Longfellow wrote a rather anæmic ballad, "The Seaside and the Fireside," on the Arnaldos episode, incorporating several of the lines. Some years ago I published an adaptation of it, altering the environment and changing the metre, and this the reader may perhaps be complacent enough to accept as an illustration of the manner in which "this sort of thing is done."
When the fleet ships stand inward to the shore As a white tempest, 'tis then I implore The gods not treasure of red spice to spill Upon the marble quays beneath the hill, Nor scintillant dust from far Arabian streams, Nor weaves more brilliant than the hue of dreams, Nor feathers, pearls, or such things as belong To Eastern waters, but a wondrous song To send perchance upon a seaman's lips That once I heard when the departing ships Swept from the arms of sea-bound Syracuse. I know my evening vigil is in vain, That never shall I hear that song again. Some splendid sea-spell in the sailor's soul, Swelling his heart, and bursting all control, Some white sea-spirit chanting from his mouth Sang the strange colours of a distant south. Music deep-drowned within the siren sea Art thou beyond the call of ecstasy?
The "Song for the Morning of the Day of St John the Baptist" has little to do with ballad, so we may pass it by, as we may do the "Julian" fragment, one of the Gayferos group. "The Song of the Galley," which Mr Kelly regards as "too dulcet," seems to me poorly rendered:
Ye galleys fairly built, Like castles on the sea, Oh, great will be your guilt If ye bring him not to me!
This seems to me facility run mad, and great would be my guilt did I quote more. To the very fine "Wandering Knight's Song" I have already made allusion. "Minguillo" enshrines a motif of almost world-wide usage:
Since for kissing thee, Minguillo, My mother scolds me all the day, Let me have it quickly, darling; Give me back my kiss, I pray.
A conceit current from Caithness to Capo d'Istria. "Serenade," from the Romancero General of 1604, is certainly not peasant work. For his translation of this Lockhart deserves high praise. Its music is reminiscent of Shelley's "Skylark," though of course it lacks the almost intolerable keenness of that song most magical.