To the Morena crags-how left I not

Life, or the soul's life, quench'd on that sepulchral spot?

VII.

Because Thou didst not leave me, 0 my God!
Thou wert with those that bore the truth of old
Into the deserts from th' oppressor's rod,

And made the caverns of the rock their fold;
And in the hidden chambers of the dead,
Our guiding lamp with fire immortal fed;

And met when stars met, by their beams to hold
The free heart's communing with Thee,-and

Thou

Wert in the midst, felt, own'd-the Strengthener then as now!

VIII.

Yet once I sank. Alas! man's wavering mind!
Wherefore and whence the gusts that o'er it blow?
How they bear with them, floating uncombined,
The shadows of the past, that come and go,
As o'er the deep the old long-buried things
Which a storm's working to the surface brings!
Is the reed shaken,—and must we be so,
With every wind? So, Father! must we be,
Till we can fix undimm'd our steadfast eyes on Thee.

IX.

Once my soul died within me. What had thrown
That sickness o'er it? Even a passing thought
Of a clear spring, whose side, with flowers o'er-
grown,

Fondly and oft my boyish steps had sought!

i

Perchance the damp roof's water-drops that fell Just then, low tinkling through my vaulted cell, Intensely heard amidst the stillness, caught Some tone from memory, of the music, welling Ever with that fresh rill, from its deep rocky dwelling.

X.

But so my spirit's fever'd longings wrought, Wakening, it might be, to the faint, sad sound, That from the darkness of the walls they brought A loved scene round me, visibly around.1

Yes! kindling, spreading, brightening, hue by hue, Like stars from midnight, through the gloom, it grew,

That haunt of youth, hope, manhood!-till the bound

Of my shut cavern seem'd dissolved, and I Girt by the solemn hills and burning pomp of sky.

XI.

I look'd-and lo! the clear, broad river flowing
Past the old Moorish ruin on the steep,
The lone tower dark against a heaven all glowing,
Like seas of glass and fire !—I saw the sweep
Of glorious woods far down the mountain side,
And their still shadows in the gleaming tide,
And the red evening on its waves asleep;

And midst the scene-oh! more than all-there smiled

My child's fair face, and hers, the mother of my child!

XII.

With their soft eyes of love and gladness raised
Up to the flushing sky, as when we stood
Last by that river, and in silence gazed
On the rich world of sunset. But a flood
Of sudden tenderness my soul oppress'd;
And I rush'd forward, with a yearning breast,
To clasp-alas !—a vision ! Wave and wood,

And gentle faces, lifted in the light

Of day's last hectic blush, all melted from my sight.

XIII.

Then darkness!-oh! th' unutterable gloom
That seem'd as narrowing round me, making less
And less my dungeon, when, with all its bloom,
That bright dream vanish'd from my loneliness!
It floated off, the beautiful! yet left

Such deep thirst in my soul, that thus bereft,
I lay down, sick with passion's vain excess,
And pray'd to die. How oft would sorrow weep
Her weariness to death, if he might come like sleep!

XIV.

But I was roused-and how?

It is no tale,

Even midst thy shades, thou wilderness! to tell.
I would not have my boy's young cheek made pale,
Nor haunt his sunny rest with what befell
In that drear prison-house. His eye must grow
More dark with thought, more earnest his fair
brow,

More high his heart in youthful strength must swell;

So shall it fitly burn when all is told:

Let childhood's radiant mist the free child yet enfold.

XV.

It is enough that through such heavy hours
As wring us by our fellowship of clay,
I lived, and undegraded. We have powers
To snatch th' oppressor's bitter joy away!
Shall the wild Indian for his savage fame
Laugh and expire, and shall not Truth's high name
Bear up her martyrs with all-conquering sway?
It is enough that torture may be vain :

I had seen Alvar die-the strife was won from Pain.

XVI.

And faint not, heart of man! Though years wane

slow,

There have been those that from the deepest caves, And cells of night, and fastnesses below

The stormy dashing of the ocean waves,

Down, farther down than gold lies hid, have nursed A quenchless hope, and watch'd their time, and burst

On the bright day, like wakeners from the graves! I was of such at last!-unchain'd I trode

This green earth, taking back my freedom from my God!

XVII.

That was an hour to send its fadeless trace
Down life's far-sweeping tide! A dim, wild night,
Like sorrow, hung upon the soft moon's face,

Yet how my heart leap'd in her blessed light! The shepherd's light-the sailor's on the seaThe hunter's homeward from the mountains free, Where its lone smile makes tremulously bright The thousand streams !-I could but gaze through tears.

Oh what a sight is heaven, thus first beheld for years!

XVIII.

The rolling clouds!-they have the whole blue space
Above to sail in-all the dome of sky!

My soul shot with them in their breezy race
O'er star and gloom; but I had yet to fly,
As flies the hunted wolf. A secret spot
And strange, I knew-the sunbeam knew it not,—
Wildest of all the savage glens that lie

In far sierras, hiding their deep springs, And traversed but by storms, or sounding eagles' wings.

XIX.

Ay, and I met the storm there! I had gain'd The covert's heart with swift and stealthy tread : A moan went past me, and the dark trees rain'd Their autumn foliage rustling on my head; A moan-a hollow gust-and there I stood Girt with majestic night, and ancient wood, And foaming water.-Thither might have fled The mountain Christian with his faith of yore, When Afric's tambour shook the ringing western shore!