But ever and anon

A murmur of farewell

Told, by its plaintive tone,

That from woman's lip it fell.

"Away, away o'er the foaming main !"
This was the free and the joyous strain,
"There are clearer skies than ours, afar,
We will shape our course by a brighter star;
There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press'd,
And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest."

"But, alas! that we should go,"
Sang the farewell voices then,

"From the homesteads, warm and low,
By the brook and in the glen!"

"We will rear new homes under trees that glow,
As if gems were the fruitage of every bough;
O'er our white walls we will train the vine,
And sit in its shadow at day's decline;
And watch our herds, as they range at will

Through the green savannas, all bright and still."

"But woe for that sweet shade
Of the flowering orchard-trees,
Where first our children play'd

'Midst the birds and honey-bees!"

'All, all our own shall the forests be,

As to the bound of the roebuck free!

None shall say, ' Hither, no further pass!'

We will track each step through the wavy grass;
We will chase the elk in his speed and might,
And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night

"But oh! the grey 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 Indian's 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

211

THE KING OF ARRAGON'S LAMENT FOR HIS BROTHER.

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

[the dead.

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

He look'd down from the fortress won, on the tents and towers below [his brow; The moonlit sea, the torchlit streets-and a gloom came o'er The voice of thousands floated up, with the horn and cymbal

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
[ soul.

roll,

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

'My brother! oh, 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; [gone! There was one to love me in the world-my brother! thou art "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; [and best! Thou hast watch'd beside my couch of pain-oh! bravest heart

"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! Oh, brother! I have bought too dear this hollow pageantry!

"I have hosts, and gallant fleets, to spread my glory and my sway, [away! And chiefs to lead them fearlessly; my friend hath pass'd

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

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!

crown;

"I have made thy blood, thy faithful blood, the offering for a [cold renown; With love, which earth bestows not twice, I have purchased How often will my weary heart 'midst the sounds of triumph die, When I think of thee, my brother! thou flower of chivalry!

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

And louder swell'd the songs of joy through that victorious. night, [light;

And faster flow'd the red wine forth, by the stars' and torches' But low and deep, amidst the mirth, was heard the conqueror's

moan

[gone!"

"My brother! oh, my brother! best and bravest thou art

THE RETURN.

HAST thou come with the heart of thy childhood back?

The free, the pure, the kind ?”

-So murmur'd the trees in my homeward track,

As they play'd to the mountain wind.

"Hath thy soul been true to its early love?" Whisper'd my native streams;

"Hath the spirit nursed amidst hill and grove, Still revered its first high dreams?"

"Hast thou borne in thy bosom the holy prayer
Of the child in his parent halls?"

-Thus breathed a voice on the thrilling air,
From the old ancestral walls.

"Hast thou kept thy faith with the faithful dead,
Whose place of rest is nigh?

With the father's blessing o'er thee shed,

With the mother's trusting eye ?"

Then my tears gush'd forth in sudden rain,
As I answer'd-" O, ye shades!

I bring not my childhood's heart again
To the freedom of your glades.

"I have turn'd from my first pure love aside,
O bright and happy streams!

THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.

Light after light, in my soul have died
The day-spring's glorious dreams.

“And the holy prayer from my thoughts hath pass'd—
The prayer at my mother's knee;

Darken'd and troubled I come at last,

Home of my boyish glee!

"But I bear from my childhood a gift of tears,

To soften and atone;

And oh! ye scenes of those bless'd years,

They shall make me again your own.'

213

THE VAUDOIS' WIFE.

"Clasp me a little longer, on the brink

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress;
And when this heart hath ceased to beat, oh! think-
And let it mitigate thy woe's excess-

That thou hast been to me all tenderness,

And friend, to more than human friendship just.
Oh! by that retrospect of happiness,

And by the hopes of an immortal trust,

God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am laid in dust.

Gertrude of Wyoming.

THY Voice is in mine ear, beloved!

Thy look is in my heart,

Thy bosom is my resting-place,

And yet I must depart.

Earth on my soul is strong-too strong

Too precious is its chain,

All woven of thy love, dear friend,

Yet vain-though mighty-vain!

Thou see'st mine eye grow dim, beloved'
Thou see'st my life-blood flow.

Bow to the chastener silently,

And calmly let me go!

A little while between our hearts
The shadowy gulf must lie,

Yet have we for their communing
Still, still Eternity!

Alas! thy tears are on my cheek,
My spirit they detain ;

I know that from thine agony
Is wrung that burning rain.

*The wife of a Vaudois leader, in one of the attacks made on the Protestant hamlets, received a mortal wound, and died in her husband's arms, exhorting him to courage and endurance.

Best, kindest, weep not ;-make the pang
The bitter conflict, less-
Oh! sad it is, and yet a joy,
To feel thy love's excess!

But calm thee! Let the thought of death
A solemn peace restore!

The voice that must be silent soon,
Would speak to thee once more,
That thou may'st bear its blessing on
Through years of after life-

A token of consoling love,

Even from this hour of strife.

I bless thee for the noble heart,
The tender, and the true,

Where mine hath found the happiest rest
That e'er fond woman's knew:

I bless thee, faithful friend and guide,
For my own, my treasured share,
In the mournful secrets of thy soul,
In thy sorrow, in thy prayer.

I bless thee for kind looks and words
Shower'd on my path like dew,
For all the love in those deep eyes,
A gladness ever new!

For the voice which ne'er to mine replied

But in kindly tones of cheer;

For every spring of happiness

My soul hath tasted here!

I bless thee for the last rich boon
Won from affection tried,

The right to gaze on death with thee,
To perish by thy side!

And yet more for the glorious hope

Even to these moments given

Did not thy spirit ever lift

The trust of mine to Heaven?

Now be thou strong! Oh, knew we not,
Our path must lead to this?

A shadow and a trembling still

Were mingled with our bliss!

We plighted our young hearts when storms

Were dark upon the sky,

In full, deep knowledge of their task
To suffer and to die!

Be strong! I leave the living voice
Of this, my martyr'd blood,

With the thousand echoes of the hills,
With the torrent's foaming flood,-