From the Spanish of Astley's.

Don Fernando Gomersalez! basely have
they borne thee down;
Paces ten behind thy charger is thy
glorious body thrown;
Fetters have they bound upon thee—iron
fetters, fast and sure;
Don Fernando Gomersalez, thou art cap-
tive to the Moor!

Long within a dingy dungeon pined that brave and noble
knight,
For the Saracenic warriors well they knew and feared his
might;
Long he lay and long he languished on his dripping bed
of stone,
Till the cankered iron fetters ate their way into his bone.

On the twentieth day of August—'twas the feast of false
Mahound—
Came the Moorish population from the neighbouring cities
round;
There to hold their foul carousal, there to dance and there
to sing,
And to pay their yearly homage to Al-Widdicomb, the
King!

First they wheeled their supple coursers, wheeled them at
their utmost speed,
Then they galloped by in squadrons, tossing far the light
jereed;
Then around the circus racing, faster than the swallow
flies,
Did they spurn the yellow sawdust in the rapt spectators'
eyes.

Proudly did the Moorish monarch every passing warrior
greet,
As he sate enthroned above them, with the lamps beneath
his feet;
"Tell me, thou black-bearded Cadi! are there any in the
land,
That against my janissaries dare one hour in combat stand?"

Then the bearded Cadi answered—"Be not wroth, my lord
the King,
If thy faithful slave shall venture to observe one little thing;
Valiant, doubtless, are thy warriors, and their beards are
long and hairy,
And a thunderbolt in battle is each bristly janissary:

"But I cannot, O my sovereign, quite forget that fearful
day,
"When I saw the Christian army in its terrible array;
When they charged across the footlights like a torrent
down its bed,
With the red cross floating o'er them, and Fernando at
their head!

"Don Fernando Gomersalez! matchless chieftain he in war,
Mightier than Don Sticknejo, braver than the Cid Bivar!
Not a cheek within Grenada, O my King, but wan and
pale is,
When they hear the dreaded name of Don Fernando
Gomersalez!"

"Thou shalt see thy champion, Cadi! hither quick the
captive bring!"
Thus in wrath and deadly anger spoke Al-Widdicomb, the
King:
"Paler than a maiden's forehead is the Christian's hue, I
ween,
Since a year within the dungeons of Grenada he hath
been!"

Then they brought the Gomersalez, and they led the
warrior in;
Weak and wasted seemed his body, and his face was pale
and thin;
But the ancient fire was burning, unallayed, within his eye,
And his step was proud and stately, and his look was stern
and high.

Scarcely from tumultuous cheering could the galleried
crowd refrain,
For they knew Don Gomersalez and his prowess in the
plain;
But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons in
steel,
So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville.

"Wherefore, monarch, hast thou brought me from the
dungeon dark and drear,
Where these limbs of mine have wasted in confinement
for a year?
Dost thou lead me forth to torture?—Rack and pincers
I defy!
Is it that thy base grotesquos may behold a hero die?"

"Hold thy peace, thou Christian caitiff, and attend to what
I say!
Thou art called the starkest rider of the Spanish cur's array:
If thy courage be undaunted, as they say it was of yore,
Thou mayst yet achieve thy freedom,—yet regain thy
native shore.

"Courses three within this circus 'gainst my warriors shalt
thou run,
Ere yon weltering pasteboard ocean shall receive yon
muslin sun;
Victor—thou shalt have thy freedom; but if stretched
upon the plain,
To thy dark and dreary dungeon they shall hale thee back
again."

"Give me but the armour, monarch, I have worn in many
a field,
Give me but my trusty helmet, give me but my dinted
shield;
And my old steed, Bavieca, swiftest courser in the ring,
And I rather should imagine that I'll do the business, King!"

Then they carried down the armour from the garret where
it lay,
O! but it was red and rusty, and the plumes were shorn
away:
And they led out Bavieca from a foul and filthy van,
For the conqueror had sold him to a Moorish dogs'-meat
man.

When the steed beheld his master, then he whinnied loud
and free,
And, in token of subjection, knelt upon each broken knee;
And a tear of walnut largeness to the warrior's eyelids
rose,
As he fondly picked a bean-straw from his coughing
courser's nose.

"Many a time, O Bavieca, hast thou borne me through
the fray!
Bear me but again as deftly through the listed ring this
day;
Or if thou art worn and feeble, as may well have come to
pass,
Time it is, my trusty charger, both of us were sent to grass!"

Then he seized his lance, and vaulting in the saddle sate
upright;
Marble seemed the noble courser, iron seemed the mailÈd
knight;
And a cry of admiration burst from every Moorish lady.
"Five to four on Don Fernando!" cried the sable-bearded
Cadi.

Warriors three from Alcantara burst into the listed space,
Warriors three, all bred in battle, of the proud Alhambra
race:
Trumpets sounded, coursers bounded, and the foremost
straight went down,
Tumbling, like a sack of turnips, just before the jeering
Clown.

In the second chieftain galloped, and he bowed him to the
King,
And his saddle-girths were tightened by the Master of the
Ring;
Through three blazing hoops he bounded ere the desperate
fight began—
Don Fernando! bear thee bravely!—'tis the Moor Abdor-
rhoman!

Like a double streak of lightning, clashing in the sulphurous
sky,
Met the pair of hostile heroes, and they made the sawdust
And the Moslem spear so stiffly smote on Don Fernando's
mail,
That he reeled, as if in liquor, back to Bavieca's tail:

But he caught the mace beside him, and he griped it hard
and fast,
And he swung it starkly upwards as the foeman bounded
past;
And the deadly stroke descended through, the skull and
through the brain,
As ye may have seen a poker cleave a cocoa-nut in twain.

Sore astonished was the monarch, and the Moorish warriors
all,
Save the third bold chief, who tarried and beheld his
brethren fall;
And the Clown, in haste arising from the footstool where
he sat,
Notified the first appearance of the famous Acrobat;

Never on a single charger rides that stout and stalwart
Moor,—
Five beneath his stride so stately bear him o'er the
trembling floor;
Five Arabians, black as midnight—on their necks the rein
he throws,
And the outer and the inner feel the pressure of his toes.

Never wore that chieftain armour; in a knot himself he
ties,
With his grizzly head appearing in the centre of his
thighs,
Till the petrified spectator asks, in paralysed alarm,
Where may be the warrior's body,—which is leg, and
which is arm?

"Sound the charge!" The coursers started; with a yell
and furious vault,
High in air the Moorish champion cut a wondrous somer-
sault;
O'er the head of Don Fernando like a tennis-ball he sprung,
Caught him tightly by the girdle, and behind the crupper
hung.

Then his dagger Don Fernando plucked from out its
jewelled sheath,
And he struck the Moor so fiercely, as he grappled him
beneath,
That the good Damascus weapon sank within the folds
of fat,
And as dead as Julius CÆsar dropped the Gordian
Acrobat.

Meanwhile fast the sun was sinking—it had sunk beneath
the sea,
Ere Fernando Gomersalez smote the latter of the three;
And Al-Widdicomb, the monarch, pointed, with a bitter
smile,
To the deeply-darkening canvass;—blacker grew it all the
while.

"Thou hast slain my warriors, Spaniard! but thou hast
not kept thy time;
Only two had sunk before thee ere I heard the curfew
chime;
Back thou goest to thy dungeon, and thou mayst be
wondrous glad
That thy head is on thy shoulders for thy work to-day,
my lad!

"Therefore all thy boasted valour, Christian dog, of no
avail is!"
Dark as midnight grew the brow of Don Fernando Gomer-
salez;—
Stiffly sate he in his saddle, grimly looked around the
ring,
Laid his lance within the rest, and shook his gauntlet at
the King.

"O, thou foul and faithless traitor! wouldst thou play me
false again?
Welcome death and welcome torture, rather than the
captive's chain!
But I give thee warning, caitiff! Look thou sharply to
thine eye—
Unavenged, at least in harness, Gomersalez shall not
die!"

Thus he spoke, and Bavieca like an arrow forward flew,
Right and left the Moorish squadron wheeled to let the
hero through;
Brightly gleamed the lance of vengeance—fiercely sped
the fatal thrust—
From his throne the Moorish monarch tumbled lifeless in
the dust.

Speed thee, speed thee, Bavieca! speed thee faster than
the wind!
Life and freedom are before thee, deadly foes give chase
behind!

Speed thee up the sloping spring-board; o'er the bridge
that spans the seas;
Yonder gauzy moon will light thee through the grove of
canvas trees.
Close before thee, Pampeluna spreads her painted paste-
board gate!
Speed thee onward, gallant courser, speed thee with thy
knightly freight!

Victory! The town receives them!—Gentle ladies, this
the tale is,
Which I learned in Astley's Circus, of Fernando Gomer-
salez.