd my heart,
She has ta'en a base-born peasant;
That is sorrow's deepest smart:
I will go and serve the Prophet,
Far in Moorish lands
away,-
And the first by-passing Christian,
To avenge my wrongs, I'll slay."
"Check thy rashness-O my comrade!
On thy life no threats like this;
Thou shalt have of three fair sisters,
Her who fairest, brightest is;
She shall be thy loving mistress;
She thy faithful wife shall be-”
"She shall never be my mistress,
Never be a wife to me-
I have lost that lovely maiden
Whom I loved so tenderly."
Cancionero de Amberes, 1555,
"Durandarte, Durandarte."
"DURANDARTE, Durandarte,
Son of fame, and heir of praise;
Durandarte, if thou love me,
Let us talk of former days.
Tell me if thou hast forgotten
Thy enamour'd time of youth,
When with sports and songs of music
Thou didst show thy love, thy truth:
When the Moors retired before thee,
When my smile conducted thee:
Now, alas! am I forgotten:
Why hast thou forgotten me?
Words are all deceitful, warrior !”
Lady! if I broke my vow,
Thou wert treacherous,-thou unfaithful,-
Thou didst break thy pledge,-even thou.
Lady! thou didst love Gayferos
When I roam'd an exile drear ;
Such was not the love I sigh'd for;
Though thou hadst been far more fair, Rather than submit to insult,
I would die in lone despair."
Silva de Romances, p. 251.
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