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Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter.
"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set,
"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! he'll say they should have been
"He'll think, when I to market went, I loitered by the way;
"He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same;
"I'll tell the truth to Muva, and I hope he will believe
That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve;
That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone,
His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone;
And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell,
And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well!"
These ballads are all from Mr. Lockhart's delightful book. I add one or two extracts from the probably more literal version of Mr. Ticknor. The first is the " Lament of the Count de Saldafia," who, in his solitary prison, complains of his son, who he supposes must know his descent, and of his wife, the Infanta, whom he presumes to be in league with her royal brother. After a description of the castle in which he is confined, the Count says:
The tale of my imprisoned life
Within these lothsome walls,
My hoary hair recalls;
My beard was scarcely grown,
Its folds hang whitening down.
And why so dull and cold 1
Speaks it not loud and bold!
Thy mother's blood is thine;
Will plead no cause of mine:
For, the whole men to quell,
Our heart's blood must rebel.
Of thy proud conquests boast;
For whom then fights thy host1
In cruel chains to groan,
Or thou a guilty son!
By uttering words so free,
No words come back from thee.
Some of these old songs are sufficiently shrewd and humorous; witness the following, "in which an elder sister is represented lecturing a younger one on first noticing in her the symptoms of love:"
Her sister Miguela,
Once chid little Jane,
"You went yesterday playing, A child like the rest,
"She'll nail up the windows,
And lock up the door; Leave to frolic and dance
She will give us no more."Our old aunt will be sent for,
To take us to mass; And to stop all our talk
With the girls as we pass.
"And when we walk out,
Must I suffer too;
Must be punished like you."
"Oh! sister Miguela,
"Young Pedro it is,
Old Don Ivor's fair youth;— But he's gone to the wars,
And, oh! where is his truth 1
"I loved him sincerely, Loved all that he said;But I fear he is fickle,
"Nay, pray morn and night To the Virgin above,
And again you should love,"
(Said Miguela in jest, '**
As she answered poor Jane;)
At the cost of such pain,"What hope is there, sister,
Should leave your fond heart 1
"As your years still increase, So increase will your pains;And this you may learn
From the proverb's old strains:
'• That if, when but a child, Love's dominion you own,
This dialogue is three hundred years old at the very least. I do not think it would be quite impossible to match it now, with a little change of names and of costume. Perhaps I may have myself altered some of the lines, since I quote from memory, and have not the book to refer to.
It is not the least gratifying tribute to Mr. Ticknor's valuable work, that it was recommended for perusal by Mr. Macaulay to the Queen of England.
MISS BLAMIRE. MRS. JAMES GRAY.
The name of Blamire has always a certain interest for me, in consequence of a circumstance, which, as it took place somewhere about five-and-forty years ago, and has reference to a flirtation of twenty years previous, there can not now be much harm in relating.
Being with my father and mother on a visit about six miles from Southampton, we were invited by a gentleman of the neighborhood to meet the wife and daughters of a certain Dr. Blamire "An old friend of yours and mine," quoth our inviter to my father "Don't you remember how you used to flirt with the fair lady when you and Babington were at Haslar? Faith, if Blamire had not taken pity on her, it would have gone hard with the poor damsel! However, he made up to the disconsolate maiden, and she got over it. Nothing like a new love for chasing away an old one. You must dine with us to-morrow. I shall like to see the meeting."
My father did not attempt to deny the matter. Men never do. He laughed, as all that wicked sex do laugh at such sins twenty years after, and professed that he should be very glad to shake hands with his old acquaintance. So the next day we met.
I was a little curious to see how my own dear mother, my mamma that was, and the stranger lady, my mamma that might have been, would bear themselves on the occasion. At first, my dear mother, an exceedingly ladylike, quiet person, had considerably the advantage, being prepared for the rencontre and perfectly calm and composed; while Mrs. Blamire, taken, I suspect, by surprise, was a good deal startled and flustered. This state of things, however, did not last. Mrs. Blamire having got over