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Thus spoke gallant Durandarte;

Soon his brave heart broke in twain:
Greatly joy'd the Moorish party
That the gallant knight was slain.

Bitter weeping, Montesinos

Took from him his helm and glaive; Bitter weeping, Montesinos

Dug his gallant cousin's grave.

To perform his promise made, he
Cut the heart from out the breast;
That Belerma, wretched lady!
Might receive the last bequest.

Sad was Montesinos' heart, he
Felt distress his bosom rend :-
Oh, my cousin Durandarte,

Wo is me to view thy end!

"Sweet in manners, fair in favour,

Mild in temper, fierce in fight; Warrior nobler, gentler, braver, Never shall behold the light.

"Cousin, lo! my tears bedew thee;
How shall I thy loss survive!
Durandarte, he who slew thee,
Wherefore left he me alive?"

THE WELL OF ST KEYNE.*

SOUTHEY.

A WELL there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St Keyne.

An oak and an elm tree stand beside,
And behind does an ash tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the Well of St Keyne,
Joyfully he drew nigh;

For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water, so cool and so clear,

For thirsty and hot was he;

And he sat down upon the bank
Under the willow tree.

There came a man from the neighbouring town, At the well to fill his pail;

On the well-side he rested it,

And he bade the stranger hail.

"Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife,

St Keyne's Well is in Cornwall. The reported virtue of its water is, that whether husband or wife drink of it first gains the mastery over the other.-Ed.

The happiest draught thou hast drunk this day That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or hast thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life

She has drank of the Well of St Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here," The stranger he made reply;

"But that my draught should be the better for that, I pray you answer me why."

"St Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time

Drank of this crystal well,

And before the Angel summon'd her,

She laid on the water a spell.

"If the husband, of this gifted well
Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man henceforth is he,

For he shall be master for life.

"But if the wife should drink of it first, God help the husband then!"

The stranger stoop'd to the Well of St Keyne, And drank of the water again.

"You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?" He to the Cornish-man said:

But the Cornish-man smil'd as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.

"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my wife in the porch;

But i'faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to church."

THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM.

HOGG.

His face was like the spectre wan,
Slow gliding from the midnight isle :
His stature on the mighty plan

Of smoke-tower o'er the burning pile.

Red, red, and grizly were his eyes;
His cap, the moon-cloud's silver grey;
His staff the writhed snake that lies
Pale bending o'er the milky way.

He cried, "Away! begone, begone!
Half-naked, hoary, feeble form!
How dar'st thou seek my realms alone,
And brave the angel of the storm?"

"And who art thou," the seer replied, "That bear'st destruction on thy brow? Whose eye no mortal can abide ;

Dread mountain spirit, what art thou?"

"Within this desert dank and lone,

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Since roll'd the world a shoreless sea, I've held my elemental throne,

The terror of thy race and thee.

I wrap the sun of heaven in blood,
Veiling his orient beams of light;
And hide the morn in sable shroud
Far in the alcove of the night.

"I ride the red bolt's rapid wing,
High on the sweeping whirlwind sail,
And list to hear my tempests sing
Around Glen Avin's ample vale.

"These everlasting hills are riven,

Their reverend heads are bald and grey, The Greenland waves salute the heaven, And quench the burning stars with spray.

"Who was it rear'd those whelming waves?
Who scalp'd the brows of old Cairngorm,
And scoop'd these ever-yawning caves?
'Twas I,-the Spirit of the Storm.

"And hence shalt thou, for evermore,
Be doom'd to ride the blast with me;
To shriek amidst the tempest's roar,
By fountain, ford, and forest tree."

GARCIA PEREZ DE VARGAS. *

LOCKHART.

KING Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill,

Surveying all his leaguer, and the ramparts of Seville;

The sight was grand, when Ferdinand by proud Seville was lying,

O'er tower and tree, far off, to see the Christian banners flying.

* From Mr Lockhart's delightful "Ancient Spanish Ballads."-Blackwood, 1823.