Close before thee Pampeluna spreads her painted pasteboard

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 Gomersalez!

B

The Courtship of our Cid.

WHAT a pang of sweet emotion

Thrilled the Master of the Ring,

When he first beheld the lady,

Through the stabled portal spring!

Midway in his wild grimacing

Stopped the piebald-visaged Clown;

And the thunders of the audience

Nearly brought the gallery down.

Donna Inez Woolfordinez!

Saw ye ever such a maid,

With the feathers swaling o'er her,
And her spangled rich brocade?
In her fairy hand a horsewhip,

On her foot a buskin small;
So she stepped, the stately damsel,

Through the scarlet grooms and all.

And she beckoned for her courser,

And they brought a milk-white mare; Proud, I ween, was that Arabian,

Such a gentle freight to bear: And the Master moved towards her,

With a proud and stately walk;

And, in reverential homage,

Rubbed her soles with virgin chalk.

Round she flew, as Flora flying

Spans the circle of the year; And the youth of London sighing, Half forgot the ginger beerQuite forgot the maids beside them As they surely well might do, When she raised to Roman candles, Shooting fireballs red and blue!

;

Swifter than the Tartar's arrow,

Lighter than the lark in flight, On the left foot now she bounded, Now she stood upon the right. Like a beautiful Bacchante,

Here she soars, and there she kneels; While amid her floating tresses,

Flash two whirling Catherine wheels!

Hark! the blare of yonder trumpet !
See, the gates are open wide!
Room, there, room for Gomersalez,—
Gomersalez in his pride!

Rose the shouts of exultation,

Rose the cat's triumphant call,

As he bounded man and courser,
Over Master, Clown, and all!

Donna Inez Woolfordinez !

Why those blushes on thy cheek?
Doth thy trembling bosom tell thee,
He hath come thy love to seek?
Fleet thy Arab-but behind thee
He his rushing, like a gale;
One foot on his coal black's shoulders,
And the other on his tail!

Onward, onward, panting maiden !
He is faint and fails-for now,
By the feet he hangs suspended

From his glistening saddle-bow.
Down are gone both cap and feather,
Lance and gonfalon are down!
Trunks, and cloak, and vest of velvet,
He has flung them to the Clown.

Faint and failing! Up he vaulteth,
Fresh as when he first began;
All in coat of bright vermilion,

'Quipped as Shaw the Life-guardsman,
Right and left his whizzing broadsword,
Like a sturdy flail, he throws;
Cutting out a path unto thee,

Through imaginary foes.

Woolfordinez! speed thee onward!
He is hard upon thy track,—
Paralysed is Widdicombez,

Nor his whip can longer crack ;-
He has flung away his broadsword,
'Tis to clasp thee to his breast.
Onward!-see he bares his bosom,
Tears away his scarlet vest;