JUAN DE RIBERA.

THE GOOD OLD COUNT IN SADNESS STRAY'D.

"Paseabase el buen conde."

THE good old count in sadness stray'd
Backwards-forwards pensively;

He bent his head-he said his prayers
Upon his beads of ebony;

And dark and gloomy were his thoughts,
And all his words of misery:

"O daughter fair! to woman grown,
Say who shall come to marry thee;
For I am poor-though thou art fair

No dower of riches thine shall be." "Be silent, father, mine! I pray,

For what avails a dower to me?-
A virtuous child is more than wealth;
O! fear not,-fear not poverty:
There are whose children ban their bliss,
Who call on death to set them free,

And they defame their lineage,

Which shall not be defamed by me;

For if no husband should be mine,

I'll seek a convent's purity."

Nueve Romances, 1605, p. 4.

ROMANCE.

"Caballero de lejas tierras.”

"KNIGHT that comest from afar,
Tarry here, and here recline;
Couch thy lance upon the floor,
Stop that weary steed of thine:
I would fain inquire of thee

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News of wandering husband mine.”
Lady! thou must first describe

Him, thy husband, sign by sign." "Knight! my husband's young and fair, In him grace and beauty shine;

At the tablets dexterous he,

And at chess; the honour'd line

Of a marquis on his sword,
Well engraved, you might divine.
All his garments of brocade,
Felted crimson, fair and fine;

At his lance's point he bears

Flag from Tagus' banks, where shine

Victories that he won of old

From a valiant Gaul."

“That sign

Tells me, lady! he is dead:
Murder'd is that lord of thine.

In Valencia was he kill'd,

Where there lived a Genovine.

Playing at the tablets, he

There was murder'd. At his shrine

Many a noble lady wept,

Many a knight of valiant line:

One mourn'd more than all the rest,
Daughter of the Genovine ;

For they said, and that was true,
She was his so, lady mine!
Give me now thy heart, I pray,
For my heart is only thine."

Nay, sir knight! it cannot be ! Nay! I must not thus incline. To a convent first I'll go,

Vow me to that life divine." "No! that cannot, cannot be, Check that hasty vow of thine ;

For I am thy husband, dear!

Thou the unstain'd wife of mine."

Nueve Romances, 1605, p. 4.

GARCI SANCHEZ DE BADAJOZ.

SING, LITTLE BIRDS.

"Cantad todas avecillas."

SING, sing, ye little birds
In melancholy strain,

For that shall soothe my pain.

It is not that my heart

Rebels against my woe;
The more severe the smart,
The more intense the throe,
The more the praise must be,
To suffer patiently,-
That thought is sweet to me.
Sing, birds of mournful strain,
For that shall soothe my pain.

Cancionero de 1511.

PEDRO SOTO DE ROJAS.

TO A BIRD SINGING.

"Pajaro venturoso."

O BLESSED Songster! thou

Pourest in sweetest notes thy amorous vow
Harmonious, and thy songstress echoes shrill,
The music of her love: most happy pair,
I have no listening ears my songs to share,
No light-plumed wings to wander at my will.
O blessed singer! thou

Art chanting of thy pleasures now,

And thou art blest,

For Nature, liberal Nature, which denied

Thee knowledge, gave thee bliss and song beside, And they are best.

Desengaño del Amor, Madrid, 1623, p. 37.