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No:-but the pillared mosque is filled
With Arabs dumb in grief,

Who mourn their Emir's dying hour,
The empire's parting chief.

But hark again! the air resounds
Loud, and more loudly yet,

With many a mingled voice, that comes
From dome and minaret!

Mounts o'er the wall the Christian foe?
Is that the cry of fear?

Shouts, with his deadly spear in rest,
The Spanish cavalier?

No: but the true Believers there,

In tones of clamorous wo,

Wail the Miramolin, who leaves

His people here below:

Who leaves them to the vengeful sword

Of Castile's banded knights,

The fiery charge of Aragon,

Asturia's mountain fights:

Who leaves them to the fatal rage
Of fratricidal war,

More deadly to the Moorish name

Than Leon or Navarre.

'T is done :-the Caliph is in heaven,
Among the glorious just,

And, earth to earth, his mortal part
Moulders in kindred dust.

El Hakkam wears his father's crown,
El Hakkam mounts the throne,
And rules in tranquil peace the realm
His father fought to own.

The Emir's palace now is his ;
He treads the bright saloons,
He roams amid the jasper shafts,

Crowned with their gay festoons.

He stands at last within the rich

Pavilion of his sire,

Where all that's sumptuous, splendid, all

That princely souls desire,
Scattered around the marble hall
In wild profusion lay:
Treasures of every clime or sea,
From Ormus to Cathay ;-
-

Bassora's purple silks; the gold
Of many a Spanish mine;
And works of matchless Grecian art,

The gifts of Constantine.
Filled with intoxicating joy,

The haughty Saracen

Threw his undazzled, lofty glance

Around the glittering scene.

'Mine, mine, is all this grandeur now,'

Exultingly he cried;

'Mine is the Western Caliphate,

The Moslem nation's pride.
The banner of my might shall fly
Triumphant over Spain,

And trembling Burgos hear the clash
Of Moorish zell again.

'Victorious from the fight returned,

Here peaceful will I rest,

While houris, fair as Eram's, wait

Eager to do my hest.

Thus in the stirring pomp of war,

Or sweeter joys than this,

Days, weeks, and years will glide away

In never ending bliss.'

A brilliant casket met his eye,

Even as he kindling spoke;

He pressed the spring: it open flew,
Beneath his gentlest stroke.

Lo! an illumined scroll within,
Sealed with his father's ring,
And bearing on its gilded page
The inscription of a king.

El Hakkam raised it to his lips,
With reverential awe;

And these the memorable lines
The wondering Emir saw:
'How great in council and in camp,

Let fifty years attest,
Whilst armies of the faith I led,
As Caliph of the West;

'While honor, pleasure, fill'd my cup

Of gladness to the brim;

And rival kings, who feared my power, Still praised the Moslemim. Propitious heaven for fifty years

With lavish bounty shed

Whate'er the human heart could ask
Of blessings, on my head.

'I've counted o'er the hours of bliss
Through all my glorious reign,
And, give to grief and toil their share,
But fourteen days remain.

Man from the lesson of my power

Learn the unreal worth,

The vanity of human life,

The nothingness of earth!'

Deep in El Hakkam's bosom sunk

The dying words of age,
Clothed in the grandeur of a prince,

The wisdom of a sage.
To visionary dreams of bliss,

Thenceforth he bade farewell :

How peaceful, wise and just his reign, Let Moorish annals tell.

GARCI PEREZ,

A TALE OF THE HOLY OFFICE.

This even handed justice

Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips.

MACBETH.

But such is the infection of the time

That, for the health and physic of our right
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confused wrong.

Este fue el mas sutil medio
Para que mi afrenta acabe
Dissimulada, supuesto
Que el veneno fuera facil
De averiguar, las heridas
Imposibles de ocultarse :
Y asi, contando la muerte
Y diciendo que fue lance
Forzoso hacer la sangria,
Ninguno podrà probarme
Lo contrario, si es posible
Que una venda se desate.-
Medico soy de mi honra.

KING JOHN.

CALDERON.

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