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The gentle wind-a sweet and passionate wooer
on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,
0, what a glory doth this world put on
THE LOST DARLING.
SHE was my idol. Night and day to scan
Her voice was like some tiny harp that yields
But now alone I sit,
Gone to God!
Gone to God!
THE CAPTIVE OF ALHAMA.
THE Moslem star was on the wane,
Eclipsed the Paynim powers,
Bosieged Granada's towers :
Gonsalvo, with a hundred knights
Of Leon's chivalrie,
Staid succour from the sea.
One morn a Moorish youth was led
To brave Gonsalvo's tent,
And his horse had fall'n o'erspent;
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;
My mournful fate to tell,
And take my long farewell!"
Gonsalvo had no marble heart,
Albeit his look was stern;
And ere set of sun return:
Yet sometimes turn'd his head,
His captive featly sped.
Yet blush'd with rosy light,
Before the Christian knight;
For a damsel pzess'd his arm,
And quivering with alarm.
She look'd at him and wept;
An equal silence kept.
She knelt at the chit rain's knee,
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,
The ambush'd road to take;
Ah! then, his love still let me share,
To whom I've pledged my oath;
But let them bind us both!"
They soften'd to his suit;
Like music from a lute.
The buttress, not the bower;
And not to crush the flower.
“Peace be to both! you both are free!
Live happy; and whene'er
Believe Gonsalvo there!"
To their own dear Darro's water;
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!