Imatges de pàgina
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DEAR MAID OF HAZEL BROW.

"Miro a mi morena.'

DEAR maid of hazel brow!

O what a sight to see
Thy fingers pull the bough
Of the white jasmine tree!

Delighted I look on,

And watch thy sparkling eye,
And charm'd, yet woe-begone,
I sigh, and then-I sigh.
O, I'll retire, and now

I'll not disquiet thee:
Dear maid of hazel brow!

Do as thou wilt with me,
And pluck the happy bough
Of the white jasmine tree.

Amidst the flowers, sweet maid!
I saw her footsteps trip-
And, lo! her cheeks array'd
In crimson from her lip.
Bright, graceful girl! I vow

"Twould be heaven's bliss to be,

Dear maid of hazel brow!

Crown'd with a wreath by thee—

A wreath-the emerald bough

Of the white jasmine tree.

Romancero de Amberes, 1604, p. 177.

WHERE SHALL I GO, OF HER BEREFT?

"En el monte la pastora."

SHE left me on the mountain's side,

Alas! she left:

Where shall I go, of her bereft?

She saw me mourning, yet she fled;
She wended round the mountain's brow,
And, scorning me, her flocks she led
Down to her father's cot below.

She stole my peace, nor seem'd to know
How great the theft:

Where shall I go, of her bereft ?

And yet she spoke in lofty tone,

And words of pride: 'twas clear her heart
Nor pity's sway, nor love had known.

"Farewell!" she said, "good knight, depart!"

And so, oppress'd by misery's smart,

My thoughts she left:

Where shall I go, of her bereft?

Böhl, No. 230.

FOUNT OF FRESHNESS!

"Fonte frida, fonte frida."

FOUNT of freshness! fount of freshness!
Fount of freshness and of love!
Where the little birds of spring-time
Seek for comfort as they rove;
All except the widow'd turtle-
Widow'd, sorrowing turtle-dove.

There the nightingale, the traitor!
Linger'd on his giddy way;
And these words of hidden treachery
To the dove I heard him say:
"I will be thy servant, lady!
I will ne'er thy love betray."

"Off! false-hearted!-vile deceiver!
Leave me, nor insult me so:
Dwell I, then, midst gaudy flowrets?
Perch I on the verdant bough?
Even the waters of the fountain
Drink I dark and troubled now.
Never will I think of marriage-

Never break the widow-vow.

"Had I children they would grieve me,
They would wean me from my woe:
Leave me, false one!-thoughtless traitor!-
Base one!-vain one!-sad one!-go!
I can never, never love thee—

I will never wed thee-no!"

Cancionero de Valencia, 1511, p. 133.

I WAS A MOORISH MAID.

"Yo mo era Mora Moraima."

I was a Moorish maid, Moraima,
I was a Moorish maiden fair,
And to my door there came a Christian-
How he came to deceive me there!
But when he spoke 'twas Algaraby *-
There I stood, and in strange alarm:
"Open the door, thou Moorish maiden,
Alla shall guard thee, maid, from harm!
Open! for I'm the Moor Mazote,

I am thy mother's brother dear,
And I have slain a christian traitor;
Open, I pray! th' alcalde t's near:
If thou refuse me thou wilt see me

Murder'd by my pursuers here."
This when I heard I roused me quickly,
Rose me up from my bed of rest,
Wrapp'd my almeji‡ around me,
For I had lost my silken vest,
Sprung to the door and flung it open,
Open'd it wide

Cancionero de Valencia, 1511, p. 135.

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