Don Pedro was the legitimate heir to the crown of Castile. Don Henry and Don Fadrique (or Frederick) were his half–brothers by Donna Leonora de Guzman, whom their father had entertained as his mistress, and even proclaimed queen, during the life–time of his lawful wife. When Pedro succeeded to the throne, at his mother’s instigation he put her rival to death: his brothers, Henry and Fadrique, escaped, and the former renounced his allegiance: the latter fled into Portugal; but after some time he made his peace, returned, and was appointed master of the order of St. Iago. When several months had elapsed, he was invited to join the court at Seville, and take his share in the amusements of an approaching tournament. He accepted the invitation, but was sternly and ominously received, and immediately executed within the palace. The friends of Pedro asserted, that the king had, that very day, detected Don Fadrique in a correspondence with his brother Henry and the Arragonese; while popular belief attributed the slaughter of the master to the influence of Pedro’s mistress, Maria de Padilla. The circumstances of this event are powerfully described in one of the Spanish ballads, so admirably translated by Mr. Lockhart. There is a peculiarity of construction in the ballad, the person of the narrator being changed in the course of it. It is commenced by the victim himself, who describes the alacrity with which he obeyed his brother’s summons. I sat alone in Coimbra—the town myself had ta’en,— When came into my chamber a messenger from Spain: There was no treason in his look, an honest look he wore, I from his hand the letter took—my brother’s seal it bore. “Come, brother dear, the day draws near (’twas thus bespoke the king) For plenar court and nightly sport, within the listed ring.” Alas, unhappy master, I easy credence lent: Alas, for fast and faster I at his bidding went. When I set out from Coimbra, and passed the bounds of Spain, I had a goodly company of spearmen in my train; A gallant force, a score of horse, and sturdy mules thirteen; With joyful heart I held my course, my years were young and green. A journey of good fifteen days within the week was done, I halted not, though signs I got, dark tokens many a one; A strong stream mastered horse and mule, I lost a poniard fine, And left a page within the pool, a faithful page of mine. Yet on to proud Seville I rode—when to the gate I came, Before it stood a man of God to warn me from the same: The words he spake I would not hear, his grief I would not see; “I seek,” I said, “my brother dear—I will not stop for thee.” No lists were closed upon the sand, for royal tourney dight, No pawing horse was seen to stand, I saw no armed knight: Yet aye I gave my mule the spur, and hasted through the town, I stopt before his palace–door, then gaily leapt I down.