Rio verde, rio verde,

Quanto cuerpo en ti se bana De Christianos y de Moros Muertos por la dura espada!

Y tus ondas cristalinas

De roxa sangre se esmaltan :
Entre Moros y Christianos
Muy gran batalla se trava.

Murieron Duques y Condes,
Grandes senores de salva:
Murio gente de valia

De la nobleza de Espana.

En ti murio don Alonso,

Que de Aguilar se llamaba;

El valeroso Urdiales,

Con don Alonso acababa.

Por un ladera arriba

El buen Sayavedra marcha; Naturel es de Sevilla,

De la gente mas granada.

Tras el iba un Renegado,
Desta manera le habla ;
Date, date, Sayavedra,

No huyas de la batalla.

Yo te conozco muy bien,

Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa;

Y en la Plaça de Sevilla

Bien te vide jugar canas.

Conozco a tu padre y madre,
Y a tu muger dona Clara ;
Siete anos fui tu cautivo,
Malamente me tratabas.

Y aora le seras mio,

Si Mahoma me ayudara ;

Y tambien te tratare,

Como a mi me tratabas.

GENTLE river, gentle river,

Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore, Many a brave and noble captain Floats along thy willow'd shore.

All beside thy limpid waters,

All beside thy sands so bright, Moorish Chiefs and Christian Warriors Join'd in fierce and mortal fight.

Lords, and dukes, and noble princes
On thy fatal banks were slain :
Fatal banks that gave to slaughter
All the pride and flower of Spain.

There the hero, brave Alonzo,

Full of wounds and glory died:
There the fearless Urdiales
Fell a victim by his side.

Lo! where yonder Don Saavedra
Thro' their squadrons slow retires;

Proud Seville, his native city,

Proud Seville his worth admires.

Close behind a renegado

Loudly shouts with taunting cry; Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra, Dost thou from the battle fly?

Weli I know thee, haughty Christian,
Long I liv'd beneath thy roof;
Oft I've in the lists of glory

Seven thee win the prize of proof.

Well I know thy aged parents,
Well thy blooming bride I know;
Seven years I was thy captive,
Seven years of pain and woe.

May our prophet grant my wishes,

Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine: Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, Which I drank when I was thine.

Sayavedra que lo oyera,
Al Moro bolvio la cara ;
Tirole el Moro una flecha,
Pero nunca la acertaba.

Hiriole Sayavedra

De una herida muy mala : Muerto cayo el Renegado Sin poder hablar palabra.

Sayavedra fue cercado

De mucha Mora canalla,
Y al cabo cayo alli muerto
De una muy mala lançada.

Don Alonso en este tiempo
Bravamente peleava,
Y el cavallo le avian muerto,
Y le tiene por muralla.

Mas cargaron tantos Moros
Que mal le hieren y tratan :
De la sangre, que perdia,
Don Alonso se desmaya.

Al fin, al fin cayo muerto
Al pie de un pena alta.—
Muerto queda don Alonso,
Eterna fama ganara.'

Like a lion turns the warrior,

Back he sends an angry glare:
Whizzing came the Moorish javelin,
Vainly whizzing through the air.

Back the hero full of fury

Sent a deep and mortal wound;
Instant sunk the Renegado,

Mute and lifeless on the ground.

With a thousand Moors surrounded,
Brave Saavedra stands at bay:
Wearied out but never daunted,
Cold at length the warrior lay.

Near him fighting great Alonzo
Stout resists the Paynim bands;
From his slaughter'd steed dismounted
Firm intrench'd behind him stands.

Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage:
Loss of blood at length enfeebles :
Who can war with thousands wage!

Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows,
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.

*

In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad, follow a few more stanzas, but being of inferior merit were not translated.

Renegado" properly signifies an Apostate; but it is sometimes used to express an Infidel in general; as it seems to do above in ver. 21, &c. The image of the "Lion," &c. in ver. 37, is taken from the other Spanish copy, the rhymes of which end in IA, viz.

Sayavedra, que lo oyera,
Como un leon rebolbia.

XVII. ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA

A MOORISH TALE

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH

The foregoing version was rendered as literal as the nature of the two languages would admit. In the following a wider compass hath been taken. The Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view, is preserved in the same history of the Civil Wars of Granada, f. 22, and begins with these lines:

Por la calle de su dama,
Passeando se anda, &c.

SOFTLY blow the evening breezes,
Softly fall the dews of night;
Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,
Shunning every glare of light.

In yon palace lives fair Zaida,
Whom he loves with flame so pure :
Lovliest she of Moorish ladies?
He a young and noble Moor.

Waiting for the appointed minute,
Oft he paces to and fro;
Stopping now, now moving forwards,
Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.
Hope and fear alternate tease him,
Oft he sighs with heart-felt care—
See, fond youth, to yonder window
Softly steps the timorous fair.
Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre
To the lost benighted swain,
When all silvery bright she rises,
Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.
Lovely seems the sun's full glory
To the fainting seaman's eyes,
When some horrid storm dispersing
O'er the wave his radiance flies.

But a thousand times more lovely
To her longing lover's sight
Steals half seen the beauteous maiden
Thro' the glimmerings of the night.