THE LORD OF BUTRAGO.

1385.

THE incident to which the following ballad relates is supposed to have occurred on the famous field of Aljubarrota, where King Juan the First, of Castile was defeated by the Portuguese. The King, who was at the time in a feeble state of health, exposed himself very much during the action; and being wounded, had great difficulty in making his escape.

"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 these trampling hoofs are nigh!

"My King — my King! you're wounded sore — the blood runs from your feet;

But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat:

Mount, Juan, for they gather fast! I hear their

coming cry;

Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy — I'll save you 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, mount: whate'er betide, away the bridle fling,

And plunge the rowels in his side. My horse shall save my king!

"Nay, never speak; my sires, Lord King, received their land from yours,

And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine

secures ;

If I should fly, and thou, my King, be found among the dead,

How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head?

"Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain,

And

say

there's ONE that ran away when our good lords were slain !

I leave Diego in your care

place :

you'll fill his father's

Strike, strike the spur, and never spare- God's

blessing on your grace!"

So spake the brave Montañez, Butrago's Lord was he,

And turned him to the coming host in steadfastness and glee.

He flung himself among them, as they came down the hill;

He died, God wot! but not before his sword had

drunk its fill.

J. G. LOCKHART. Translated from the Spanish.

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

AUGUST 15, 1388.

Ir fell about the Lammas tide,
When the muir-men win their hay,
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
Into England to drive a prey.

He chose the Gordons, and the Græmes, With them the Lindesays, light and gay; But the Jardines would not with him ride, And they rue it to this day.

And he has burned the dales of Tyne,
And part of Bambrough shire;

And three good towers on Reidswire fells,1
He left them all on fire.

And he marched up to Newcastle,

And rode it round about; "O, wha's the lord of this castle,

Or wha's the lady o't?"