On the two last leaves, and written in another hand, are some stanzas in the romance or ballad measure of the Spaniards. The subject is an adventure soon related.

THY lonely watch-tower, Larenille,
Had lost the western sun;

And loud and long from hill to hill
Echoed the evening-gun,

When Hernan, rising on his oar,
Shot like an arrow from the shore.
"Those lights are on St. Mary's Isle;
They glimmer from the sacred pile." *
The waves were rough; the hour was late.
But soon across the Tinto borne,
Thrice he blew the signal-horn,

He blew and would not wait.

Home by his dangerous path he went;
Leaving, in rich habiliment,

Two Strangers at the Convent-gate.

They ascended by steps hewn out in the rock; and, having asked for admittance, were lodged there.

Brothers in arms the Guests appeared;

The Youngest with a Princely grace!
Short and sable was his beard,
Thoughtful and wan his face.

His velvet cap a medal bore,

And ermine fringed his broidered vest ;

*The Convent of La Rábida.

And, ever sparkling on his breast,
An image of St. John he wore.*

The Eldest had a rougher aspect, and there was craft in his eye. He stood a little behind in a long black mantle, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword; and his white hat and white shoes glittered in the moon-shine.†

"Not here unwelcome, tho' unknown.
Enter and rest!" the Friar said.

The moon, that thro' the portal shone,
Shone on his reverend head.

Thro' many a court and gallery dim
Slowly he led, the burial-hymn
Swelling from the distant choir.
But now the holy men retire;
The arched cloisters issuing thro',
In long long order, two and two.

When other sounds had died away,
And the waves were heard alone,
They entered, tho' unused to pray,

* See Bernal Diaz, c. 203; and also a well-known portrait of Cortes, ascribed

to Titian.

Cortes was now in the 43rd, Pizarro in the 50th year of his age.

+ Augustin Zaratè, c. lib. iv. 9.