III. Now rings the bell, nine times reverberating, Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed, The other, blind, within her little room, The one, fantastic, light as air, And joyous singing, Forgets to say her morning prayer! The other, with cold drops upon her brow, And then the orphan, young and blind, Towards the church, through paths unscanned, With tranquil air, her way doth wind. Odours of laurel, making her faint and pale, Round her at times exhale, And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, Near that castle, fair to see, Crowded with sculptures old in every part, And proud of its name of high degree, At the base of the rock is builded there; Above each jealous cottage-roof, Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales, Round which the osprey screams and sails. "Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!" Thus Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend!" "Yes; seest thou not our journey's end? Hearest not the osprey from the belfry cry? Come in! The bride will be here soon: She could no more,-the blind girl, weak and weary! But Paul, impatient, urges ever more Her steps towards the open door; And when beneath her feet the unhappy maid At length the bell, Sends forth, resounding round, Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell. For soon arrives the bridal train, In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper, But she must calm that giddy head, The wedding-ring is blessed; Baptiste receives it; Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it, 'Tis spoken; and sudden at the groomsman's side, "Tis he!" a well-known voice has cried. And while the wedding guests all hold their breath, 66 "Baptiste," she said, since thou hast wished my death, As holy water be my blood for thee!" And calmly in the air a knife suspended! At eve, instead of bridal verse, No where was a smile that day, No, ah no! for each one seemed to say. "The roads should mourn and be veiled in gloom, Should mourn and should weep, ah, well-away! [Don Jorge Manrique, the author of the following poem, flourished in the last half of the fifteenth century. He followed the profession of arms, and died on the field of battle. Mariana, in his History of Spain, makes honourable inention of him, as being present at the siege of Uclés; and speaks of him as "a youth of estimable qualities, who in this war gave brilliant proofs of his valour. He died young, and was thus cut off from long exercising his great virtues, and exhibiting to the world the light of his genius, which was already known to fame." He was mortally wounded in a skirmish near Canavete, in the year 1479. The name of Rodrigo Manrique, the father of the poet, Conde de Paredes and Maestre de Santiago, is well known in Spanish history and song. He died in 1476: according to Mariana, in the town of Uclés: but according to the poem of his son, in Ocana. It was his death that called forth the poem upon which rests the literary reputation of the younger Manrique. In the language of his historian, "Don Jorge Manrique, in an elegant ode, full of poetic beauties, rich embellishments of genius, and high moral reflections, mourned the death of his father as with a funeral hymn." This praise is not exaggerated. The poem is a model in its kind. Its conception is solemn and beautiful; and, in accordance with it, the style moves on, calm, dignified, and majestic.] Оn, let the soul her slumbers break, How soon this life is past and gone, Swiftly our pleasures glide away, With many sighs; The moments that are speeding fast Onward its course the present keeps, And, did we judge of time aright, The past and future in their flight Let no one fondly dream again, Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Our lives are rivers, gliding free Thither all earthly pomp and boast Thither the mighty torrents stray, There all are equal. Side by side |