Imagens da página

The gentle wind-a sweet and passionate wooer
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimson'd,
And silver beach, and maple yellow-leaved,-
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down
By the way-side a-weary. Through the trees
The golden robin moves; the purple finch,

on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,
A winter bird,-comes with its plaintive whistle,
And pecks by the witch-hazel ; whilst aloud,
From cottage roofs, the warbling blue-bird sings ;
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke,
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail.

0, what a glory doth this world put on
For him, that, with a fervent heart, goes forth
Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks
On duties well perform’d, and days well spent!
For him the wind, ay, the yellow leaves,
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings.
He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go
To his long resting-place without a tear.



SHE was my idol. Night and day to scan
The fine expansion of her form, and mark
The unfolding mind like vernal rose-bud start
To sudden beauty, was my chief delight.
To find her fairy footsteps follow me,
Her hand upon my garments, or her lip
Long seal'd to mine, and in the watch of night
The quiet breath of innocence to feel
Soft on my cheek, was such a full content
Of happiness, as none but mothers know.

Her voice was like some tiny harp that yields
To the slight finger'd breeze, and as it held
Brief converse with her doll, or playful soothed
The moaning kitten, or with patient care
Conn'd o'er the alphabet—but most of all
Its tender cadence in her evening prayer
Thrill'd on the ear like some ethereal tone
Heard in sweet dreams.

But now alone I sit,
Musing of her, and dew with mournful tears
Her little robes, that once with woman's pride
I wrought, as if there were a need to deck
What God had made so beautiful. I start,
Half fancying from her empty crib there comes
A restless sound, and breathed the accustom'd words
“Hush! Hush thee, dearest.” Then I bend and

As though it were a sin to speak to one
Whose home is with the angels.

Gone to God!
And yet I wish I had not seen the pang
That wrung her features, nor the ghastly white
Settling around her lips. I would that Heaven
Had taken its own, like some transplanted flower,
Blooming in all its freshness.

Gone to God!
Be still, my heart! what could a mother's prayer,
In all the wildest ecstasy of hope,
Ask for its darling like the bliss of heaven?



THE Moslem star was on the wane,

Eclipsed the Paynim powers,
And the haughty lord of Christian Spain,

Bosieged Granada's towers :

Gonsalvo, with a hundred knights

Of Leon's chivalrie,
Well posted on Alhama's heights,

Staid succour from the sea.

One morn a Moorish youth was led

To brave Gonsalvo's tent,
His escort from the field had fled,

And his horse had fall'n o'erspent;
He hung his head in speechless grief,

As the tear roll'd down his cheek, And scornful look'd each mailed chief,

To behold a youth so weak. “ Is it a girl," Gonsalvo cries,

“That in our toils is caught ? That thus it weeps, in woman's guise,

Where its fierce forefathers fought?” “Nay, hear my tale,” exclaim'd the youth,

His eye one moment brightning, “ And Allah, if I speak not truth,

Consume me with his lightning!

“From beauteous Malaga I came,

But by no beaten way; Superb Granada was my aim,

Woe, woe the luckless day! For had I in my journey sped

To Darro's rushing water, This morn Zorayda I had wed,

Granada's fairest daughter. “If pity then, or love's sweet power,

E’er touch'd thy gallant breast, But grant me freedom for an hour

To the oar I give the rest;
These few bright moments yield in grace,

My mournful fate to tell,
To see once more Zorayda's face,

And take my long farewell!"

Gonsalvo had no marble heart,

Albeit his look was stern;
He bade the Moorish youth depart,

And ere set of sun return:
Each pass and strait the chieftain eyed,

Yet sometimes turn'd his head,
To mark how down the mountain side

His captive featly sped.
The Sierra's dazzling peak of snow

Yet blush'd with rosy light,
When again the grieving Moor bow'd low

Before the Christian knight;
But alone he came not, as he went,

For a damsel pzess'd his arm,
Faint as a rose by tempests bent,

And quivering with alarm.
Awhile they stood in speechless gloom,

She look'd at him and wept;
And the knights, still reckless of his doom,

An equal silence kept.
At length the maid unveil'd her head,

She knelt at the chit rain's knee,
Few were the stiffer words wine airl

But he will could get pica, « Cazz, thy captive. Christan knight,

istore by his solera vow, Hvas mye lurer yesternight,

e lirsband now; Vitt humile to me is vain,

4?ed its sounding pageants hollow, Viih him I've promised to remain ;

Him, him alone I follow,
'T was for me he dared, unwisely brave,

The ambush'd road to take;
He was your foe, he is your slave,
But he suffers for my sake:

Ah! then, his love still let me share,

To whom I've pledged my oath;
The fetters if you will prepare,

But let them bind us both!"
Knights, little used to pity, sigh’d,

They soften'd to his suit;
For her voice to their hearts was felt to glide

Like music from a lute.
“Our arms,” Gonsalvo said, “ achieve

The buttress, not the bower;
My falchion's edged the oak to cleave,

And not to crush the flower.

“Peace be to both! you both are free!

Live happy; and whene'er
To you a Christian bends his knee,

Believe Gonsalvo there!"
They silent kiss'd his robes, and sped

To their own dear Darro's water;
And thus Gazul Zorayda wed,
Granada’s noblest daughter!


THE HAPPIEST TIME. WHEN are we happiest—when the light of mom

Wakes the young roses from their crimson rest; When cheerfil sounds, upon the fresh winds borne,

Tell man resumes his work with blither zet; While the bright waters leap from rock to glen

Are we the happiest then? Alas, those roses !--they will fade away,

And thunder-tempests will deform the sky; And summer heats bid the spring buds decay,

And the clear sparkling fountain may be dry; And nothing beauteous may adorn the scene,

To tell what it has been!

« AnteriorContinuar »