THERE is no nation in the world, however exalted or however degraded, but is in possession of some peculiar poetry. If the Chinese, the Hindoos, the Greeks, and the Persians, those splendid and renowned races, have their moral lays, their mythological epics, their tragedies, and their immortal love songs, so also have the wild and barbarous tribes of Soudan, and the wandering Esquimaux, their ditties, which, however insignificant in comparison with the compositions of the former nations, still are entitled in every essential point to the name of poetry; if poetry mean metrical compositions intended to soothe and recreate the mind fatigued by the cares, distresses, and anxieties to which mortality is subject. The Gypsies too have their poetry. Of that of the Russian Zigani we have already said something. It has always been our opinion, and we believe that in this we are by no means singular, that in nothing can the character of a people be read with greater certainty and exactness than in its songs. How truly do the warlike ballads of the Northmen and the Danes, their _drapas_ and _kæmpe-viser_, depict the character of the Goth; and how equally do the songs of the Arabians, replete with homage to the one high, uncreated, and eternal God, ‘the fountain of blessing,’ ‘the only conqueror,’ lay bare to us the mind of the Moslem of the desert, whose grand characteristic is religious veneration, and uncompromising zeal for the glory of the Creator. And well and truly do the coplas and gachaplas of the Gitános depict the character of the race. This poetry, for poetry we will call it, is in most respects such as might be expected to originate among people of their class; a set of Thugs, subsisting by cheating and villainy of every description; hating the rest of the human species, and bound to each other by the bonds of common origin, language, and pursuits. The general themes of this poetry are the various incidents of Gitáno life and the feelings of the Gitános. A Gypsy sees a pig running down a hill, and imagines that it cries ‘Ustilame Caloro!’ {288}—a Gypsy reclining sick on the prison floor beseeches his wife to intercede with the alcayde for the removal of the chain, the weight of which is bursting his body—the moon arises, and two Gypsies, who are about to steal a steed, perceive a Spaniard, and instantly flee—Juanito Ralli, whilst going home on his steed, is stabbed by a Gypsy who hates him—Facundo, a Gypsy, runs away at the sight of the burly priest of Villa Franca, who hates all Gypsies. Sometimes a burst of wild temper gives occasion to a strain—the swarthy lover threatens to slay his betrothed, even _at the feet of Jesus_, should she prove unfaithful. It is a general opinion amongst the Gitános that Spanish women are very fond of Rommany chals and Rommany. There is a stanza in which a Gitáno hopes to bear away a beauty of Spanish race by means of a word of Rommany whispered in her ear at the window.