Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History The Book of Ballads: Eleventh Edition, 1870Open Original Text The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Book of Ballads
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Title: The Book of Ballads
Author: Sir Theodore Martin
William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Illustrator: Alfred Crowquill
Richard Doyle
John Leech
Release date: January 30, 2014 [eBook #44798]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44798
Credits: Produced by David Widger from page scans generously provided
by the Internet Archive
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF BALLADS ***
[Illustration: 004]
THE BOOK OF BALLADS
By Various
Edited by BON GAULTIER
Illustrated by DOYLE, LEECH, CROMQUILL
Eleventh Edition
1870
[Illustration: 005]
[Illustration: 011]
[Illustration: 012]
[Illustration: 015]
THE BROKEN PITCHER
It {003}was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of
Oviedo--
Alphonzo Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.
"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden, why sitt'st thou by the
spring?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
Why dost thou look upon me, with eyes so dark and wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?"
"I {004}do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
Because an article like that hath never come my way;
And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell,
Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell.
"My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is,--
A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss;
I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke,
But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke.
"My uncle, the Alcaydè, he waits for me at home,
And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come:
I cannot bring him water--the pitcher is in pieces--
And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces."
"Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled by me!
So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three;
And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady,
To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcaydè."
He lighted down from off his steed--he tied him to a
tree--
He bent him to the maiden, and he took his kisses three;
"To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin!"
And he knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his
helmet in.
Up {005}rose the Moorish maiden--behind the knight she steals,
And caught Alphonzo Guzman in a twinkling by the heels:
She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bub-
bling water,--
"Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's
daughter!"
A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo;
She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Tololedo.
I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell,
How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.
[Illustration: 017]
[Illustration: 018]
DON FERNANDO GOMERSALEZ
From the Spanish of Astley's.
Don {006}Fernando Gomersalez! basely have
they borne thee down;
Paces ten behind thy charger is thy
glorious body thrown;
Fetters have they bound upon thee--iron
fetters, fast and sure;
Don Fernando Gomersalez, thou art cap-
tive to the Moor!
Long {007}within a dingy dungeon pined that brave and noble
knight,
For the Saracenic warriors well they knew and feared his
might;
Long he lay and long he languished on his dripping bed
of stone,
Till the cankered iron fetters ate their way into his bone.
On the twentieth day of August--'twas the feast of false
Mahound--
Came the Moorish population from the neighbouring cities
round;
There to hold their foul carousal, there to dance and there
to sing,
And to pay their yearly homage to Al-Widdicomb, the
King!
First they wheeled their supple coursers, wheeled them at
their utmost speed,
Then they galloped by in squadrons, tossing far the light
jereed;
Then around the circus racing, faster than the swallow
flies,
Did they spurn the yellow sawdust in the rapt spectators'
eyes.
[Illustration: 020]
Proudly {008}did the Moorish monarch every passing warrior
greet,
As he sate enthroned above them, with the lamps beneath
his feet;
"Tell me, thou black-bearded Cadi! are there any in the
land,
That against my janissaries dare one hour in combat stand?"
Then the bearded Cadi answered--"Be not wroth, my lord
the King,
If thy faithful slave shall venture to observe one little thing;
Valiant, {009}doubtless, are thy warriors, and their beards are
long and hairy,
And a thunderbolt in battle is each bristly janissary:
"But I cannot, O my sovereign, quite forget that fearful
day,
"When I saw the Christian army in its terrible array;
When they charged across the footlights like a torrent
down its bed,
With the red cross floating o'er them, and Fernando at
their head!
"Don Fernando Gomersalez! matchless chieftain he in war,
Mightier than Don Sticknejo, braver than the Cid Bivar!
Not a cheek within Grenada, O my King, but wan and
pale is,
When they hear the dreaded name of Don Fernando
Gomersalez!"
"Thou shalt see thy champion, Cadi! hither quick the
captive bring!"
Thus in wrath and deadly anger spoke Al-Widdicomb, the
King:
"Paler than a maiden's forehead is the Christian's hue, I
ween,
Since a year within the dungeons of Grenada he hath
been!"
Then {010}they brought the Gomersalez, and they led the
warrior in;
Weak and wasted seemed his body, and his face was pale
and thin;
But the ancient fire was burning, unallayed, within his eye,
And his step was proud and stately, and his look was stern
and high.
Scarcely from tumultuous cheering could the galleried
crowd refrain,
For they knew Don Gomersalez and his prowess in the
plain;
But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons in
steel,
So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville.
"Wherefore, monarch, hast thou brought me from the
dungeon dark and drear,
Where these limbs of mine have wasted in confinement
for a year?
Dost thou lead me forth to torture?--Rack and pincers
I defy!
Is it that thy base grotesquos may behold a hero die?"
"Hold thy peace, thou Christian caitiff, and attend to what
I say!
Thou art called the starkest rider of the Spanish cur's array:
If {011}thy courage be undaunted, as they say it was of yore,
Thou mayst yet achieve thy freedom,--yet regain thy
native shore.
"Courses three within this circus 'gainst my warriors shalt
thou run,
Ere yon weltering pasteboard ocean shall receive yon
muslin sun;
Victor--thou shalt havNext |