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o Page 46.--Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters,
The Twelve Wise Masters was the title of the original corporation of the Master-singers. Hans Sachs, the cobbler oi 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.
o Page 46.–As in Adam Puschman's song.
Adam Puschman, in his poem on the death of Hans Sachs, describes him as he appeared in a vision:
** La colera
16 Page 78 --Abernuncio Satanas.
“Digo, Senora, respondio Sancho, lo que tengo dicho, que de los azotes abernuncio. Abernuncio habeis de decir,
i7 Page 88.–Fray Carrillo. The allusion here is to a Spanish epigram.
“ Siempre, Fray Carrillo, estas
io Page 89.--Padre Francisco. This is from an Italian popular song.
“ “ Padre Francesco,
From a monkish hymn of the twelfth century, in Sir Alexander Croke's Essay on the Origin, Progress, and Decline of Rhyming Latin Verse, p. 109.
o Page 97.–The gold of the Busne.
Busne is the name given by the Gipsies to all who are not of their race.
oi Page 98.–Count of the Cales.
The Gipsies call themselves Cales. See Borrow's valuable and extremely interesting work, The Zincali; or an Account of the Gipsies in Spain. London, 1841.
“Y volviéndome a un lado, vi i un avariento, que estaba preguntando a otro, (que por haber sido embalsamado, y estarléjos sus tripas, no hablaba porque no habian llegado si habian de resucitar aquel dia todos los enterrados,) o si resucitarian unos bolsones suyos?"– El Sueno de las Calatreras.
o Page 102.– And Amen ! said the Cid Campeador.
A line from the ancient Poema del Cid.
o Page 103.–The river of his thoughts.
This expression is from Dante.
- Si che chiaro
Byron has likewise used the expression, though I do not recollectin which of his poems.
25 Page 104.—Mari Franca.
A common Spanish proverb, used to turn aside a question
“Porque caso Mari-Franca
* Page 105.—Ay, soft, emerald eyes.
The Spaniards, with good reason, consider this colour of
Dante speaks of Beatrice's eyes as emeralds. Purga.
27 Page 106.—The Avenging Child.
See the ancient ballads of El Infante Vengador, and Ca-
28 Page 107.—All are sleeping.
From the Spanish; as are likewise the songs immediately
30 Page 135.—The evil eye.
“In the Gitano language, casting the evil eye is called
The Spaniards have very little to say respecting the evil eye, though the belief in it is very prevalent, especially in Andalusia, amongst the lower orders. A stag’s horn is considered a good safeguard, and on that account a small horn, tipped with silver, is frequently attached to the children's necks by means of a cord braided from the hair of a black mare's tail. Should the evil glance be cast, it is imagined that the horn receives it, and instantly snaps asunder. Such horns may be purchased in some of the silversmiths' shops at Seville.”—Borrow's Zincali, vol. i., c. ix.
31 Page 136.—On the top of a mountain I stand.
This and the following scraps of song are from Borrow's Zincali; or an Account of the Gipsies in Spain.
The Gipsy words in the same scene may be thus interpreted:
John-Dorados, pieces of gold.
Moon, a shirt.
Chirelin, a thief.
Papagayo, a spy.
32 Page 146.— If thou art sleeping, maiden.
From the Spanish ; as is likewise the song of the Contrabandista, on page 147.
83 Page 227.—The Children of the Lord's Supper.
The Children of the Lord's Supper, from the Swedish of Bishop Tegnér, is a poem which enjoys no inconsiderable reputation in the North of Europe, and for its beauty and sin plicity merits the attention of English readers. It is un idyl, descriptive of scenes in a Swedish village ; and belongs to the same class of poems as the Luise of Voss, and the Hermann und Dorothea of Göethe. But the Swedish poet has been guided by a surer taste than his German predecessors. His tone is pure and elevated; and he rarely, if ever, mistakes what is trivial for what is simple. There is something patriarchal still lingering about rural life in Sweden, which renders it a fit theme for song. Almost primeval simplicity reigns over that northern land —almost primeval solitude and stillness. You pass out from the gate of the city, and, as if by magic, the scene changes to a wild, woodland landscape. Around you are forests of fir. Overhead hang the long, fan-like branches, trailing with moss, and heavy with red and blue cones. Under foot is a carpet of yellow leaves; and the air is warm and balmy. On a wooden bridge you cross a little silver stream ; and anon come forth into a pleasant and sunny land of farms. Wooden fences divide the adjoining fields. Across the road are gates, which are opened by troops of children. The peasants take off their hats as you pass; you sneeze, and they cry “God bless you ". The houses in the villages and smaller towns are all built of hewn timber, and for the most part painted red. The floors of the taverns are strewn with the fragrant tips of fir boughs. In many villages there are no taverns, and the peasants take turns in receiving travellers. The thrifty housewife shows you into the best chamber, the walls of which are hung round with rude pictures from the Bible; and brings you her heavy silver spoons—an heirloom—to dip the curdled milk from the pan. You have oaten cakes, baked some months before; or bread with aniseed and coriander in it, or perhaps a little pine bark. Meanwhile the sturdy husband has brought his horses from the plough, and harnessed them to your carriage. Solitary travellers come and go in uncouth one-horse chaises. Most of them have pipes in their months; and, hanging round their necks in front, a leathern wallet, in which they carry tobacco, and the great bank notes of the country, as large as your two hands. You meet also groups of Dalecarlian peasant women, travelling homeward or townward in pursuit of work. They walk barefoot, carrying in their hands their shoes, which have high heels under the hollow of the foot, and soles of birch bark. Frequent, too, are the village churches, standing by the roadside, each in its own little garden of Gethsemane. In the parish register great events are doubtless recorded. Some old king was christened or buried in that church ; and a little sexton, with a rusty key, shows you the