. The literature of all nations and all ages; history, character, and incident. rs bound. My soul hath spoken and foretold; I bringThe voices of the stars to chime with mine:He, who shall share with me this gift divine, Shall share with me the privilege of a king. Mine is no mean, no paltry offering:Cupidity itself must be contentWith such a portion as I here present— And Midas wealth to ours a trifling thing. So when our work in this our sphere was done,Deucalion towered sublimely oer the rest;And proudly dominant he stood confessed On the tenth mountain ;—thence looked kindly on The Sovereig
. The literature of all nations and all ages; history, character, and incident. rs bound. My soul hath spoken and foretold; I bringThe voices of the stars to chime with mine:He, who shall share with me this gift divine, Shall share with me the privilege of a king. Mine is no mean, no paltry offering:Cupidity itself must be contentWith such a portion as I here present— And Midas wealth to ours a trifling thing. So when our work in this our sphere was done,Deucalion towered sublimely oer the rest;And proudly dominant he stood confessed On the tenth mountain ;—thence looked kindly on The Sovereign Sire, who offered him a empires vast, for his reward ; or his vast treasure, for his heirs, untold : So bold and resolute was Deucalion. Ill give you honest counsel, if you beMy kinsman or my countryman : if eerThis gift be yours, its treasures all confer On him who shall unveil the mystery ; Offer him all, and offer cheerfully, And offer most sincerely,—weak and smallIs your best offering, though you offer all: Your recompense may be eternity. 379. 380 I^ITERATURE OP ALL NATIONS. THE LAMENT OF DON RODERICK. This historical ballad refers to the overthrow of Don Roderick bythe Moors in 711 The time of its composition is uncertain, butit probably belongs to the fourteenth centurj. The hosts of Don Rodrigo were scattered in dismay—When lost was the eighth battle, nor heart nor hope had they;He, when he saw that field was lost, and all his hope was flown,He turned him from his flying host, and took his way alone. His horse was bleeding, blind, and lame—he could no farther go;Dismounted, without path or aim, the king stepped to and fro:It was a sight of pity to look on Roderick,For, sore athirst and hungry, he staggered, faint and sick. All stained and strewed with dust and blood, like to some smoul-dering brand Plucked from the flame, Rodrigo showed:—his sword was in hishand. But it was hacked into a saw of dark and purple tint: His jewelled ma
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