Scorning the place made desolate, He seeks another nest. But I-your soft looks wake the thirst That wins no quenching rain; Ye drive me back, my beautiful! To the stormy fight again. THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE. "Thither where he lies buried! That single spot is the whole world to me." THY voice was in my soul! it call'd me on; O my lost friend! thy voice was in my soul. From the cold, faded world whence thou art gone, To hear no more life's troubled billows roll, I come! I come! Now speak to me again! we loved so well- Speak to me in the thrilling minster's gloom! This lone, full, fragile heart!—the strong alone In love and grief-of both the burning shrine ! Thou, my soul's friend! with grief hast surely done, But with the love which made thy spirit mine, Say, couldst thou part? I hear the rustling banners; and I hear I wait thee-I adjure thee! Hast thou known How I have loved thee? couldst thou dream it all? Am I not here, with night and death alone, And fearing not? And hath my spirit's call O'er thine no sway? Thou canst not come! or thus I should not weep! Thy love is deathless-but no longer free! Soon would its wing triumphantly o'ersweep The viewless barrier, if such power might be, Soon, soon, and fast! But I shall come to thee! our souls' deep dreams, 66 THE SISTERS OF SCIO. "As are our hearts, our way is one, And cannot be divided. Strong affection Contends with all things, and o'ercometh all things. 'SISTER, Sweet sister! let me weep awhile! Bear with me-give the sudden passion way! Thoughts of our own lost home, our sunny isle, Come as a wind that o'er a reed hath sway; Till my heart dies with yearnings and sick fears— Oh! could my life melt from me in these tears! "Our father's voice, our mother's gentle eye, Our brother's bounding step-where are they, where? Desolate, desolate our chambers lie! -How hast thou won thy spirit from despair? O'er mine swift shadows, gusts of terror, sweep: I sink away-bear with me-let me weep !" "Yes! weep my sister! weep, till from thy heart The weight flow forth in tears; yet sink thou I bind my sorrow to a lofty part, [not. For thee, my gentle one! our orphan lot To meet in quenchless trust. My soul is strong: Thou, too, wilt rise in holy might ere long. "A breath of our free heavens and noble sires, A memory of our old victorious dead-[fires These mantle me with power; and though their In a frail censer briefly may be shed, Yet shall they light us onward, side by sideHave the wild birds, and have not we, a guide? "Cheer, then, beloved! on whose meek brow is set Our mother's image-in whose voice a tone, A faint, sweet sound of hers is lingering yet, An echo of our childhood's music gone. Cheer thee! thy sister's heart and faith are high : Our path is one-with thee I live and die !" ["But who are they that sit, mourning in their loveliness, beneath the shadow of a rock on the surf-beaten shore? The [The celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, having made many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the Count Saldana, who had been imprisoned by King Alfonso of Asturias, almost from the time of Bernardo's birth, at last took up arms in despair. The war which he maintained proved so destructive, that the men of the land gathered round the King, and united in demanding Saldana's liberty. Alfonso, accordingly, offered Bernardo immediate possession of his father's person in exchange for his castle of Carpio. Bernardo, without hesitation, gave up his stronghold, with all his captives; and being assured that his father was then on his way from prison, rode forth with the King to meet him. "And when he saw his father approaching, he exclaimed," says the ancient chronicle, "*"Oh, God! is the Count of Saldana indeed coming?'-' Look where he is,' replied the cruel King; and now go and greet him whom you have so long desired to see." The remainder of the story will be found related in the ballad. The chronicles and romances leave us nearly in the dark as to Bernardo's history after this event.] THE warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprison'd sire: "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord !-oh, break my father's chain !" His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's blood came and went; He reach'd that gray-hair'd chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took, What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? That hand was cold-a frozen thing-it dropp'd from his like lead: He look'd up to the face above-the face was of the dead! A plume waved o'er the noble brow-the brow was fix'd and white; He met at last his father's eyes-but in them was no sight! Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed, but who could paint that gaze? They hush'd their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze; They might have chain'd him, as before that stony form he stood, For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. "Father!" at length he murmur'd low, and wept like childhood then Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men ! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown, He flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now. My king is false, my hope betray'd, my fatheroh! the worth, The glory and the loveliness, are pass'd away from earth! "I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet— I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ! Thou wouldst have known my spirit then-for thee my fields were won,— And thou hast perish'd in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!" [At Hindlebank, near Berne, she is represented as bursting from the sepulchre, with her infant in her arms, at the sound of the last trumpet. An inscription on the tomb concludes thus:-" Here am I, O God! with the child whom thou hast given me."] How many hopes were borne upon thy bier, [“I attended a funeral where there were a number of the German settlers present. After I had performed such service as is usual on similar occasions, a most venerable-looking old man came forward, and asked me if I were willing that they should perform some of their peculiar rites. He opened a very ancient version of Luther's Hymns, and they all began to sing, in German, so loud that the woods echoed the strain. There was something affecting in the singing of these ancient people, carrying one of their brethren to his last home, and using the language and rites which they had brought with them over the sea from the Vaterland, a word which often occurred in this hymn. It was a long, slow, and mournful air, which they sung as they bore the body along: the words 'mein Gott,'' mein Bruder,' and ' Vaterland,' died away in distant echoes amongst the woods. I shall long remember that funeral hymn."-FLINT'S Recollections of the Valley o the Mississippi.] THERE went a dirge through the forest's gloom. -An exile was borne to a lonely tomb. |