And after that I would grant you the thing
Which you came to me petitioning.
Now this, O King, is what I crave,
That I my sinful soul may save:
Let me be led to your bull-ring,
And call your sons and daughters all,
And assemble the people both great and small,
And let me be set upon a stone,
That by all the multitude I may be known,
And bid me then this horn to blow,
And I will blow a blast so strong,
And wind the horn so loud and long
That the breath in my body at last shall be gone,
And I shall drop dead in sight of the throng.
Thus your revenge, O King, will be brave,
Granting the boon which I come to crave,
And the people a holyday sight will have,
And I my precious soul shall save;
For this is the penance my Confessor gave.
King Alboazar, this I would do,
If you were I, and I were you.”
9.
“This man repents his sin, be sure!”
To Queen Aldonza said the Moor;
“He hath stolen my sister away from me,
I have taken from him his wife;
Shame then would it be when he comes to me,
And I his true repentance see,
If I for vengeance should take his life.”
10.
“O Alboazar!” then quoth she,
“Weak of heart as weak can be!
Full of revenge and wiles is he.
Look at those eyes beneath that brow,
I know Ramiro better than thou!
Kill him, for thou hast him now,
He must die, be sure, or thou.
Hast thou not heard the history
How, to the throne that he might rise,
He pluck’d out his brother Ordofio’s eyes?
And dost not remember his prowess in fight,
How often he met thee and put thee to flight,
And plunder’d thy country for many a day;
And how many Moors he has slain in the strife,
And how many more carried captives away?
How he came to show friendship.. and thou didst believe him?
How he ravish’d thy sister,.. and wouldst thou forgive him?
And hast thou forgotten that I am his wife,
And that now by thy side I lie like a bride,
The worst shame that can ever a Christian betide?
And cruel it were when you see his despair,
If vainly you thought in compassion to spare,
And refused him the boon he comes hither to crave;
For no other way his poor soul can he save,
Than by doing the penance his Confessor gave.”
11.
As Queen Aldonza thus replies,
The Moor upon her fixed his eyes,
And he said in his heart, unhappy is he
Who putteth his trust in a woman!
Thou art King Ramiro’s wedded wife,
And thus wouldst thou take away his life!
What cause have I to confide in thee?
I will put this woman away from me.
These were the thoughts that pass’d in his breast,
But he call’d to mind Ramiro’s might;
And he fear’d to meet him hereafter in fight,
And he granted the King’s request.
12.
So he gave him a roasted capon first,
And a skinful of wine to quench his thirst;
And he call’d for his sons and daughters all,
And assembled the people both great and small;
And to the bull-ring he led the king;
And he set him there upon a stone,
That by all the multitude he might be known,
And he bade him blow through his horn a blast,
As long as his breath and his life should last.
13.
Oh then his horn Ramiro wound:
The walls rebound the pealing sound,
That far and wide rings echoing round;
Louder and louder Ramiro blows,
And farther the blast and farther goes;
Till it reaches the gallies where they lie close
Under the alders, by St. Joam da Foz.
It roused his knights from their repose,
And they and their merry men arose..
Away to Gaya they speed them straight;
Like a torrent they burst through the city gate
And they rush among the Moorish throng,
And slaughter their infidel foes.
14.
Then his good sword Ramiro drew,
Upon the Moorish King he flew,
And he gave him one blow, for there needed not to
They killed his sons and his daughters too;
Every Moorish soul they slew;
Not one escaped of the infidel crew;
Neither old nor young, nor babe nor mother
And they left not one stone upon another.
15.
They carried the wicked Queen aboard,
And they took counsel what to do to her;
They tied a millstone round her neck,
And overboard in the sea they threw her.
But a heavier weight than that millstone lay
On Ramiro’s soul at his dying day.
Bristol, 1802.
THE INCHCAPE ROCK.
An old writer mentions a curious tradition which may be worth quoting. “By east the Isle of May,” says he, “twelve miles from all land in the German seas, lyes a great hidden rock, called Inchcape, very dangerous for navigators, because it is overflowed everie tide. It is reported in old times, upon the saide rock there was a bell, fixed upon a tree or timber, which rang continually, being moved by the sea, giving notice to the saylers of the danger. This bell or clocke was put there and maintained by the Abbot of Aberbrothok, and being taken down by a sea pirate, a yeare therafter he perished upon the same rocke, with ship and goodes, in the righteous judgement of God.” — STODDART’S Remarks on Scotland.
No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as she could be,
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.
Without either sign or sound of their shock
The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
The Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.
When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok.
The Sun in heaven was shining gay,
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds scream’d as they wheel’d round,
And there was joyaunce in their sound.
The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walk’d his deck,
And he fix’d his eye on the darker speck.
He felt the cheering power of spring,
It made him whistle, it made him sing;
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.
His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I ‘ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”
The boat is lower’d, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And
he cut the Bell from the Inchcape float
Down sunk the Bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph, “ The next who comes to the Rock
Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.”
Sir Ralph the Rover sail’d away,
He scour’d the seas for many a day;
And now grown rich with plunder’d store,
He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.
So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky
They cannot see the Sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.
On the deck the Rover takes his stand,
So dark it is they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising Moon.”
“Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore.”
“Now where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.”
They hear no sound, the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen they drift along
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock
“Oh Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!”
Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair;
He curst himself in his despair;
The waves rush in on every side,
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.
But even in his dying fear
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,
The Devil below was ringing his knell.
Bristol, 1802.
THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.
“I know not whether it be worth the reporting, that there is à Cornwall, near the parish of St. Neots, a Well, arched over with the robes of four kinds of trees, withy, oak, elm, and ash dedicated to St. Keyne. The reported virtue of the water is this, that whether husband or wife come first to drink thereof they get the mastery thereby.” — FULLER. ‘This passage in one of the folios of the Worthy old Fuller, who, as he says, knew not whether it were worth the reporting, suggested the following Ballad: and the Ballad has produced so many imitations that it may be prudent here thus to assert its originality, lest I should be accused hereafter of having committed the plagiarism which has been practised upon it. “Next,” says Carew, in his Survey of Cornwall, p. 150., “I will relate you another of the Cornish natural wonders, viz. S. Kayne’s Well; but lest you make a wonder first at the Saint, before you take notice of the Well, you must understand, that this was not Kayne the manqueller, but one of a gentler spirit and milder sex, to wit, a woman. He who caused the spring to be pictured added this rhyme for an exposition: —
In name, in shape, in quality,
This Well is very quaint;
The name to lot of Kayne befell,
No over-holy saint.
The shape, four trees of divers kinde,
Withy, Oak, Elm, and Ash,
A Well there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St Keyne.
An oak and an elm tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.
A traveller came to the Well of St Keyne;
Joyfully he drew nigh,
For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.
He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank
Under the willow-tree.
There came a man from the house hard by
At the Well to fill his pail;
On the Well-side he rested it,
And he bade the Stranger hail.
“Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?” quoth he,
“For an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.
“Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast,
Ever here in Cornwall been?
For an if she have, I’ll venture my life
She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne.”
I have left a good woman who never was here,”
The Stranger he made reply,
“But that my draught should be the better for that,
I pray you answer me why?”
“St Keyne,” quoth the Cornish-man, “many a time
Drank of this crystal Well,
And before the Angel summon’d her,
She laid on the water a spell.
“If the Husband of this gifted Well
Shall drink before his Wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,
For he shall be Master for life.
“But if the Wife should drink of it first,..
God help the Husband then!”
The Stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.
“You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?”
He to the Cornish-man said:
But the Cornish-man smiled as the Stranger spake,
And sheepishly shook his head.
“I hasten’d as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my Wife in the porch;
But i’ faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to Church.”
Westbury, 1798.
BISHOP BRUNO.
“Bruno, the Bishop of Herbipolitanum, sailing in the river of Danubius, with Henry the Third, then Emperor, being not far from a place which the German es call Ben Strudel, or the devouring gulfe, which is neere unto Grinon, a castle in Austria, a spirit was heard clamouring aloud, ‘Ho, ho, Bishop Bruno, whither art thou travelling? but dispose of thyselfe how thou pleasest, thou shalt be my prey and spoil.’ At the hearing of these words they were all stupefied, and the Bishop with the rest crost and blest themselves. The issue was, that within a short time after, the Bishop, feasting with the Emperor in a castle belonging to the Countesse of Esburch, a rafter fell from the roof of the chamber wherein they sate, and strooke him dead at the table.” HEY wood’s Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels.
BISHOP BRUNO awoke in the dead midnight,
And he heard his heart beat loud with affright:
He dreamt he had rung the Palace bell,
And the sound it gave was his passing knell.
Bishop Bruno smiled at his fears so vain,
He turned to sleep and he dreamt again;
He rang at the palace gate once more,
And Death was the Porter that open’d the door.
He started up at the fearful dream,
And he heard at his window the screech-owl scream
Bishop Bruno slept no more that night,..
Oh! glad was he when he saw the day-light!
Now he goes forth in proud array,
For he with the Emperor dines to-day;
There was not a Baron in Germany
That went with a nobler train than he.
Before and behind his soldiers ride,
The people throng’d to see their pride;
They bow’d the head, and the knee they bent,
But nobody blest him as he went.
So he went on stately and proud,
When he heard a voice that cried aloud,
“Ho! ho! Bishop Bruno! you travel with glee,
But I would have you know, you travel to me!”
Behind and before and on either side,
He look’d, but nobody he espied;
And the Bishop at that grew cold with fear,
For he heard the words distinct and clear.
And when he rang at the Palace bell,
&nbs
p; He almost expected to hear his knell;
And when the Porter turn’d the key,
He almost expected Death to see.
But soon the Bishop recover’d his glee,
For the Emperor welcomed him royally;
And now the tables were spread, and there
Were choicest wines and dainty fare.
And now the Bishop had blest the meat,
When a voice was heard as he sat in his seat,..
“With the Emperor now you are dining with glee,
But know, Bishop Bruno! you sup with me!”
The Bishop then grew pale with affright,
And suddenly lost his appetite;
All the wine and dainty cheer
Could not comfort his heart that was sick with fear.
But by little and little recovered he,
For the wine went flowing merrily,
Till at length he forgot his former dread,
And his cheeks again grew rosy red.
When he sat down to the royal fare
Bishop Bruno was the saddest man there;
But when the masquers enter’d the hall,
He was the merriest man of all.
Then from amid the masquers’ crowd
There went a voice hollow and loud,..
“You have past the day, Bishop Bruno, in glee;
But you must pass the night with me!”
His cheek grows pale, and his eye-balls glare,
And stiff round his tonsure bristled his hair;
With that there came one from the masquers’ ball
And took the Bishop by the hand.
The bony hand suspended his breath,
His marrow grew cold at the touch of Death;
On saints in vain he attempted to call,
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 120