THE BALLAD OF DON RODERICK.

BY S. WALLACE CONE.

"My daughter," queth Count Julian, "Need must that I should go To guard the town of Ceuta against the Paynim foe:

Don Roderick hath committed the fortress to my care,

And foul my shame if field were fought, and Julian were not there." "Now God and our dear Lady defend and help the right!

And yet I would, my father, thou went'st not forth to night.

I have a strange foreboding of some misfortune near,

And tho' the field were fought and won, I would thou stayedst here."

"Out, out on thee, Florinda-what folly, girl, is this?
Take, an' thou wilt, my blessing, and give me back a kiss.
But go I must and will, wench; aye! go, come foul or fair
No field at Ceuta must be fought, and Julian be not there!"
In haste he donned his harness, and mounted him to selle,
And to his beauteous daughter he waved a fond farewell;
And oft afar he turned him to gaze with longing love,
Where stood the weeping damsel upon the tower above.

III.

But lo! a plump of lances, with banners waving high,
Have passed upon the hill top, beneath the sunset sky,
Count Julian scarce hath vanished upon the eastern side,
When spurring fast and furious they from the westward side.

The warder gave the signal of foes approaching near,
Upstarted then Florinda, and dashed away the tear.
"What garrison is left us?" "Lady, but twenty men!"

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Away and man the ramparts! We'd meet them tho' but ten!"

IV.

"But with such odds, dear lady, is sure defeat and cheap!"
Begone! Count Julian's castle, Count Julian's child will keep.
Hang out our house's banner. Twenty! we need no more;
And wo betide the craven who fails in his devoir !"

Before the castle's barrier his rein the foremost drew,
And deftly on his bugle a peaceful summons blew.

"Now wherefore come yon lances, Sir Knight?" the lady cried, "And what may be your purpose in hostile guise that ride?"

V.

"Hostile! nay trust me, lady, 'tis but our guise is so ;-
Base knight were he and craven who harmed so fair a foe.
An thou wilt look more closely against yon sunset sky,
Thou'lt see Dox RODERICK'S banner above the lances fly.
The chase to-day pursuing, a shaft hath pierced his side,
And hitherward for succor he hath been forced to ride.
Wherefore, fair dame, I pray thee no farther parley wait,
But open to our monarch thy father's loyal gate."

VI.

Right joyfully cried Cava―" Sir Knight, my father's hall
Though thousands came with Roderick, hath room, I trow, for all.
Wide barrier and portcullis, my trusty liegemen, fling,
And to our castle welcome Don Roderick, our King!'

He bowed him to his saddle, and hied him to the train,

And down the hill they hurried, and pricked across the plain;
I wot when 'round he turned him, across his face there came
A scornful smile and evil, and the red blush of shame.

VII.

With trumpets loudly braying their proud and joyful notes,
With shouts of hearty welcome from twenty loyal throats,
With love and faith and honor, her liegemen one and all,
As bade their lady, welcomed Don Roderick to her hall.
But shout and lordly trumpet he gave them little heed,
For two that ride beside him must lift him from his steed.
They bore him from his saddle with mournful step and slow,
Whilst the proud trumpet's clamor died off in wailings low.

VIII.

The monarch and his nobles, with love and courtesy,
They welcomed to the castle and served him on the knee;
They bore him to a chamber, for wounded seemed he sore,
Aud spread a couch full softly, and crept across the floor.
Then came the fair Florinda, a skilful leech was she,
The bruised King to comfort in his extremity.

His couch she knelt beside it: his barons watched around;
And with her gentle fingers she closed the monarch's wound.

IX.

The gaping wound together she with her fingers pressed,
And spread a cooling balsam upon Don Roderick's breast.
"Now praise to St. Iago! for this relief!"-he cries,
His lips gave thanks to heaven, he thanked her with his eyes.

And night and day together with eye that never slept,
Beside the wounded monarch her watch the lady kept;
And night and day together she prayed on her bended knee,
To God and Mary Mother, that they her help would be!

PART II.

I.

It was upon the morning of John the Baptist's day,
Don Roderick left his chamber to wend upon his way.
It was upon that morning, the morn of good St. John,
Of all the deeds accursed, the most accursed was done.
Before the lady Cava, the king he bent him down,

And for his cure he thanked her-I wis she did not frown.
Before the lady Cava the king he bent his knee,

"Thou cur'st," quoth he, "my body-yet sore thou woundest me!

II.

"The shaft it pierced my bosom, alack! thy lovely eyes
Have barbed a sharper arrow, and in my heart it lies.
Nay! frown not, gentle Cava, nor look, sweet love, forlorn;
But hie we both to Burgos on this the Baptist's morn.
With feasting and with revel thou shalt be welcomed there,
And mistress will I make thee of lordships broad and fair.
Upon the knee to serve thee a thousand shalt thou have,
And I thy lord and monarch will be thine humblest slave."

III.

What," cried the shuddering maiden, "Is thus my care repaid?

Oh! King, how have I wronged thee, that thou shouldst thus degrade? Part! part in peace, Don Roderick, and on my bended knee

I'll pray that our dear Lady, this thought may pardon thee."

"A larger boon then ask ye, for larger will we need,

And the good saint must pardon, sweet wench, both thought and deed;
For by the rood," cried Roderick, and by my crown I've sworn,
That thou shalt ride to Burgos on this the Baptist's morn."

IV.

"Oh king! oh king! bethink thee, Count Julian's good right hand This day is doing battle to guard for thee thy land!

Bethink thee of thine honor! bethink thee of thy need,

When wounded sore and helpless thou at his gates didst bleed!
And by thine oath of knighthood, and by thy hope of grace,
Bring not this foul dishonor upon my father's race!

Part! part in peace, Don Roderick, and on my bended knee
pray that Mary Mother thy thought may pardon thee!"

I'll

V.

Come," quoth the monarch, smiling, "no more, no more delay! We two must be in Burgos before the close of day!"

Back started then Florinda, and raised her hand on high,

Her lips all white and bloodless, and fierce her flashing eye,"King! if thou dar'st dishonor,-God curse thee for the deed!

Upon the field of battle deserted may'st thou bleed!

An outcast from thy kingdom, from crown and hope exiled,

Be thy false soul unshriven, thy traitor's grave defiled!"

VI.

Dark scowled the haughty monarch-he seized with ruthless hand,
And bore her to a palfrey, amid his ruffian band.

Forth from her weeping damsels he bore their hapless dame,
Whilst in a blessed swooning she recked not of her shame.

Oh! when Count Julian heard it, a vengeful man was he;
And in his wrath he called the Moor across the groaning sea;
He tore his beard of silver, and bitter oaths he swore,-

"God curse thee, thou false monarch! God curse thee ever more!

VII.

"I was thy truest soldier, I am thy deadliest foe;

The vengeance of the Father shall lay the Monarch low.
Welcome to Spain, oh Tarik! From Afric's burning sands,
The gates are open, Saracen, to thee and all thy bands.
Pour forth thy dusky legions and sweep from shore to shore!
Smite, till the name of Spaniard be heard of never more!
Unfurl thy crescent banner! Set forward to the fight!
On Roderick and on Julian no sun shall set to-night!"

VIII.

Fly! fly, thou false king Roderick! Fly, fly, ye men of Spain! Count Julian dogs thy footsteps! your army strews the plain! Weep, weep, and beat your bosoms, ye who were wives this morn! Weep for your orphaned children, slaves to the Paynim's scorn! Wo to the noble's castle! wo to the hermit's grot!

Wo to the stately city! wo to the herdman's cot!

Weep for your blighted honor! weep for your country's loss!
Howl for the Crescent floating above the trampled Cross !

IX.

It was upon the morning before the field of shame,
Unto Florinda's bower in haste Don Roderick came.
"Fly! fly!" he cried, "Florinda! The Moorish host is near,
And doubtful is the battle-I durst not leave thee here!"
Oh! God forgive thee, Roderick! She lies before thee now,
The dagger in her bosom, and death upon her brow,
To horse, to horse, Don Roderick! her bruised soul is free,
And on the field of battle Count Julian waits for thee.

X.

Now cursed be the hour Count Julian turned to go
To guard the town of Ceuta against the Paynim foe;
Accursed be the hour the King fair Cava sought;
Accursed be the hour his eye her beauty caught:
And cursed Julian's falsehood and Cava's beauty be,

That brought the dark-browed Moorman across the groaning sea!
Since from Toledo's cavern too true the mystic strain,

For Roderick fell at Xeres, and Tarik ruled in Spain.

WHAT IS THE REASON?

HOW MUCH LAND AND PROPERTY, AND I HAVE NONE!"

THIS was the exclamation of a laboring man, who accompanied the late Theodore Sedgwick, from his residence in Stockbridge to a steamboat-landing on the North River, as he was setting off on a voyage to Europe. They were upon a mountain summit in Berkshire, overlooking the broad valley of the Hudson. Spread out before them lay the rich pastures and fat cornfields of Columbia, Dutchess, Greene, and Ulster. Cities and villages were there, teeming with enterprise and wealth. Herds of flocks innumerable were pasturing upon the hills and grazing upon the plains. Upon the broad deep bosom of the majestic river floated many a barque, borne along on wings of wind or fire, deeply laden with the harvests of every clime. From along the tributary branches of the monarch flood, ascended the smoke, and was heard the rattle, of forges and factories, ever busy in pouring in their contributions to the full tide of wealth. The scene presented a living panorama, exhibiting in one brilliant view the harmonious competition and co-operation of Agriculture, Commerce, and Art, to provide supplies for every want and desire and taste of man. The attendant was filled with amazement, and exclaimed," How much land and property, and I have none! What is the reason?"

Wealth everywhere abounds. Kind Nature, no niggard step-dame, but an all-bounteous, loving mother, exhaustlessly produces supplies for all her children. The Universal Father has written his attribute of Love over all the face of his creation, upon every manifestation of his existence; in the beams of the morning light, the evening's declining shadows, the gorgeous splendor of noon, and the solemn majesty of midnight; in the sun, the stars, and the seasons in their courses; in the untravelled solitudes of the forest, and the swelling tides of the boundless sea; and has inscribed it in characters of clearer light upon that altar which he has erected for his worship in the deep instincts and sentiments of man's soul. We cannot then believe that He has

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made poverty and want and servile toil the necessary lot of any human being; that he has placed him in the midst of the lavish and superfluous riches, with which he is surrounded, only to tantalize him with the view of good which he is not to be permitted to attain. This fair earth was not made to be man's prison-house and place of bondage, where his soul must be crushed and extinguished by material incumbrances; but for a garden of Eden, wherein grows every plant that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, and in the midst whereof is the Tree of Life, and the Tree of Knowledge,not set there for the blinding, but for the healing of his eyes. Wealth everywhere abounds, and liberal provision for every human necessity, comfort, luxury. Ample means are provided, too, for the large unfolding of man's spiritual nature. Why in so plentiful a world does poverty so much more abound? Why is it, that so large a portion of men, born the equal heirs of nature's abundance, are compelled to be the slaves of toil, to waste immortal energies, and lose their true life, in the wanton struggle for animal existence? Amid so much public prosperity, why so much private wretchedness? Why these savage hovels by the side of these vast and gorgeous palaces? Why this squalid, ragged vagrant wandering, homeless and famishing, among these abodes of luxurious opulence? Why this huge mass of ignorance in the midst of all these ostentatious provisions for education ?—this unshrinking vice even under the droppings of the sanctuary? Why is the light of this young, new soul quenched in its opening by the mountains of incumbrance, which lie upon it, and keep it from emerging? Why, in a world so rich, are there so many millions who can say "I have none?" Loud above the din of commerce, the clatter of machinery, the stunning roar of the universal struggle for wealth, a million echoes are heard repeating the question,-" What is the reason!"

With the conservative portion of the community, with those who regard the