decays;
  Yet in the hoary winter of my days,
  Forever green shall be my trust in Heaven. 
Celestial King!  O let thy presence pass
  Before my spirit, and an image fair
  Shall meet that look of mercy from on high,
As the reflected image in a glass
  Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there,
  And owes its being to the gazer’s eye.

V

THE BROOK

(A UN ARROYUELO)

ANONYMOUS

Laugh of the mountain!—­lyre of bird and tree! 
  Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn! 
  The soul of April, unto whom are born
  The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee! 
Although, where’er thy devious current strays,
  The lap of earth with gold and silver teems,
  To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems
  Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd’s gaze. 
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent
  As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye
  Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count! 
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current! 
  O sweet simplicity of days gone by! 
  Thou shun’st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount!

ANCIENT SPANISH BALLADS.

In the chapter with this title in Outre-Mer, besides Illustrations from Byron and Lockhart are the three following examples, contributed by Mr. Longfellow.

I

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.

II

“King Alfonso the Eighth, having exhausted his treasury in war, wishes to lay a tax of five farthings upon each of the Castillan hidalgos, in order to defray the expenses of a journey from Burgos to Cuenca.  This proposition of the king was met with disdain by the noblemen who had been assembled on the occasion.”

Don Nuno, Count of Lara,
  In anger and in pride,
Forgot all reverence for the king,
  And thus in wrath replied: 

“Our noble ancestors,” quoth he,
  “Ne’er such a tribute paid;
Nor shall the king receive of us
  What they have once gainsaid.

“The base-born soul who deems it just
  May here with thee remain;
But follow me, ye cavaliers,
  Ye noblemen of Spain.”

Forth followed they the noble Count,
  They marched to Glera’s plain;
Out of three thousand gallant knights
  Did only three remain.