V. "Free were we born," 'tis thus they cry, "though to our King we owe The homage and the fealty behind his crest to go; By God's behest our aid he shares, but God did ne'er command, That we should leave our children heirs of an enslavèd land. VI. "Our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak, Nor are our veins so bloodless, that we our vow should break, To sell our freedom for the fear of Prince or Paladin,-- At least we'll sell our birthright dear, no bloodless prize they'll win. VII. "At least King Charles, if God decrees he must be lord of Spain, Shall witness that the Leonese were not aroused in vain; He shall bear witness that we died, as lived our sires of old, Nor only of Numantium's pride shall minstrel tales be told. VIII. "THE LION[4] that hath bathed his paws in seas of Libyan gore, Shall he not battle for the laws and liberties of yore? Anointed cravens may give gold to whom it likes them well, But steadfast heart and spirit bold Alphonso ne'er shall sell." LADY ALDA'S DREAM. The following is an attempt to render one of the most admired of all the Spanish ballads. En Paris esta Doña Alda, la esposa de Don Roldan, Trecientas damas con ella, para la accompañar, Todas visten un vestido, todas calçan un calçar, &c. In its whole structure and strain it bears a very remarkable resemblance to several of our own old ballads--both English and Scottish. I. In Paris sits the lady that shall be Sir Roland's bride, Three hundred damsels with her, her bidding to abide; All clothed in the same fashion, both the mantle and the shoon, All eating at one table, within her hall at noon: All, save the Lady Alda, she is lady of them all, She keeps her place upon the dais, and they serve her in her hall; The thread of gold a hundred spin, the lawn a hundred weave, And a hundred play sweet melody within Alda's bower at eve. II. With the sound of their sweet playing, the lady falls asleep, And she dreams a doleful dream, and her damsels hear her weep; There is sorrow in her slumber, and she waketh with a cry, And she calleth for her damsels, and swiftly they come nigh. "Now, what is it, Lady Alda," (you may hear the words they say,) "Bringeth sorrow to thy pillow, and chaseth sleep away?"-- "O, my maidens!" quoth the lady, "my heart it is full sore! I have dreamt a dream of evil, and can slumber never more. III. "For I was upon a mountain, in a bare and desert place, And I saw a mighty eagle, and a falcon he did chase; And to me the falcon came, and I hid it in my breast, But the mighty bird, pursuing, came and rent away my vest; And he scattered all the feathers, and blood was on his beak, And ever, as he tore and tore, I heard the falcon shriek;-- Now read my vision, damsels, now read my dream to me, For my heart may well be heavy that doleful sight to see."--