RICHMOND HILL.

"Sweet scene of Childhood's opening bloom, for sportive Youth to stray in, For Manhood to enjoy his strength, and Age to wear away in."

LET poets rave of Arno's stream,

And painters of the winding Rhine;

I will not ask a lovelier dream,

WORDSWORTH.

A sweeter scene, fair Thames, than thine; As, in a summer eve's decline,

Thou glidest "at thine own sweet will," Reflecting from thy face divine,

The flower-wreathed brow of Richmond Hill!

And, what though some may hold thee cheap,
Because thy charms are all their own;
And, cold to thee, their praises keep
For foreign bowers, and skies alone;-
And some may scarcely deign to own
The beauties all may share at will;

I'll bow before thy woodland throne,

And hymn thy praise, sweet Richmond Hill!

For what the slave of passion spurns,
But makes thee dearer far to me;
Then, whilst his sickly fancy turns
To foreign climes, I'll worship thee!
The more, that thou to all art free;

That hearts unnumbered sweetly thrill,

When by-gone hours of blameless glee

Come blent with thoughts of Richmond Hill.

RICHMOND HILL.

The schoolboy seeks thy glowing crest,
And launches thence his soaring kite,
In all the motley colours drest

His fancy deems of fair and bright;
And, like his heart, as gay and light,
As wild, perverse, and volatile,—
The fluttering plaything wings its flight,
In curvets wild, o'er Richmond Hill.

Young lovers, too, frequent the shades
That gird thy verdant diadem;
There linger till the day-beam fades,
And evening's soft and dewy gem,
The star of love, hath risen for them:

Then 'mid the silent rapturous thrill,-
The gush of hearts 'twere vain to stem,-
How bright a heaven is Richmond Hill!

And when the ardent hopes of youth,
The tone of bliss subdued acquire,
When the wild heart has "gained in truth,
Far more than it has lost in fire;"
The "happy pair" will here retire,

On memories fond to feed at will;
To muse on themes that ne'er can tire,—
Their trysting days on Richmond Hill.

And even when age has strewn the brow
With many a trace of time and care;
When summer's eve is bright as now,
The world-worn man may here repair,
And gaze on childhood's frolics fair,
Its artless mirth and sports, until

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He lives again o'er joys that were,-
O'er days long past, on Richmond Hill.

Eden of many hearts, gay haunt

Of youth, age, wealth, and poverty!
How doth the prisoned bosom pant

For one sweet day, from drudgery free,
To dedicate to bliss and thee!

Oh! if 'tis brightest fame to fill
Unnumbered hearts with ecstasy;

Such fame is thine, sweet Richmond Hill!

But lo! the sun is sinking fast,

Emblem how meet of man's decline,
When, life's obstructing shadows past,
His evening hour grows bright as thine;
And one mild gleam, Faith's glorious sign,
Like yon bright bark that seems so still,
Glides on the soul in light divine,

And leads it far from Richmond Hill!

CONSOLATION.

"It is but perishable stuff that moulders in the grave."

SOUTHEY.

Look up, look up, and weep not so, thy darling is not dead,
His sinless soul is cleaving now yon sky's empurpled bed;
His spirit drinks new life and light 'mid bowers of endless

bloom;

It is but perishable stuff that moulders in the tomb.

THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO.

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Then hush, oh! hush the swelling sigh, and dry the idle tear! Think of the home thy babe hath won, and joy that he is there!

When summer evening's golden hues are burning in the sky, And odorous gales from balmy bowers are breathing softly

by;

When earth is bright with sunset's beams, and flowers are blushing near,

And grief, all chastened and subdued, is gathering to a tear; How sweet 'twill be at such an hour, and 'mid a scene so fair, To lift thy glistening eyes to heaven, and feel that he is

there!

THE LAMENT OF BOABDIL EL CHICO;

ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM THE ALHAMBRA, AFTER THE CONQUEST OF

GRANADA BY FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.

"It was a night of doleful lamentings within the walls of the Alhambra; for the household of Boabdil were preparing to take a last farewell of that delightful abode. Before the dawn of day, a mournful cavalcade moved obscurely out of a postern gate of the palace, and departed through one of the most retired quarters of the city. It was composed of the family of the unfortunate Boabdil, who left thus privately that they might not be exposed to the eyes of scoffers or the exultation of the enemy. The mother of Boabdil, the Sultana Ayxa La Horra, rode on in silence, with dejected yet dignified demeanour; but his wife, Zorayma, indulged in loud lamentations as she gave a last look at the Alhambra. They were attended by a small band of veteran Moors, who were loyally attached to the fallen monarch, and who would have sold their lives dearly in defence of his family. The sun had scarcely begun to shed his beams upon the snowy mountains which rise above Granada, when the Christian camp was in motion with a view to take possession of the city.

The signal of advance was a large silver cross, elevated on the Torre de la Vela, or great watch-tower, and sparkling in the sunbeams. The splendid cavalcade, composed of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, and their chief nobles and attendants, was met by the unhappy Boabdil on the banks of the Xenil, at a short distance from Granada. As he approached the King he would have dismounted in token of homage had not Ferdinand prevented him. He then offered to kiss the King's hand, but this sign of vassalage was declined. Queen Isabella refused also to receive this ceremonial of homage; and to console him under his adversity delivered to him his son, who had remained as a hostage ever since Boabdil's liberation from captivity. The Moorish monarch pressed his child to his bosom with tender emotion, and they seemed mutually endeared by their misfortunes. Having placed the keys of the city in the hands of the King, Boabdil continued his course towards the Alpuxarras, that he might avoid being a spectator of the entrance of the Christians into his capital. Having rejoined his family, they ascended an eminence, commanding the last view of Granada, where they paused to take a farewell gaze at their beloved city. The sunshine, so bright in that transparent climate, lighted up each tower and minaret, and rested gloriously on the crowning battlements of the Alhambra; whilst the Vega spread its enamelled bosom below, glistening with the silver windings of the Xenil. The Moorish cavaliers gazed with silent agony upon that delicious scene; but whilst they yet looked, a light cloud of smoke burst forth from the citadel; and presently a peal of artillery, faintly heard, announced that the city was taken possession of. The heart of Boabdil, softened by misfortunes and overcharged by grief, could no longer contain itself. Allah Akbar! God is great,' he would have said; but the words of resignation died upon his lips, and he burst into a flood of tears. His mother, the intrepid Sultana Ayxa La Horra, was indignant at this weakness. You do well,' said she, 'to weep like a woman for what you failed to defend like a man.' An ineffectual attempt was made to console him, but his tears continued to flow, and he turned from the scene, exclaiming, 'When did misfortunes ever equal mine!' From this circumstance the hill took the name of 'El ultimo suspiro del Moro,—the last sigh of the Moor. The unhappy Boabdil retired to the valley of Porchena, where a small but fertile territory had been allotted to him. The jealousy of Ferdinand, however, who felt hardly secure in his newly-conquered territories whilst there was one within their bounds who might revive pretensions to the throne, did not long permit him to remain in this retirement. A collusive arrangement between the Vizier of Boabdil and the King, by which the former was to receive 80,000 golden ducats for his territory, concluded without Boabdil's privity, drove him forth once more. Gathering together, therefore, the wreck of his property, he set out for a neighbouring port, where a vessel was waiting to convey him to Africa. He was