Adown the lofty mountain green

The pilgrim maid descends:

No fairer and no purer maid

To sacred station wends.

Her long robe catches in the thorns,

That strew the grassy mat,

Her lovely eyes are downward cast,

And hidden by her hat.

A knight pursues her footsteps fast,

With evil in his eyes,

But he can hardly reach her side,

Though his best speed he tries.

At last he's caught her, as she stops

Beside the olive tree,

That at the holy hermit's door

Stands fair and tall to see.

She leans against the sacred wood,—

"By God and Saint Marie,

This holy place should be my guard,

Oh, do no wrong to me."

The false knight was too base of heart

To feel God's sacred grace.

He throws his arms around her form

In strong and fierce embrace.

In mad and furious wrestle,

Their struggling arms are wound;

The maiden's strength is crushed by his:

She's cast upon the ground.

But as she falls she pulls the dirk,

That in his belt she spies;

She strikes it deep to his false heart,

And out the black blood flies.

"Oh, pilgrim maid, I beg and pray

By God and Saint Marie,

Tell not of my dishonored death,

Or how you've punished me."

"I 'll tell the tale in your own land,

And in mine vaunt it too,

How such a villain, false and base,

With his own blade I slew."

She pulls the cord that swings the bell;

It makes a solemn din.

"Oh, hermit, pray that God may save

This soul that dies in sin,

And grant a grave in holy ground His body to lie in."

The Portuguese ballads, which relate to domestic tragedies, without reference to historic events, are numerous, and very frequently of a high order of merit. They have the characteristics of folkpoetry in their dramatic interjections and irregularities, but often have a consistency and strength not found in the more romantic ballads. The Death-Bed Marriage is a specimen of this class.