Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79. | | | | Portugal: Aljubarrota | | The Lord of Butrago | | Spanish Ballad |
| | Translated by J. G. Lockhart
“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, O, mount apace, I pray thee mount and fly! | |
| Or in my arms I ’ll lift your Grace,—their trampling hoofs are nigh. | |
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| “My King, my King, you ’re wounded sore: the blood runs from your feet, | 5 |
| 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! | |
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| “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. | 10 |
| Mount, Juan, mount, whate’er betide, away the bridle fling, | |
| And plunge the rowels in his side.—My horse shall save my King! | |
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| “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, | 15 |
| How could I stand ’mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head? | |
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| “Castille’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,—you ’ll fill his father’s place: | |
| Strike, strike the spur, and never spare,—God’s blessing on your Grace!” | 20 |
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| 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. | | | | |
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