THE BAY OF BISCAY. 221 



we must penetrate to the recesses of the mountains 

 if we would find some old man who is still acquainted 

 with those ancient ballads which date from the time 

 of Charlemagne or the Roman epoch*, and which 

 narrate the early traditions of the Euskaldunac. 



" My father, let us depart in joy, for thou wilt return with tearful 

 eyes and saddened heart, and often wilt thou go forth to watch the 

 stone on thy daughter's grave. 



" My sister, mount thee to the turret window, and see if Egoua, the 

 wind of the south, is blowing, or if Iparra, the south-west breeze, is 

 stirring. If Iparra be stirring, go bid him greet Sala, my lover ; 

 but if Egoua is blowing, bid him tell Sala to come and seek my 

 body. 



" My sister, haste thee to find me a snowy white robe, but do 

 thou deck thyself in a garb of black. 



" She dons her snowy white robe, and her sister decks her in a 

 garb of black. She mounts to the turret window, and looks abroad 

 for Sala. She sees him coming from afar, she throws herself from 

 the turret window, and she falls dead. No one can raise her body; 

 Sala alone can lift it." 



* The most ancient monument of Basque literature is the Song 

 of Lelo, discovered by Wilhelm von Humboldt, and which relates to 

 the wars maintained by the Cantabri against the Romans, under the 

 reign of Augustus. Without venturing to affirm that the poetry is 

 really contemporaneous with the events which it records, Fauriel 

 refers it to a very high antiquity by comparing it to another heroic 

 song of 1322. The customs of which I have spoken in the text, 

 appear to me to confirm the opinion of the celebrated historian of 

 southern songs. The following is the ballad, which I borrow from 

 the translation in the work of M. Mazures on Beam and the Basque 

 provinces. 



" Strangers from Rome would subdue Biscay, but Biscay raises 

 the song of war. Octavius is the lord of the universe, butLecobidi 

 is the Lord of the Biscayans. 



" From the sea and from the land Octavius presses us closely. 

 The arid plains belong to the Romans, ours are the woods and 

 caves of the mountain fastnesses. 



" Standing on well chosen ground, each of us is of stout heart. 



