chief proof of which appears to have been, that he was seen to whisper with her one morning while she was in bed. As he had been raised by the exaltation, he was involved in the misfortunes, of that injured princess, who had no other fault but an unguarded and indiscreet frankness of nature; and whose character has been blackened (without measure and without end) by the bigoted historians of the Catholic party, merely because she was the mother of Queen Elizabeth.

To gratify the ostensible jealousy of the King, who had conceived a violent passion for a new object, this amiable nobleman was beheaded on the first of May, 1536. His elegance of person, and sprightly conversation, captivated all the ladies of Henry's Court. Wood says, that at the "royal Court he was much adored, especially by the female sex, for his admirable discourse, and symmetry of body." From these irresistible allurements his enemies endeavoured to give a plausibility to their infamous charge of an incestuous connection. After his commitment to the Tower, his sister, the Queen, on being sent to the same place, asked the lieutenant, with a degree of eagerness, "Oh! where is my sweet bro

ther?” Here was a specious confirmation of his imagined guilt; and this stroke of natural tenderness was too readily interpreted into a licentious attachment.

Bale mentions his "Rhythmi elegantissimi," of which Wood speaks as consisting of "several Poems, Songs, and Sonnets, with other things of the like nature." Warton suspects that some of the compositions of this amiable victim to the tyranny of the most lustful and sanguinary monster that ever sat upon the English throne are inserted among the "Uncertain Authors,” in Surrey's Poems; which, by the way, attribute expressly to Sir Thomas Wyatt a performance of singular merit ;-the Author's address to his lute, which the Editor of the "Nugæ Antiquæ” ascribes to 'the Earl of Rochford,' a title which, as Ritson observes, never existed.

MOORISH BALLADS.

THE truest and best proof of the liberality of the old Spaniards, is to be found in their beautiful ballads. Throughout the far greater part of these compositions, many of which must be, at least, as old as the 10th century, there breathes a charming sentiment of charity and

humanity towards those Moorish enemies with whom the combats of the national heroes are represented.

The Spaniards and the Moors lived together in their villages beneath the calmest of skies, and surrounded with the most lovely of landscapes. In spite of their adverse faiths-in spite of their adverse interests-they had much in common-loves, and sports, and recreationsnay, sometimes their haughtiest recollections were in common, and even their heroes were the same. Bernard de Carpio, Alphonso VI., the Cid himself-every one of the favourite heroes of the Spanish nation had, at some period or other of his life, fought beneath the standard of the Crescent; and the minstrels of either nation might, therefore, in regard to some instances at least, have equal pride in the celebration of their prowess. The praises which the Arab poets granted to them in their Monwachchah, or girdle verses, were repeated by liberal encomiums on Moorish valour and generosity, in Castillian and Arragonese Redondilleras. Even in the ballads most exclusively devoted to the celebration of some feat of Spanish heroism, it is quite common to find some redeeming com

pliment to the Moors mixed with the strain of exultation. Take, for example, the famous ballad on Don Raymon of Butrago-translated in the "Edinburgh Annual Register" for 1816.

"Your horse is faint, my king, my lord, your gallant horse is sick,

His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick;

Mount, mount on mine, oh mount apace, I pray thee mount and fly,

Or in my arms I'll lift your Grace-their trampling hoofs are nigh.

My King, my King, you're wounded sore, the blood runs from your feet,

But only lay your hand before, and I'll lift ye to your

seat;

Mount, Juan, mount-the Moors are near, I hear the

Arab cry,

Oh mount and fly for jeopardy, I'll save ye though I die.

Stand, noble steed, this hour of need, be gentle as a lamb, I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth, thy master dear I am;

-Mount, Juan, ride, whate'er betide, away the bridle

fling,

And plunge the rowels in his side-Bavieca, save my

King.

King Juan's horse fell lifeless-Don Raymon's horse

stood by,

Nor king, nor lord, would mount him, they both prepare

to die;

'Gainst the same tree their backs they placed - they hacked the King in twain,

Don Raymon's arms the corpse embraced, and so they both were slain.

But when the Moor Almazor beheld what had been done,
He oped Lord Raymond's visor, while down his tears did

run;

He oped his visor, stooping then he kissed the forehead cold, God grant may ne'er to Christian men this Moorish shame be told."

Even in the more remote and ideal chivalries celebrated in the Castillian ballads, the parts of glory and greatness were just as frequently attributed to Moors as to Christians;-Calaynos was a name as familiar as Guyferos. At somewhat a later period, when the Conquest of Granada had mingled the Spaniards still more effectually with the persons and manners of the "Moors, we find the Spanish poets still fonder of celebrating the heroic achievements of Moors: and, without doubt, this their liberality towards the " Knights of Granada, Gentlemen, albeit