30 HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE "Good sonne, where Lindis winds away Afar I heard her milking song." With that he cried and beat his breast; And rearing Lindis backward pressed, Flung uppe her weltering walls again. So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat, Upon the roofe we sate that night, The noise of bells went sweeping by: THE LORD OF BUTRAGO I marked the lofty beacon light Stream from the church tower, red and high – And awsome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang "Enderby." They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed; And yet the ruddy beacon glowed; O lost! my love, Elizabeth." And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst my daughter deare; Ere yet the early dawn was clear. 31 * * * — JEAN INGELOW. THE LORD OF BUTRAGO "YOUR horse is faint, my King - my lord! your gallant horse is sick His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick; Mount, mount on mine, oh mount apace, I pray thee mount and fly! Or in my arms I'll lift your grace their trampling hoofs are 32 THE LORD OF BUTRAGO "My King! my King! you're wounded sore from your feet; the blood runs But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat! 'Stand, noble steed! this hour of need be gentle as a lamb: "Nay never speak; my sires, Lord King, received their land from yours, And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine secures ! If I should fly, and thou my King be found among the dead, How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn upon my head? "Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain, And say there's one that ran away when our good lords were slain! I leave Diego in your care — you'll fill his father's place; Strike, strike, the spur, and never spare your grace!" God's blessings on So spake the brave Montañez, Butrago's lord was he; He died, God wot!1 but not before his sword had drunk its fill. THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN 33 At the gate of old Granada, where all its bolts are barred, "A tower is fallen, a star is set! -Alas! alas for Celin!" Three times they knock, three times they cry, and wide the doors they throw; Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go! In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch, Him yesterday a Moor did slay of Bencerrage's blood, 'Twas at the solemn jousting, - around the nobles stood: The nobles of the land were by and ladies bright and fair Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share; But now the ladies all lament, and the ladies are bewailing, "For he was Granada's darling Knight, · Alas! alas for Celin!' Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two, Oh! lovely lies he on the bier above the purple pall, The flower of all Granada's youth, the loveliest of them all; D His dark, dark eyes are closed, his rosy lip is pale, The Moorish maid at the lattice stands, — the Moor beside his door, One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore; Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they strew Upon the broidered garments of crimson, green, and blue; Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the loud be Now Robin he is to Nottingham bound, As Robin he passed the streets along, Three brethren dear, as he did hear, Condemned were to die. Then Robin came to the Sheriff's house, Some relief for to seek; He skipt, and leapt, and capered full high, |