lack,
No Spanish Lord will draw the sword behind a Liar's back;
But noble vengeance shall be mine, an open hate I'll show--
The King hath injured Carpio's line, and Bernard is his foe."

VIII.
"Seize--seize him!"--loud the King doth scream--"There are
a thousand here--
Let his foul blood this instant stream--What! Caitiffs, do ye fear?
Seize--seize the traitor!"--But not one to move a finger dareth,--
Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth.

IX.
He drew the falchion from the sheath, and held it up on high,
And all the hall was still as death:--cries Bernard, "Here am I,
And here is the sword that owns no lord, excepting heaven and me;
Fain would I know who dares his point--King, Conde, or Grandee."

X.
Then to his mouth the horn he drew--(it hung below his cloak)
His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke;
With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake,
And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king to quake.

XI.
"Ha! Bernard," quoth Alphonso, "what means this warlike guise?
Ye know full well I jested--ye know your worth I prize."--
But Bernard turned upon his heel, and smiling passed away--
Long rued Alphonso and his realm the jesting of that day.

PART II.

THE YOUNG CID.

The Ballads in the Collection of Escobar, entitled "Romancero e Historia
del muy valeroso Cavallero El Cid Ruy Diaz de Bivar," are said by Mr.
Southey to be in general possessed of but little merit. Notwithstanding
the opinion of that great scholar and poet, I have had much pleasure in
reading them; and have translated a very few, which may serve, perhaps,
as a sufficient specimen.

The following is a version of that which stands fifth in Escobar:--

Cavalga Diego Laynez al buen Rey besar la mano, &c.

I.
Now rides Diego Laynez, to kiss the good King's hand,
Three hundred men of gentry go with him from his land,
Among them, young Rodrigo, the proud Knight of Bivar;
The rest on mules are mounted, he on his horse of war.

II.
They ride in glittering gowns of soye,--He harnessed like a lord;
There is no gold about the boy, but the crosslet of his sword;
The rest have gloves of sweet perfume,--He gauntlets strong of mail;
They broidered caps and flaunting plume,--He crest untaught to quail.

III.
All talking with each other thus along their way they passed,
But now they've come to Bur