Sinewy strength is in his reins, And the red blood gallops through his veins - Through the boasting heart of man. And yet, he was but friend to one Who fed him at the set of sun By some lone fountain fringed with green; He lived (none else would he obey Where Balkh amidst the desert stands ! BARRY CORNWALL. THE CID AND BAVIECA. The king looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true; Then to the king Ruy Diaz spake, after reverence due, 66 "O king! the thing is shameful, that any man beside The liege lord of Castile himself, should Bavieca ride. "For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring So good as he, and certes, the best befits my king, But, that you may behold him, and know him to the core, I'll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor." With that the Cid, clad as he was, in mantle furred and wide, ; On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side And up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career, Streamed like a pennon on the wind, Ruy Diaz' mini vere. And all that saw them praised them, they lauded man and horse, As matched well, and rivals for gallantry and force ; Ne'er had they looked on horsemen might to this knight come near, Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier. Thus, to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed, He snapped in twain his nether rein: "God pity now the Cid! God pity Diaz!" cried the lords, but when they looked again, - They saw Ruy Diaz ruling him with the fragment of his rein; They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm, Like a true lord commanding, and obeyed as by a lamb. And so he led him foaming and panting to the king, 66 But, "No," said Don Alphonso, it were a shameful thing, That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid By any mortal but Bivar, mount, mount again, my LOCKHART'S Spanish Ballads. THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. Word was brought to the Danish king, (Hurry!) That the love of his heart lay suffering, And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (Oh! ride as though you were flying!) Better he loves each golden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian girl And his Rose of the Isles is dying. Thirty nobles saddled with speed; (Hurry!) Each one mounted a gallant steed Which he kept for battle and days of need; His nobles are beaten, one by one; (Hurry!) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone, The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; No answer came, but faint and forlorn The panting steed with a drooping crest Stood weary. ride; The king returned from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast; And that dumb companion eying, The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check; CAROLINE ELIZABETH NORTON. Go forth under the open sky and list BRYANT. DO YOU KNOW? “Yesterday we buried my pretty brown mare under the wildcherry tree. End of poor Bess." When a human being dies, Seeming scarce so good or wise, Loving, trusting, to the last; Has all perished? Was no mind Baffling oft our human sense |