Original Poetry.

Evening Star, Volume VII, Issue 1953, 9 August 1869, Page 2

Original Poetry.

THE TOURNAMENT. (A fragment of an ancient Spanish ballad, translated by Tom TalfernJ Don Smytho del Statistic was a knight of high renown ; A gallant cavalier was he, of Melbourino town; First in the ranks of chivalry, his fame rung near and far, (From Prince’s Bridge to Colliugwood) upon the trump of war.

From o’er the sea unto the Don a knightly challenge came— A challenge from a warrior bold—Don Stampo was his name : “To fair and single combat, I defy and challenge thee! I will cross swords with you, proud Don, if you will cross the sea.”

Don Smytho read the challenge bold, and it raised his martial ire. ”Go bring to me my suit of mail!” thus spake he to bis squire. “My good Toledo blade bring me, I’ve never found it fail; Hence! trusty squire, pack up my traps, at daylight we set sail.

The sun lit up with golden streaks New Rtekit'i royal towers; Gay cavaliers, and courtly dames, flocked from the pleasant bowers. What means this gallant pageant, and that chivalrous array ? “A tournament! a tournament! is coming off to-day 1”

Within the ancient castle court were met a knightly throng. “Oh yez! oh ycz!” the heialds cried, “right triumphs over wrong! Stand forward knights, and prove your cause in fair and equal fight. Grammercy ! cle • r the lists, keep back—St George defend the right.”

Don Smytho drew his flashing steel, and threw his gauntlet down, Don Starapo picked it up, and cried, “ I care not for your frown — Thou art a false and recreant kr.ight." Like lions up they sprung, And fiercely rushed in deadly strife ; clash, clash their sabres rung.

Each proud Hidalgo waved his broad sombrero in the breeze. “ Hurrah ! that’s bravely done, good knights,” thus shouted the grandees. ■Whilst fierce and fiercer grow the fray, Ah me. what horrid scars Would on each phis- or face havo been, but for the rtsor bars.

Now, now, they they make a furious charge, they rise, they rush, they reel — Ye gods ! what fiery valor hero. Mark, mark, their flashing steel. Oh ! there’s the final struggle now; that parry, thrust, and pass ! Nay, weep not for t e dead! —By Jove, it* ended all in gat!