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How much of my young heart, O Spain, And shapes more shadowy than these,
Went out to thee in days of yore! In the dim twilight half revealed : What dreams romantic filled my brain, Phænician galleys on the seas, And summoned back to life again The Roman camps like hives of bees, The Paladins of Charlemain,
The Goth uplifting from his knees · The Cid Campeador!
Pelayo on his shield.
It was these memories perchance, And Seville's orange-orchards rise,
From annals of remotest eld, Making the land a paradise
The palm, the olive, and the vine; Of all that I beheld.
Gem of the South, by poets sung,
| And in whose Mosque Almanzor hung Old towns, whose history lies hid As lamps the bells that once had rung
In monkish chronicle or rhyme, At Compostella's shrine.
But over all the rest supreme,
The star of stars, the cynosure, The wars of Wamba's time;
The artist's and the poet's theme,
The young man's vision, the old man's The long straight line of the highway, dream,
The distant town that seems so near, Granada by its winding stream,
and there the Alhambra still recalls The Angelus they hear ;
Aladdin's palace of delight:
Allah il Allah / through its halls The crosses in the mountain pass, Whispers the fountain as it falls ;
Mules gay with tassels, the loud din The Darro darts beneath its walls, Of muleteers, the tethered ass
The hills with snow are white. That crops the dusty wayside grass, And cavaliers with spurs of brass Ah yes, the hills are white with snow, Alighting at the inn;
And cold with blasts that bite and
freeze ; White hamlets hidden in fields of But in the happy vale below wheat,
The orange and pomegranate grow, White cities slumbering by the sea, | And wafts of air toss to and fro White sunshine flooding square and The blossoming almond-trees,
street, Dark mountain-ranges, at whose feet The Vega cleft by the Xenil. The river-beds are dry with heat,
The fascination and allure All was a dream to me.
Of the sweet landscape chain the will.
The traveller lingers on the hill, Yet something sombre and severe His parted lips are breathing still O'er the enchanted landscape The last sigh of the Moor.
reigned ; A terror in the atmosphere
How like a ruin overgrown As if King Philip listened near,
With flowers that hide the rents of Or Torquemada, the austere,
time, His ghostly sway maintained.
Stands now the Past that I have
known; The softer Andalusian skies
Castles in Spain, not built of stone, Dispelled the sadness and the gloom; But of white summer cloud, and blown There Cadiz by the seaside lies, 1 Into this little mist of rhyme !
Page 25. All the Foresters of Flanders. The title of Foresters was given to the early governors of Flanders, appointed by the kings of France. Lyderick du Bucq, in the days of Clotaire the Second, was the first of them ; and Beaudoin Bras-de-Fer, who stole away the fair Judith, daughter of Charles the Bald, from the French court, and married her in Bruges, was the last. After him, the title of Forester was changed to that of Count. Philippe d'Alsace, Guy de Dampierre, and Louis de Crécy coming later in the order of time, were therefore rather Counts than Foresters. Philippe went twice to the Holy Land as a Crusader, and died of the plague at St. Jean-d'Acre, shortly after the capture of the city by the Christians. Guy de Dampierre died in the prison of Compiègne. Louis de Crécy was son and successor of Robert de Béthune, who strangled his wife, Yolande de Burgogne, with the bridle of his horse, for having poisoned, at the age of eleven years, Charles, his son by his first wife, Blanche d'Anjou.
Page 25. Stately dames like queens attended. When Philippe-le-Bel, king of France, visited Flanders with his queen, she was so astonished at the magnificence of the dames of Bruges, that she exclaimed, “ Je croyais être seule reine ici, mais il parait que ceux de Flandre qui se trouvent dans nos prisons sont tous des princes, car leurs femmes sont habillées comme des princesses et des reines.”
When the burgomasters of Ghent, Bruges, and Ypres went to Paris to pay homage to King John, in 1351, they were received with great pomp and distinction; but, being invited to a festival, they observed that their seats at table were not furnished with cushions; wbereupon, to make known their displeasure at this want of regard to their dignity, they folded their richly-embroidered cloaks and seated themselves upon them. On rising from table, they left their cloaks behind them, and, being informed of their apparent forgetfulness, Simon van Eertrycke, burgomaster of Bruges, replied: “We Flemings are not in the habit of carrying away our cushions after dinner."
Page 25. Knights who bore the Fleece of Gold. Philippe de Burgogne, surnamed Le Bon, espoused Isabella of Portugal, on the 10th of January, 1430 ; and on the same day instituted the famous order of the Fleece of Gold.
Page 25. I beheld the gentle Mary. Marie de Valois, Duchess of Burgundy, was left by the death of her father, Charles-le-Téméraire, at the age of twenty, the richest heiress of Europe. She came to Bruges, as Countess of Flanders, in 1477, and in the same year was married by proxy to the Archduke Maximilian. According to the custom of the time, the Duke of Bavaria, Maximilian's substitute, slept with the princess. They were both in complete dress, separated by a naked sword, and attended by four armed guards. Marie was adored by her subjects for her gentleness and her many other virtues.
Maximilian was son of the Emperor Frederick the Third, and is the same person mentioned afterwards in the poem of Nuremberg as the Kaiser Maximilian, and the hero of Pfinzing's poem of Teuerdank. Having been imprisoned by the revolted burghers of Bruges, they refused to release him, till he consented to kneel in the public square, and to swear on the Holy Evangelists and the body of Saint Donatus, that he would not take vengeance upon them for their rebellion.
Page 25. The bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold. This battle, the most memorable in Flemish history, was fought under the walls of Courtray, on the 11th of July, 1302, between the French and the Flemings, the former coinmanded by Robert, Comte d'Artois, and the latter by Guillaume de Juliers, and Jean, Comte de Namur. The French army was completely routed, with a loss of twenty thousand infantry and seven thousand cavalry, among whom were sixty-three princes, dukes, and counts, seven hundred lords-banneret, and eleven hundred noblemen. The flower of the French nobility perished on that day ; to which history has given the name of the Journée des Éperons d'Or, from the great number of golden spurs found on the field of battle. Seven hundred of them were hung up as a trophy in the church of Notre Dame de Courtray ; and, as the cavaliers of that day wore but a single spur each, these vouched to God for the violent and bloody death of seven hundred of his creatures.
Page 25. Saw the fight at Minnewater. When the inhabitants of Bruges were digging a canal at Minnewater to bring the waters of the Lys from Deynze to their city, they were attacked and routed by the citizens of Ghent, whose commerce would have been much injured by the canal. They were led by Jean Lyons, captain of a military company at Ghent, called the Chaperons Blancs. He had great sway over the turbulent populace, who, in those prosperous times of the city, gained an easy livelihood by labouring two or three days in the week, and had the remaining four or five to devote to public affairs. The fight at Minnewater was followed by open rebellion against Louis de Maele, the Count of Flanders and Protector of Bruges. His superb château of Wondelghem was pillaged and burnt, and the insurgents forced the gates of Bruges, and entered in triumph, with Lyons mounted at their head. A few days afterwards he died suddenly, perhaps by poison.
Meanwhile the insurgents received a check at the village of Nevèle ; and two hundred of them perished in the church, which was burnt by the Count's orders. One of the chiefs, Jean de Lannoy, took refuge in the belfry. From the summit of the tower he held forth his purse filled with gold, and begged for deliverance. It was in vain. His enemies cried to him from below to save himself as best he might; and, half-suffocated with smoke and flame, he threw himself froin the tower, and perished at their feet. Peace was soon afterwards established, and the Count retired to faithful Bruges.
Page 25. The Golden Dragon's nest. The Golden Dragon, taken from the church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople, in one of the Crusades, and placed on the belfry of Bruges, was afterwards transported to Ghent by Philip van Artevelde, and still adorns the belfry of that city.
The inscription on the alarm-bell at Ghent is “Mynen naem is Roland ; als ik klep is er brand, and als ik luy is er victorie in het land.” My name is Roland ; when I toll there is fire, and when I ring there is victory in the land.
Page 28. That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime. An old popular proverb of the town runs thus :
Geht durch alle Land."
Page 28. Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. Melchior Pfinzing was one of the most celebrated German poets of the sixteenth century. The hero of his Teuerdank was the reigning emperor, Maximilian : and the poem was to the Germans of that day what the Orlando Furioso was to the Italians. Maximilian is mentioned before in the Belfry of Bruges. See page 25.
Page 28. In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust. The tomb of Saint Sebald, in the church which bears his name, is one of the richest works of art in Nuremberg. It is of bronze, and was cast by Peter Vischer and his sons, who laboured upon it thirteen years. It is adorned with nearly one hundred figures, among which those of the Twelve Apostles are conspicuous for size and beauty.
Page 28. In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare.
This pix, or tabernacle for the vessels of the sacrament, is by the hand of Adam Kraft. It is an exquisite piece of sculpture, in white stone, and rises to the height of sixty-four feet. It stands in the choir, whose richly-painted windows cover it with varied colours.
Page 29. Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters. The Twelve Wise Masters was the title of the original corporation of the Mastersingers. Hans Sachs, the cobbler of Nuremberg, though not one of the original Twelve, was the most renowned of the Master-singers, as well as the most voluminous. He flourished in the sixteenth century; and left behind him thirty-four folio volumes of manuscript, containing two hundred and eight plays, one thousand and seven hundred comic tales, and between four and five thousand lyric poems.
Page 29. As in Adam Puschman's song. Adam Puschman, in his poem on the death of Hans Sachs, describes him as hu appeared in a vision :