"But, oh! the gray church-tower, And the sound of Sabbath bell, And the shelter'd garden-bower,

We have bid them all farewell!

"We will give the names of our fearless race
To each bright river whose course we trace;
We will leave our memory with mounts and floods,
And the path of our daring in boundless woods;
And our works unto many a lake's green shore,
Where the Indians' graves lay, alone, before."

"But who shall teach the flowers,

Which our children loved, to dwell In a soil that is not ours?

Home, home and friends, farewell!"

THE KING OF ARRAGON'S LAMENT FOR HIS BROTHER.1

"If I could see him, it were well with me!"

COLERIDGE'S "Wallenstein."

THERE were lights and sounds of revelling in the vanquish'd city's halls,

As by night the feast of victory was held within its walls;

And the conquerors fill'd the wine-cup high, after years of bright blood shed;

But their lord, the King of Arragon, midst the triumph wail'd the dead.

He look'd down from the fortress won, on the tents and flowers below,

The moonlit sea, the torchlit streets-and a gloom came o'er his brow:

The voice of thousands floated up, with the horn and cymbal's tone;

But his heart, midst that proud music, felt more utterly alone.

And he cried, "Thou art mine, fair city! thou city of the sea!

But, oh! what portion of delight is mine at last in thee?

I am lonely midst thy palaces, while the glad waves past them roll,

And the soft breath of thine orange bowers is mournful to my soul.

1 The grief of Ferdinand, King of Arragon, for the loss of his brother, Don Pedro, who was killed during the siege of Naples, is affectingly described by the historian Mariana.

"My brother! O my brother! thou art gone— the true and brave,

And the haughty joy of victory hath died upon thy grave.

There are many round my throne to stand, and to march where I lead on;

There was one to love me in the world-my brother! thou art gone!

"In the desert, in the battle, in the ocean-tempest's wrath,

We stood together, side by side-one hope was ours, one path;

Thou hast wrapp'd me in thy soldier's cloak, thou hast fenced me with thy breast; Thou hast watch'd beside my couch of pain-oh! bravest heart, and best!

"I see the festive lights around,-o'er a dull, sad world they shine;

I hear the voice of victory-my Pedro! where is thine?

The only voice in whose kind tone my spirit found reply!

O brother! I have bought too dear this hollow pageantry!

"I have hosts and gallant fleets, to spread my glory and my sway,

And chiefs to lead them fearlessly,-my friend

hath pass'd away!

For the kindly look, the word of cheer, my heart may thirst in vain;

And the face that was as light to mine-it cannot come again!

"I have made thy blood, thy faithful blood, the offering for a crown;

With love, which earth bestows not twice, I have purchased cold renown;

How often will my weary heart midst the sounds of triumph die, [chivalry! When I think of thee, my brother! thou flower of

"Iam lonely-I am lonely! this rest is even as death! Let me hear again the ringing spears, and the battle-trumpet's breath;

Let me see the fiery charger foam, and the royal banner wave

But where art thou, my brother? where? In thy low and early grave!"

It is also the subject of one of the old Spanish Ballads in Lockhart's beautiful collection.

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."

COLERIDGE's "Wallenstein."

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-
We loved!-oh! still, I know that still we love!
I have left all things with thy dust to dwell,
Through these dim aisles in dreams of thee to
This is my home!
[rove:

Speak to me in the thrilling minster's gloom!
Speak! thou hast died, and sent me no farewell!
I will not shrink-oh! mighty is the tomb,
But one thing mightier, which it cannot quell-
This woman's heart!

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
The wind's low singing through the fretted stone.
I hear not thee; and yet I feel thee near-
What is this bound that keeps thee from thine
Breathe it away.
[own?

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,
Our young affections, have not gush'd in vain;
Soon in one tide shall blend the sever'd streams,
The worn heart break its bonds-and death and
Be with the past!
[pain

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.
Will I not live with thee? will I not cheer thee?
Wouldst thou be lonely then? wouldst thou be sad ?"
JOANNA BAILLIE.

"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 fearsOh! 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