ANCIENT SPANISH BALLADS.

"I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably." WINTER'S TALE.

How universal is the love of poetry! Every nation has its popular songs, the offspring of a credulous simplicity and an unschooled fancy. The peasant of the north, as he sits by the evening fire, sings the traditionary ballad to his children,

'Nor wants he gleeful tales, while round

The nut-brown bowl doth trot.'

The peasant of the south, as he lies at noon in the shade of the sycamore, or sits by his door in the evening twilight, sings his amorous lay, and listlessly

'On hollow quills of oaten straw,
He pipeth melody.'

The muleteer of Spain carols with the early lark, amid the stormy mountains of his native land. The vintager of Sicily has his evening hymn; the fisherman of Naples his boat-song; the gondolier of Venice his midnight serenade. The goatherd of Switzerland and the Tyrol-the Carpathian boor-the Scotch Highlander-the English ploughboy, singing as he drives his team a-field,peasant-serf-slave-all, all have their ballads and traditionary songs. Music is the universal language of mankind,-poetry their universal pastime and delight.

The ancient ballads of Spain hold a prominent rank in her literary history. Their number is truly astonishing, and may well startle the most enthusiastic lover of popular song. The Romancero General* contains upwards of a thousand; and though upon many of these may justly be bestowed the encomium which honest Izaak Walton pronounces upon the old English ballad of the Passionate Shepherd,-" old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good,”—yet, as a whole, they are, perhaps, more remarkable for their number than for their beauty. Every great historic event, every marvellous tradition has its popular ballad.

* Romancero General, en que se contiene todos los Romances. que andan impresos. 4to. Madrid, 1604.

Don Roderick, Bernardo del Carpio, and the Cid Campeador are not more the heroes of ancient chronicle than of ancient song; and the imaginary champions of Christendom, the twelve peers of Charlemagne, have found an historian in the wandering ballad-singer no less authentic than the good Archbishop Turpin.

Most of these ancient ballads had their origin during the dominion of the Moors in Spain. Many of them, doubtless, are nearly as old as the events they celebrate; though in their present form the greater part belong to the fourteenth century. The language in which they are now preserved indicates no higher antiquity: but who shall say how long they had been handed down by tradition, ere they were taken from the lips of the wandering minstrel, and recorded in a more permanent form?

The seven centuries of the Moorish sovereignty in Spain are the heroic ages of her history and her poetry. What the warrior achieved with his sword the minstrel published in his song. The character of those ages is seen in the character of their literature. History casts its shadow far into the land of song: indeed, the most prominent characteristic of the ancient Spanish ballads is their warlike spirit; they shadow forth the ma

jestic lineaments of the warlike ages; and through every line breathes a high and peculiar tone of chivalrous feeling. It is not the piping sound of peace, but a blast,-a loud, long blast from the war-horn,

'A trump with a stern breath

Which is cleped the trump of death."

And with this mingles the voice of lamentation,the requiem for the slain, with a melancholy sweet

ness:

Rio Verde, Rio Verde!

Many a corpse is bathed in thee,
Both of Moors and eke of Christians,
Slain with swords most cruelly.

And thy pure and crystal waters
Dappled are with crimson gore;

For between the Moors and Christians
Long has been the fight and sore.

Dukes and counts fell bleeding near thee,
Lords of high renown were slain

Perished many a brave hidalgo

Of the noblemen of Spain.

Another prominent characteristic of these ancient ballads is their energetic and beautiful simplicity. A great historic event is described in the fewest possible words: there is no ornament, no

artifice. The poet's intention was to narrate, not to embellish. It is truly wonderful to observe what force, and beauty, and dramatic power is given to the old romances by this single circumstance. When Bernardo del Carpio leads forth his valiant Leonese against the hosts of Charlemagne, he animates their courage by alluding to their battles with, the Moors, and exclaims, "Shall the lions that have bathed their paws in Libyan gore now crouch before the Frank ?"-When he enters the palace of the treacherous Alfonso, to upbraid him for a broken promise, and the king orders him to be arrested for contumely, he lays his hand upon his sword and cries, "Let no one stir! I am Bernardo; and my sword is not subject even to kings!" -When the Count Alarcos prepares to put to death his own wife at the king's command, she submits patiently to her fate, asks time to say a prayer, and then exclaims," Now bring me my infant boy, that I may give him suck, as my last farewell !" Is there in all the writings of Homer an incident more touching or more true to nature?

The ancient Spanish ballads naturally divide themselves into three classes:-the Historic, the Romantic, and the Moorish. It must be confessed, however, that the line of demarcation between these three classes is not well defined; for many