“Here gallants held it little thing for ladies’ sake to die, Or for the Prophet’s honour, and pride of Soldanry: For here did valour flourish, and deeds of warlike might Ennobled lordly palaces, in which was our delight. “The gardens of thy Vega, its fields and blooming bowers-- Woe, woe! I see their beauty gone, and scatter’d all their flowers No reverence can he claim, the king that such a land hath lost On charger never can he ride, nor be heard among the host; But in some dark and dismal place, where none his face may see, There, weeping and lamenting, alone that king should be!” Thus spake Granada’s king as he was riding to the sea, About to cross Gibraltar’s Strait away to Barbary: Thus he in heaviness of soul unto his queen did cry.-- (He had stopp’d and ta’en her in his arms, for together they did fly). “Unhappy king! whose craven soul can brook”--(she ’gan reply) “To leave behind Granada--who hast not heart to die-- Now for the love I bore thy youth, thee gladly could I slay! For what is life to leave when such a crown is cast away?” THE DEATH OF DON ALONZO OF AGUILAR. The Catholic zeal of Ferdinand and Isabella was gratified by the external conversion at least of great part of the Moors of Granada; but the inhabitants of the Sierra of Alpujarra, to which the remnant of the Moors had retired, resisted every effort of the priests who were sent among them, so that the order for baptism was at length enforced by arms. These Moorish mountaineers resisted strenuously, but were at length subdued, and, in great part, extirpated. Amongst many severe losses sustained by the Spanish forces in this guerilla warfare, was that recorded in the following ballad. The tragic story has been made familiar to English readers by the Bishop of Dromore’s exquisite version of “Rio Verde! Rio Verde!” Fernando, king of Aragon, before Granada lies, With dukes and barons many a one, and champions of emprise; With all the captains of Castile that serve his lady’s crown, He drives Boabdil from his gates, and plucks the Crescent down. The Cross is rear’d upon the towers, for our Redeemer’s sake! The king assembles all his powers, his triumph to partake; Yet at the royal banquet, there’s trouble in his eye-- “Now speak thy wish, it shall be done, great king!” the lordings cry. Then spake Fernando: “Hear, grandees! which of ye all will go, And give my banner in the breeze of Alpujar to blow? Those heights along, the Moors are strong; now who, by dawn of day, Will plant the Cross their cliffs among, and drive the dogs away?” Then champion on champion high, and count on count doth look; And falt’ring is the tongue of lord, and pale the cheek of duke; Till starts up brave Alonzo, the knight of Aguilar, The lowmost at the royal board, but foremost still in war.