"Cheer up, dark king, and wail no more,
Let tears no longer flow;
Of Christian men a thousand score
Have I to smite thy foe.
The king Alfonso greets thee well:
Kiss thou the cross, and pray;
And ere thou say'st the Ave o'er,
The Emir 1 will slay."

I remember thee, Granada!

"Or let the African be slain,
Or let the Emir slay,

I will not kiss the cross of Christ,
Nor to his Mother pray.
A camel-driver will I live,
With Yussef for my lord,
Or ere I kiss the Christian's cross,
To win the Christian's sword."
I remember thee, Granada!

"Mohammed, now thou griev'st me muchAlfonso is my king:

But let Suleya kiss the cross,
And let her wear the ring.
The crucifix the bride shall bear,
Her lord shall couch the spear;
And still I'll smite thy foe for thee,
And for thy daughter dear."

I remember thee, Granada!

Then up Suleya rose, and spoke,-
"I love Cid Ramon well;
But not to win his heart or sword,
Will I my faith compel.
With Yussef, cruel though he be,
A bond-maid will I rove,
Or ere I kiss the Christian's cross,
To win the Christian's love."

I remember thee, Granada!

"Suleya! now thou grievest me much-
A thousand score have I;
But, saving for a Christian's life,
They dare not strike or die.
Alfonso is my king, and thus

Commands my king to me:
But, for that Christian, all shall strike,
If my true love she be."

I remember thee, Granada!

"Ill loves the love, who, ere he loves, Demands a sacrifice:

Who serves myself, must serve my sire, And serve without a price.

Let Yussef come with sword and spear,
To fetter and to rend;

I choose me yet a Moorish foe
Before a Christian friend!"-
I remember thee, Granada!

"Ill loves the love, who pins his love
Upon a point of creed;

And balances in selfish doubt,
At such a time of need.

His heart is loosed, his hands untied,
And he shall yet be free
To wear the cross, and break the ring,
Who will not die for me!"

I remember thee, Granada!

The Emir's cry went up to heaven:
Cid Ramon rode away-
"Ye may not fight, my thousand score,
For Christian friend to-day.
But tell the king, I bide his hest,
Albeit my heart be sore;
Of all his troops, I give but one
To perish for the Moor."

I remember thee, Granada!

The Emir's cry went up to heaven;
His howling hosts came on;
Down fell Sevilla's tottering walls,—
The thousand score were gone.
And at the palace-gate, in blood,
The Arab Emir raves;
He sat upon Mohammed's throne,
And look'd upon his slaves.

I remember thee, Granada!

"The lives of all that faithful be,
This good day, will I spare;
But woe betide or kings or boors,
That currish Christians are!"-
Up rode Cid Ramon bleeding fast;
The princess wept to see ;-
"No cross was kiss'd, no prayer was said,
But still I die for thee!"

I remember thee, Granada!

The Moorish maid she kiss'd the cross,
She knelt upon her knee;-

"I kiss the cross, I say the prayer,
Because thou diest for me.

To buy thy thousand score of swords,
I would not give my faith;
But now I take the good cross up,
To follow thee in death."

I remember thee, Granada!

"Holy Maria! Come to us,
And take us to the blest;
In the true blood of love and faith,
Receive us to thy rest!"-
The Emir struck in bitter wrath,
Sharp fell the Arab blade;
And Mary took the Cid to heaven,
And bless'd the Christian maid.
I remember thee, Granada!



BUT ever and anon of griefs subdued,
There comes a token like a scorpion's sting,
Scarce seen but with fresh tenderness imbued;
And slight withal may be the things which bring
Back on the heart the weight which it could fling
Aside for ever: it may be a sound-

A tone of music-summer's eve-or spring,

A flower-the wind--the ocean-which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound;

And how and why we know not, nor can trace
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind,
But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface
The blight and blackening which it leaves behind,
Which out of things familiar, undesign'd,
When least we deem of such, calls up to view
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind,
The cold-the changed-perchance the dead-anew,
The mourn'd, the loved, the lost-too many! yet
how few!



How calmly gliding through the dark-blue sky
The midnight moon ascends! Her placid beams,
Through thinly scatter'd leaves and boughs grotesque,
Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slope;
Here o'er the chestnut's fretted foliage, gray
And massy, motionless they spread; here shine
Upon the crags, deepening with blacker night
Their chasms; and there the glittering argentry
Ripples and glances on the confluent streams.
A lovelier, purer light than that of day
Rests on the hills; and, oh, how awfully
Into the deep and anquil firmament

The summits of Anseva rise serene!
The watchman on the battlements partakes
The stillness of the solemn hour, and feels
The silence of the earth; the endless sound
Of flowing water soothes him, and the stars,
Which in the brightest moonlight well-nigh quench'd
Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth

Of yonder sapphire infinite are seen,
Draw on with elevating influence
Toward eternity the attemper'd mind;
Musing on worlds beyond the grave he stands,
And to the virgin mother silently
Breathes forth her hymn of praise.



O THOU, that holdest in thy spacious hands
The destinies of men! whose eye surveys
Their various actions! Thou, whose temple stands
Above all temples! Thou, whom all men praise!
Of good the author! Thou, whose wisdom sways
The universe! all bounteous! grant to me
Tranquillity, and health, and length of days;
Good will towards all, and reverence unto Thee;
Allowance for man's failings, and of my own
The knowledge; and the power to conquer all
Those evil things to which we are too prone--
Malice, hate, envy-all that ill we call.
To me a blameless life, Great Spirit, grant,
Nor burden'd with much care, nor narrow'd by much



METHINKS it is not strange then, that I fled
The house of prayer, and made the lonely grove
My temple, at the foot of some old oak,

« ElőzőTovább »