What brings thee hither, Ramiro ? she cried:
The love of you, the king replied.
Nay! nay! it is not so! quoth she,
Ramiro, say not this to me!

I know your Moorish concubine

Hath now the love which once was mine.
If you had loved me as you say,

You would never have stolen Ortiga away;
If you had never loved another,
I had not been here in Gaya to-day
The wife of Ortiga's brother!

But hide thee-here,-a step I hear,-
King Alboazar draweth near.

With that upspake the Christian, king :
O! Alboazar deal by me

As I would surely deal with thee,
If I were you, and you were me!

Like a friend you guested me many a day,
Like a foe I stole your sister away;

The sin was great, and I felt its weight,
All joy by day the thought opprest,

And all night long it troubled my rest,
Till I could not bear the burthen of care
But told my confessor in despair.
And he, my sinful soul to save,
This penance for atonement gave;
That I before you should appear
And yield myself your prisoner here
If my repentance was sincere,
That I might by a public death
Breath shamefully out my latest breath.

King Alboazar, this I would do,
If you were I, and I were you;

I would give you a roasted capon first,
And a skinfull of wine to quench your thirst,
And after that I would grant you the thing
Which you came to me petitioning.
Now this, O king, is what I crave,
That I my sinful soul may save:
Let me be led to your bull-ring,
And call your sons and daughters all
And assemble the people both great and small,
And let me be set upon a stone,

That by all the multitude I may be known,
And bid me then this horn to blow,
And I will blow a blast so strong,

And wind the horn so loud and long

That the breath in my body at last shall be gone,
And I shall drop dead in the sight of the throng,
Thus your revenge, O king, will be brave,
Granting the boon which I come to crave,
And the people a holy-day sport will have,
And I my precious soul shall save;
For this is the penance my confessor gave,
King Alboazar, this I would do,

If you were I, and I were you.

O Alboazar! then quoth she,
Weak of heart as weak can be!
Full of revenge and wiles is he.
Look at those eyes beneath that brow,
I know Ramiro better than thou!
Kill him, for thou hast him now,
He must die, be sure, or thou.
Hast thou not heard the history
How, to the throne that he might rise,
He pluck'd out his brother Ordono's eyes?
And dost not remember his prowess in fight,
How often he met thee and put thee to flight,
And plundered thy country for many a day,
And how many Moors he has slain in the strife,
And how many more he has carried away?

How he came to show friendship-and thou didst believe him?

How he ravish'd thy sister, and would'st thou forgive him?
And hast thou forgotten that I am his wife,

And that now by thy side, I lie like a bride,
The worst shame that can ever a Christian betide?
And cruel it were, when you see his despair,
If vainly you thought in compassion to spare,
And refused him the boon he comes hither to crave;
For no other way his poor soul can he save,
Than by doing the penance his confessor gave.

As Queen Aldonza thus replies,
The Moor upon her fixed his eyes.
And he said, in his heart, unhappy is he
Who putteth his trust in a woman!
Thou art King Ramiro's wedded wife,
And thus would'st thou take away
his life!
What cause have I to confide in thee!
I will put this woman away from me.
These were the thoughts that past in his breast,
But he call'd to mind Ramiro's might;
And he fear'd to meet him hereafter in fight,
And he granted the King's request.

So he gave him a roasted capon first,
And a skinfull of wine to quench his thirst;
And he call'd for his sons and daughters all,
And assembled the people both great and small;
And to the bull-ring he led the King;

And he set him there upon a stone,
That by all the multitude he might be known,
And he bade him blow through his horn a blast,
As long as his breath and his life should last.

Oh then his horn Ramiro wound,-
The walls rebound the pealing sound,
That far and wide rings echoing round;
Louder and louder Ramiro blows,

And farther the blast and farther goes;
Till it reaches the gallies, where they lie close
Under the alders, by St Joam da Foz.
It rous'd his knights from their repose,
And they and their merry-men arose.
Away to Gaya they speed them straight;
Like a torrent they burst through the city gate.
And they rush among the Moorish throng
And slaughter their infidel foes.

Then his good sword Ramiro drew,
Upon the Moorish King he flew,

And he gave him one blow, which cleft him through.
They kill'd his sons and his daughters too;
Every Moorish soul they slew;

Not one escaped of the infidel crew,
Neither old nor young, nor babe nor mother;
And they left not one stone upon another.

They carried the wicked Queen aboard,
And they took counsel what to do to her;
They tied a mill-stone round her neck,
And overboard in the sea they threw her.
She had water enow in the sea I trow;

But glad would Queen Aldonza be,
Of one drop of water from that salt sea,
To cool her where she is now.

QUEEN ORRACA-SOUTHEY.
From the English Minstrelsy.

This Legend is related in the Chronicle of Affonso II., and in the Historia Serafiea of Fr. Manoel da Esperanca.