r A 5 ; C 2 *&M ^ X r t THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES \ T (K Rl A . IxrC i^L^i But I have energies that idly slept, While withering o'er my silent woes I wept, And now, when hope and happiness are fled, My soul is firm for what remains to dread ? THE ABENCERRAGE. 101 Who shall have power to suffer and to bear, If strength and courage dwell not with Despair ? " Hamet, farewell ! retrace thy path again, To join thy brethren on the tented plain. There wave and wood in mingling murmurs tell, How, in far other cause, thy fathers fell ! Yes ! on that soil hath Glory's footstep been, Names unforgotten consecrate the scene ! Dwell not the souls of heroes round thee there, Whose voices call thee in the whispering air ? Unheard, in vain, they call their fallen son Hath stain'd the name those mighty spirits won, And to the hatred of the brave and free Bequeath'd his own, through ages yet to be !" Still as she spoke, th' enthusiast's kindling eye Was lighted up with inborn majesty, While her fair form and youthful features caught All the proud grandeur of heroic thought, 102 THE ABENCERRAGE. Severely beauteous 14 : awe-struck and amazed, In silent trance awhile the warrior gazed As on some lofty vision for she seem'd One all inspired each look with glory beam'd, While brightly bursting through its cloud of woes, Her soul at once in all its light arose. Oh ! ne'er had Hamet deem'd there dwelt enshrined In form so fragile that unconquer'd mind, And fix'd, as by some high enchantment, there, He stood till wonder yielded to despair. " The dream is vanish'd daughter of my foes ! Heft of each hope the lonely wanderer goes. Thy words have pierced his soul yet deem thou not Thou could' st be once adored, and e'er forgot ! O form'd for happier love ! heroic maid ! In grief sublime, in danger undismay'd, Farewell, and be thou blest ! all words were vain From him who ne'er may view that form again ; THE ABENCERRAGE. 103 Him, whose sole thought, resembling bliss, must be, He hath been loved, once fondly loved, by thee !" And is the warrior gone ? doth Zayda hear His parting footstep, and without a tear ? Thou weep'st not, lofty maid ! yet who can tell What secret pangs within thy heart may dwell ? They feel not least, the firm, the high in soul, Who best each feeling's agony control. Yes ! we may judge the measure of the grief Which finds in Misery's eloquence relief ; But who shall pierce those depths of silent woe, Whence breathes no language, whence no tears may flow? The pangs that many a noble breast hath proved, Scorning itself that thus it could be moved ? He, He alone, the inmost heart who knows, Views all its weakness, pities all its throes, He who hath mercy when mankind contemn, Beholding anguish all unknown to them. 104 THE ABENCERRAGE. Fair city ! thou, that 'midst thy stately fanes And gilded minarets, towering o'er the plains, In eastern grandeur proudly dost arise Beneath thy canopy of deep-blue skies, While streams that bear thee treasures in their wave,' b Thy citron-groves and myrtle-gardens lave ; Mourn ! for thy doom is fix'd the days of fear, Of chains, of wrath, of bitterness, are near ! Within, around thee, are the trophied graves Of kings and chiefs their children shall be slaves. Fair are thy halls, thy domes majestic swell, But there a race who rear'd them not shall dwell ; For 'midst thy councils Discord still presides, Degenerate fear thy wavering monarch guides, Last of a line whose regal spirit flown Hath to their offspring but bequeath'd a throne, Without one generous thought, or feeling high, To teach his soul how kings should live and die. A voice resounds within Granada's wall, The hearts of warriors echo to its call. 16 THE ABENCERRAGE. 105 Whose are those tones with power electric fraught, To reach the source of pure exalted thought ? See on a fortress -to wer, with beckoning hand, A form, majestic as a prophet, stand ! His mien is all impassion' d and his eye Fill'd with a light whose fountain is on high ; Wild on the gale his silvery tresses flow, And inspiration beams upon his brow, While thronging round him breathless thousands gaze, . As on some mighty seer of elder days. " Saw ye the banners of Castile display' d, The helmets glittering and the line array'd ? Heard ye the march of steel-clad hosts ?" he cries, ** Children of conquerors ! in your strength arise ! O high-born tribes ! O names unstain'd by fear ! Azarques, Zegris, Almoradis, hear ! 17 106 THE ABENCERRAGE. Be every feud forgotten, and your hands Dyed with no blood but that of hostile bands. l9 Wake, princes of the land ! the hour is come, And the red sabre must decide your doom. Where is that spirit which prevail'd of yore, When Tarik's bands o'erspread the western shore i 19 When the long combat raged on Xeres' plain, 20 And Afric's tecbir swell'd through yielding Spain? 21 Is the lance broken, is the shield decay'd, The warrior's arm unstrung, his heart dismay'd ? Shall no high spirit of ascendant worth Arise to lead the sons of Islam forth ? To guard the regions where our fathers' blood Hath bathed each plain, and mingled with each flood, Where long their dust hath blended with the soil, Won by their swords, made fertile by their toil ? u O ye Sierras of eternal snow ! Ye streams that by the tombs of heroes flow, THE ABENCERRAGE. 107 Woods, fountains, rocks, of Spain ! ye saw their might In many a fierce and unforgotten fight ! Shall ye behold their lost, degenerate race, Dwell 'midst your scenes in fetters and disgrace ? With each memorial of the past around, Each mighty monument of days renown' d ? May this indignant heart ere then be cold, This frame be gather'd to its kindred mould \ And the last life-drop circling through my veins Have tinged a soil untainted yet by chains ! " And yet one struggle ere our doom is seal'd, One mighty effort, one deciding field ! If vain each hope, we still have choice to be, In life the fetter'd, or in death the free !" Still while he speaks, each gallant heart beats high, And ardor flashes from each kindling eye ; Youth, manhood, age, as if inspired, have caught The glow of lofty hope and daring thought, 108 THE ABLNCERRAGE. And all is hush'd around as every sense Dwelt on the tones of that wild eloquence. But when his voice hath ceased, th' impetuous cry Of eager thousands bursts at once on high ; Rampart, and rock, and fortress, ring around, And fair Alhambra's inmost halls resound. " Lead us, O chieftain ! lead us to the strife, To fame in death, or liberty in life !" O zeal of noble hearts ! in vain display 'd ! High feeling wasted ! generous hope betray 'd ! Now, while the burning spirit of the brave Is roused to energies that yet might save, E'en now, enthusiasts ! while ye rush to claim Your glorious trial on the field of fame, Your king hath yielded ! Valour's dream is o'er ; Power, wealth, and.freedom, are your own no more ; And for your children's portion, but remains That bitter heritage the stranger's chains. END OF THE SECOND CANTO. CANTO III. Fermossi al fin il cor che balzb tanto. HlPPOLITO PlNDEMONTB. Heroes of elder days ! untaught to yield, Who bled for Spain on many an ancient field, Ye, that around the oaken cross of yore 2a Stood firm and fearless on Asturia's shore, And with your spirit, ne'er to be subdued, Hallow'd the wild Cantabrian solitude ; Rejoice amidst your dwellings of repose, In the last chastening of your Moslem foes ! Rejoice ! for Spain, arising in her strength, Hath burst the remnant of their yoke at length ; 110 THE ABENCERRAGE. And they in turn the cup of woe must drain, And bathe their fetters with their tears in vain. And thou, the warrior born in happy hour, 95 Valencia's lord, whose name alone was power, Theme of a thousand songs in days gone by, Conqueror of kings ! exult, O Cid ! on high. For still 'twas thine to guard thy country's weal, In life, in death, the watcher for Castile ! Thou, in that hour when Mauritania's bands Rush'd from their palmy groves and burning lands, E'en in the realm of spirits didst retain A patriot's vigilance, remembering Spain ! 34 Then, at deep midnight, rose the mighty sound, By Leon heard, in shuddering awe profound, As through her echoing streets, in dread array, Beings, once mortal, held their viewless way ; Voices, from worlds we know not and the tread Of marching hosts, the armies of the dead, THE ABENCEItRAGE. Ill Thou and thy buried chieftains from the grave Then did thy summons rouse a king to save, And join thy warriors with unearthly might To aid the rescue in Tolosa's fight. Those days are past the crescent on thy shore, O realm of evening ! sets, to rise no more. 24 What banner streams from high Comares' tower ? * The cross, bright ensign of Iberia's power ! What the glad shout of each exulting voice ? Castile and Arragon ! rejoice, rejoice ! Yielding free entrance to victorious foes, The Moorish city sees her gates unclose, And Spain's proud host, with pennon, shield, and lance, Through her long streets in knightly garb advance. Oh ! ne'er in lofty dreams hath Fancy's eye Dwelt on a scene of statelier pageantry, At joust or tourney, theme of poet's lore, High masque, or solemn festival of yore. 112 THE ABENCERRAGE. The gilded cupolas, that proudly rise O'erarch'd by cloudless and cerulean skies, Tall minarets, shining mosques, barbaric towers, Fountains and palaces, and cypress bowers j And they, the splendid and triumphant throng, With helmets glittering as they move along, With broider'd scarf, and gem-bestudded mail, And graceful plumage streaming on the gale j Shields, gold-emboss'd, and pennons floating far, And all the gorgeous blazonry of war, All brighten'd by the rich transparent hues That southern suns o'er heaven and earth diffuse j Blend in one scene of glory, form'd to throw O'er memory's page a never-fading glow. And there too, foremost 'midst the conquering brave, Your azure plumes, O Aben-Zurrahs ! wave. There Hamet moves ; the chief whose lofty port Seems nor reproach to shun, nor praise to court, Calm, stern, collected yet within his breast Is there no pang, no struggle unconfest ? THE ABENCERRAGE. 113 If such there be, it still must dwell unseen, Nor cloud a triumph with a sufferer's mien. Hearst thou the solemn, yet exulting sound, Of the deep anthem floating far around ? The choral voices, to the skies that raise The full majestic harmony of praise ? Lo ! where, surrounded by their princely train, They come, the sovereigns of rejoicing Spain, Borne on their trophied car lo ! bursting thence A blaze of chivalrous magnificence ! Onward their slow and stately course they bend To where th' Alhambra's ancient towers ascend, Rear'd and adorn'd by Moorish kings of yore, Whose lost descendants there shall dwell no more. They reach those towers irregularly vast And rude they seem, in mould barbaric cast : 2r i 114 THE ABENCF.RRAGE. They enter to their wondering sight is given A Genii palace an Arabian heaven ! 28 A scene by magic raised, so strange, so fair, Its forms and colours seem alike of air. Here, by sweet orange-boughs, half shaded o'er, The deep clear bath reveals its marble floor, Its margin fringed with flowers, whose glowing hues The calm transparence of its wave suffuse. There, round the court where Moorish arches bend, Aerial columns, richly deck'd, ascend ; Unlike the models of each classic race, Of Doric grandeur, or Corinthian grace, But answering well each vision that portrays Arabian splendor to the poet's gaze : Wild, wondrous, brilliant, all a mingling glow Of rainbow-tints, above, around, below ; Bright-streaming from the many-tinctured veins Of precious marble and the vivid stains Of rich mosaics o'er the light arcade, In gay festoons and fairy knots display 'd. THE ABENCERRAGE. 115 On through th' enchanted realm, that only seems Meet for the radiant creatures of our dreams, The royal conquerors pass while still their sight On some new wonder dwells with fresh delight. Here the eye roves through slender colonnades, O'er bowery terraces and myrtle shades, Dark olive-woods beyond, and far on high The vast Sierra, mingling with the sky. There, scattering far around their diamond spray, Clear streams from founts of alabaster play, Through pillar'd halls, where exquisitely wrought Rich arabesques, with glittering foliage fraught, Surmount each fretted arch, and lend the scene A wild, romantic, oriental mien : While many a verse, from eastern bards of old, Borders the walls in characters of gold. " Here Moslem-luxury, in her own domain, Hath held for ages her voluptuous reign 'Midst gorgeous domes, where soon shall silence brood, And all be lone a splendid solitude. i 2 116 THE ABENCERRAGF. Now wake their echos to a thousand songs, From mingling voices of exulting throngs ; Tambour, and flute, and atabal, are there, so And joyous clarions pealing on the air, While every hall resounds, " Granada won ! Granada ! for Castile and Arragon !" 31 Tis night from dome and tower, in dazzling maze, The festal lamps innumerably blaze ; 32 Through long arcades their quivering lustre gleams, From every lattice tremulously streams, 'Midst orange-gardens plays on fount and rill, And gilds the waves of Darro and Xenil ; Red flame the torches on each minaret's height, And shines each street an avenue of light ; And midnight feasts are held, and music's voice Through the long night still summons to rejoice. Yet there, while all would seem to heedless eye One blaze of pomp, one burst of revelry, THE ABENCERRAOE. 117 Are hearts, unsooth'd by those delusive hours, Gall'd by the chain, though deck'd awhile with flowers; Stern passions working in th' indignant breast, Deep pangs untold, high feelings unexprest, Heroic spirits, unsubmitting yet, Vengeance, and keen remorse, and vain regret. From yon proud height, whose olive-shaded brow Commands the wide, luxuriant plains below, Who lingering gazes o'er the lovely scene, Anguish and shame contending in his mien ? He, who, of heroes and of kings the son, Hath lived to lose whate'er his fathers won, Whose doubts and fears his people's fate have seal'd. Wavering alike in council and in field ; Weak, timid ruler of the wise and brave, Still a fierce tyrant or a yielding slave. Far from these vine-clad hills, and azure skies, To Afric's wilds the royal exile flies, 33 118 THE ABENCERRAOE. Yet pauses on his way, to weep in vain, O'er all he never must behold again. Fair spreads the scene around for him too fair, Each glowing charm but deepens his despair. The Vega's meads, the city's glittering spires, The old majestic palace of his sires, The gay pavilions, and retired alcoves, Bosom'd in citron and pomegranate groves j Tower-crested rocks, and streams that wind in light, All in one moment bursting on his sight, Speak to his soul of glory's vanish'd years, And wake the source of unavailing tears. Weep'st thou, Abdallah ? Thou dost well to weep, O feeble heart ! o'er all thou couldst not keep ! Well do a woman's tears befit the eye Of him who knew not, as a man, to die. 34 The gale sighs mournfully through Zayda's bower, The hand is gone that nursed each infant flower. No voice, no step, is in her father's halls, Mute are the echoes of their marble walls ; THE ABENCEUKAGE. 11.9 No stranger enters at the chieftain's gate, But all is hush'd, and void, and desolate. There, through each tower and solitary shade, In vain doth Hamet seek the Zegri maid j Her grove is silent, her pavilion lone, Her lute forsaken, and her doom unknown j And through the scene she loved, unheeded flows The stream whose music lull'd her to repose. But oh ! to him, whose self-accusing thought Whispers, 'twas he that desolation wrought ; He, who his country and his faith betray'd, And lent Castile revengeful, powerful aid ; A voice of sorrow swells in every gale, Each wave, low rippling, tells a mournful tale ; And as the shrubs, untended, unconfined, In wild exuberance rustle to the wind ; Each leaf hath language to his startled sense, And seems to murmur " Thou hast driven her hence !" 120 THE ABENCERRAGE. And well he feels to trace her flight were vain, Where hath lost love been once recall'd again ? In her pure breast, so long by anguish torn, His name can rouse no feeling now but scorn. O bitter hour ! when first the shuddering heart Wakes to behold the void within and start ! To feel its own abandonment, and brood O'er the chill'd bosom's depth of solitude. The stormy passions that in Hamet's breast Have sway'd so long, so fiercely, are at rest j Th' avenger's task is closed : 3 * he finds too late, It hath not changed his feelings, but his fate. His was a lofty spirit, turn'd aside From its bright path by woes, and wrongs, and pride j And onward in its new tumultuous course Borne with too rapid and intense a force To pause one moment in the dread career, And ask if such could be its native sphere ? Now are those days of wild delirium o'er, Their fears and hopes excite his soul no more ; THE ABENCERRAGE. 121 The feverish energies of passion close, And his heart sinks in desolate repose, Turns sickening from the world, yet shrinks not less From its own deep and utter loneliness. There is a sound of voices on the air, A flash of armour to the sunbeam's glare, Midst the wild Alpuxarras ; 36 there on high, Where mountain-snows are mingling with the sky, A few brave tribes, with spirit yet unbroke, Have fled indignant from the Spaniard's yoke. O ye dread scenes, where Nature dwells alone, Severely glorious on her craggy throne ; Ye citadels of rock, gigantic forms, Veil'd by the mists, and girdled by the storms, Ravines, and glens, and deep-resounding caves, That hold communion with the torrent- waves ; And ye, th' unstain'd and everlasting snows, That dwell above in bright and still repose ; 122 THE ABENCERRAGE. To you, in every clime, in every age, \ Far from the tyrant's or the conqueror's rage, Hath Freedom led her sons : untired to keep Her fearless vigils on the barren steep. ' She, like the mountain eagle, still delights To gaze exulting from unconquer'd heights, And build her eyrie in defiance proud, To dare the wind and mingle with the cloud. . Now her deep voice, the soul's awakener, swells, Wild Alpuxarras, through your inmost dells. There, the dark glens and lonely rocks among, As at the clarion's call, her children throng. She with enduring strength hath nerved each frame, And made each heart the temple of her flame, Her own resisting spirit, which shall glow Unquenchably, surviving all below. There high-bom maids, that moved upon the earth, More like bright creatures of aerial birth, THE AEENCERKAGE. 123 Nurslings of palaces, have fled to share The fate of brothers and of sires ; to bear, All undismay'd, privation and distress, And smile, the roses of the wilderness. And mothers with their infants, there to dwell In the deep forest or the cavern cell, And rear their offspring 1 midst the rocks, to be, If now no more the mighty, still the free. And midst that band are veterans, o'er whose head Sorrows and years their mingled snow have shed : They saw thy glory, they have wept thy fall, O royal city ! and the wreck of all They loved and hallow'd most : doth aught remain For these to prove of happiness or pain ? Life's cup is drain' d earth fades before their eye, Their task is closing they have but to die. Ask ye, why fled they hither ? that their doom Might be, to sink unfetter'd to the tomb. And youth, in all its pride of strength, is there j And buoyancy of spirit, form'd to dare 124 THE ABENCERRAGE. And suffer all things, fall'n on evil days, Yet darting o'er the world an ardent gaze, As on th' arena, where its powers may find Full scope to strive for glory with mankind. Such are the tenants of the mountain-hold, The high in heart, unconquer'd, uncontroll'd ; By day, the huntsmen of the wild by night, Unwearied guardians of the watch-fire's light. They from their bleak majestic home have caught A sterner tone of unsubmitting thought, While all around them bids the soul arise, To blend with Nature's dread sublimities. - But these are lofty dreams, and must not be Where tyranny is near : the bended knee, The eye, whose glance no inborn grandeur fires, And the tamed heart, are tributes she requires ; Nor must the dwellers of the rock look down On regal conquerors, and defy their frown. What warrior-band is toiling to explore The mountain-pass, with pine-wood shadowd o'er ? THE ABENCERRAGE. 125 Startling with martial sounds each rude recess, Where the deep echo slept in loneliness. These are the sons of Spain ! Your foes are near : O, exiles of the wild Sierra ! hear ! Hear ! wake ! arise ! and from your inmost caves Pour like the torrent in its might of waves ! Who leads th' invaders on ? his features bear The deep-worn traces of a calm despair j Yet his dark brow is haughty and his eye Speaks of a soul that asks not sympathy. 'Tis he ! 'tis he again ! th' apostate chief ; He comes in all the sternness of his grief. He comes, but changed in heart, no more to wield Falchion for proud Castile in battle-field, Against his country's children though he leads Castilian bands again to hostile deeds : His hope is but from ceaseless pangs to fly, To rush upon the Moslem spears, and die. So shall remorse and love the heart release, Which dares not dream of joy, but sighs for peace. 126 THE ABENCERRAGE. The mountain echos are awake a sound Of strife is ringing through the rocks around. Within the steep defile that winds between Cliffs piled on cliffs, a dark, terrific scene, There Moorish exile and Castilian knight Are wildly mingling in the serried fight. Red flows the foaming streamlet of the glen, Whose bright transparence ne'er was stain'd till then ; \Miile swell the war-note, and the clash of spears, To the bleak dwellings of the mountaineers, Where thy sad daughters, lost Granada ! wait, In dread suspense, the tidings of their fate. But he, whose spirit, panting for its rest, Would fain each sword concentrate in his breast Who, where a spear is pointed, or a lance Aim'd at another's breast, would still advance Courts death in vain ; each weapon glances by, As if for him 'twere bliss too great to die. Yes, Aben-Zurrah ! there are deeper woes Reserved for thee ere Nature's last repose ; the abencerhage; 1*27 Thou know'st not yet what vengeance fate can wreak, Nor all the heart can suffer ere it break. Doubtful and long the strife, and bravely fell The sons of battle in that narrow dell ; Youth in its light of beauty there hath past, And age, the weary, found repose at last ; Till few and faint the Moslem tribes recoil, Borne down by numbers, and o'erpower'd by toil. Dispersed, dishearten'd, through the pass they fly, Pierce the deep wood, or mount the cliff on high ; While Hamet's band in wonder gaze, nor dare Track o'er their dizzy path the footsteps of despair. Yet he, to whom each danger hath become A dark delight, and every wild a home, Still urges onward undismay'd to tread, Where life's fond lovers would recoil with dread ; But fear is for the happy they may shrink From the steep precipice, or torrent's brink ; They to whom earth is paradise their doom Lends no stern courage to approach the tomb : 128 THE ABENCERRAGE. Not such his lot, who, school'd by Fate severe, Were but too blest if aught remain'd to fear.s' Up the rude crags, whose giant-masses throw Eternal shadows o'er the glen below ; And by the fall, whose many tinctured spray Half in a mist of radiance veils its way, He holds his venturous track : supported now By some o'erhanging pine or ilex bough j Now by some jutting stone, that seems to dwell Half in mid-air, as balanced by a spell : Now hath his footstep gain'd the summit's head, A level span, with emerald verdure spread, A fairy circle there the heath-flowers rise, And the rock-rose unnoticed blooms and dies ; And brightly plays the stream, ere yet its tide In foam and thunder cleave the mountain side ; But all is wild beyond and Hamet's eye Roves o'er a world of rude sublimity. That dell beneath, where e'en at noon of day Earth's charter'd guest, the sunbeam, scarce can strayj THE ABENCERRAGE. 129 Around, untrodden woods ; and far above,, Where mortal footstep ne'er may hope to rove, Bare granite cliffs, whose fix'd, inherent dyes Rival the tints that float o'er summer skies ; 38 And the pure glittering snow-realm, yet more high, That seems a part of Heaven's eternity. There is no track of man where Hamet stands, Pathless the scene as Lybia's desert sands ; Yet on the calm, still air, a sound is heard Of distant voices, and the gathering- word Of Islam's tribes, now faint and fainter grown, Now but the lingering echo of a tone. That sound, whose cadence dies upon his ear, He follows, reckless if his bands are near. On by the rushing stream his way he bends, And through the mountain's forest zone ascends ; Piercing the still and solitary shades Of ancient pine, and dark, luxuriant glades, K 130 THE ABENCERRAGE. Eternal twilight's reign : those mazes past, The glowing sunbeams meet his eyes at last, And the lone wanderer now hath reach'd the source Whence the wave gushes, i'oaming on its course. But there he pauses for the lonely scene Towers in such dread magnificence of mien, And, mingled oft with some wild eagle's cry, From rock-built eyrie rushing to the sky, So deep the solemn and majestic sound Of forests, and of waters murmuring round, That, rapt in wondering awe, his heart forgets Its fleeting struggles, and its vain regrets. What earthly feeling, unabash'd, can dwell In Nature's mighty presence ? midst the swell Of everlasting hills, the roar of floods, And frown of rocks, and pomp of waving woods ? These their own grandeur on the soul impress, And bid each passion feel its nothingness. Midst the vast marble cliffs, a lofty cave Rears its broad arch beside the rushing wave j THE ABENCERRAOE. 131 Shadow'd by giant oaks, and rude, and lone, It seems the temple of some power unknown, Where earthly being may not dare intrude To pierce the secrets of the solitude. Yet thence at intervals a voice of wail Is rising, wild and solemn, on the gale. Did thy heart thrill, O Hamet, at the tone ? Came it not o'er thee as a spirit's moan ? As some loved sound, that long from earth had fled, The unforgotten accents of the dead ? E'en thus it rose and springing from his trance His eager footsteps to the sound advance. He mounts the cliffs, he gains the cavern floor, Its dark green moss with blood is sprinkled o'er : He rushes on and lo ! where Zayda rends Her locks, as o'er her slaughter'd sire she bends, Lost in despair ; yet as a step draws nigh, Disturbing sorrow's lonely sanctity ; k 2 13'2 THE ABENCEKRAGF.. She lifts her head, and all subdued by grief, Views, with a wild, sad smile, the once loved chiefs While rove her thoughts, unconscious of the past, And every woe forgetting but the last. " Com'st thou to weep with me ? for I am left Alone on earth, of every tie bereft. Low lies the warrior on his blood-stain'd bier > His child may call, but he no more shall hear ! He sleeps but never shall those eyes unclose ; 'Twas not my voice that lull'd him to repose, Nor can it break his slumbers. Dost thou mourn ? And is thy heart, like mine, with anguish torn ? Weep, and my soul a joy in grief shall know, That o'er his grave my tears with Hamet's flow!" But scarce her voice had breathed that well-known name, When, swiftly rushing o'er her spirit, came THE ABENCERRAGE. 1SS Each dark remembrance ; by affliction's power . Awhile effaced in that o'erwhelming hour, To wake with tenfold strength ; 'twas then her eye Resumed its light, her mien its majesty, And o'er iier wasted cheek a burning glow Spreads, while her lips' indignant accents flow. " Away ! I dream oh, how hath sorrow's might Bow'd down my soul, and quench'd its native light, That I should thus forget ! and bid thy tear With mine be mingled o'er a father's bier ! Did he not perish, haply by thy hand, In the last combat with thy ruthless band ? The morn beheld that conflict of despair: 'Twas then he fell he fell! and thou wert there! Thou ! who thy country's children hast pursued To their last refuge midst these mountains rude. Was it for this I loved thee ? Thou hast taught My soul all grief, all bitterness of thought ! 'Twill soon be past I bow to Heaven's decree, Which bade each pang be minister "d oy thee." 134 THE ABENCERRAGE. " I had not deeiu'd that aught remain'd below For me to prove of yet untasted woe ; But thus to meet thee, Zayda ! can impart One more, one keener agony of heart. Oh, hear me yet ! I would have died to save My foe, but still thy father, from the grave ; But in the fierce confusion of the strife, In my own stern despair, and scorn of life, Borne wildly on, I saw not, knew not aught, Save that to perish there in vain I sought. And let me share thy sorrows hadst thou known All I have felt in silence and alone, E'en thou mightst then relent, and deem at last A grief like mine might expiate all the past. But oh ! for thee, the loved and precious flower, So fondly rear'd in luxury's guarded bower, From every danger, every storm secured, How hast thou suffer'd ! what hast thou endured ! Daughter of palaces ! and can it be That this bleak desert is a home for thee ! THE AHENCERRAGE. 135 These rocks thi/ dwelling ! thou, who ahouldst have known Of life the sunbeam and the smile alone ! Oh, yet forgive ! be all my guilt forgot, Nor bid me leave thee to so rude a lot !" " That lot is fix'd ; 'twere fruitless to repine, Still must a gulf divide my fate from thine. I may forgive but not at will the heart Can bid its dark remembrances depart. No, Hamet, no ! too deeply these are traced, Yet the hour comes when all shall be effaced ! Not long on earth, not long shall Zayda keep Her lonely vigils o'er the grave to weep : E'en now, prophetic of my early doom, Speaks to my soul a presage of the tomb ; And ne'er in vain did hopeless mourner feel That deep foreboding o'er the bosom steal ! Soon shall I slumber calmly by the side Of him for whom I lived, and would have died ; 136 THE ABENCERRAGE. '1111 then, one thought shall soothe my orphan lot, In pain and peril I forsook him not. And now, farewell ! behold the summer-day Is passing, like the dreams of life, away. Soon will the tribe of him who sleeps, draw nigh, With the last rites his bier to sanctify. Oh, yet in time, away ! 'twere not my prayer Could move their hearts a foe like thee to spare ! This hour they come and dost thou scorn to fly ? Save me that one last pang to see thee die !" E'en while she speaks is heard their echoing tread, Onward they move, the kindred of the dead. They reach the cave they enter slow their pace, And calm, deep sadness marks each mourner's face, And all is hush'd till he who seems to wait In silent, stern devotedness, his fate, Hath met their glance then grief to fury turns ; Each mien is changed, each eye indignant burns, THE ABENCERKAGE. 137 And voices rise, and swords have left their sheath : Blood must atone for blood, and death for death ! They close around him : lofty still his mien, His cheek unalter'd, and his brow serene. Unheard, or heard in vain, is Zayda's cry; Fruitless her prayer, unmark'd her agony. But as his foremost foes their weapons bend Against the life he seeks not to defend, Wildly she darts between each feeling past, Save strong affection, which prevails at last. Oh ! not in vain its daring for the blow Aim'd at his heart hath bade her life-blood flow ; And she hath sunk a martyr on the breast, Where, in that hour, her head may calmly rest, For he is saved : behold the Zegri band, Pale with dismay and grief, around her stand ; While, every thought of hate and vengeance o'er, They weep for her who soon shall weep no more. She, she alone is calm : a fading smile, Like sunset, passes o'er her cheek the while ; 13S THE ABENCEURAOE. And in her eye, ere yet it closes, dwell Those last faint rays, the parting soul's farewell. " Now is the conflict past, and I have proved How well, how deeply thou hast been beloved ! Yes ! in an hour like this 'twere vain to hide The heart so long and so severely tried : Still to thy name that heart hath fondly thrill'd, But sterner duties call'd and were fulfill'd : And I am blest ! To every holier tie My life was faithful, and for thee I die ! Nor shall the love so purified be vain, Sever'd on earth, we yet shall meet again. Farewell! And ye, at Zayda's dying prayer, Spare him, my kindred-tribe ! forgive and spare ! Oh ! be his guilt forgotten in his woes, While I, beside my sire, in peace repose." Now fades her cheek, her voice hath sunk, and death Sits in her eye, and struggles in her breath. THE ABENCERRAGE. 139 One pang 'tis past her task on earth is done, And the pure spirit to its rest hath flown. But he for whom she died Oh ! who may paint The grief, to which all other woes were faint > There is no power in language to impart The deeper pangs, the ordeals of the heart, By the dread Searcher of the soul survey'd ; These have no words nor are by words portray'd. A dirge is rising on the mountain-air, Whose fitful swells its plaintive murmurs bear Far o'er the Alpuxarras ; wild its tone, And rocks and caverns echo " Thou art gone !" Daughter of heroes ! thou art gone To share his tomb who gave thee birth ; Peace to the lovely spirit flown ! It was not form'd for earth. Thou wert a sunbeam in thy race, Which brightly past, and left no trace. 140 THE ABENCERRAGE. But calmly sleep ! for thou art free, And hands unchain'd thy tomb shall raise. Sleep ! they are closed at length for thee. Life's few and evil days ! Nor shalt thou watch, with tearful eye, The lingering death of liberty. Flower of the desert ! thou thy bloom Didst early to the storm resign : We bear it still and dark their doom Who cannot weep for thine ! For us, whose every hope is fled, The time is past to mourn the dead. The days have been, when o'er thy bier Far other strains than these had flow'd ; Now, as a home from grief and fear, We hail thy dark abode ! We who but linger to bequeath Our sons the choice of chains or death. THE ABENCERRAGE. 141 Thou art with those, the free, the brave, The mighty of departed years ; And for the slumberers of the grave Our fate hath left no tears. Though loved and lost, to weep were vain For thee, who ne'er shalt weep again. Have we not seen, despoil'd by foes, The land our fathers won of yore ? And is there yet a pang for those Who gaze on this no more ? Oh, that like them 'twere ours to rest ! Daughter of heroes ! thou art blest ! A few short years, and in the lonely cave Where sleeps the Zegri maid, is Hamet's grave. Sever'd in life, united in the tomb Such, of the hearts that loved so well, the doom ! Their dirge, of woods and waves th' eternal moan, Their sepulchre, the pine-clad rocks alone. 142 THE ABENCERRAGE. And oft beside the midnight watch-fire's blaze, Amidst those rocks, in long departed days, (When Freedom fled, to hold, sequester'd there, The stern and lofty councils of despair j) Some exiled Moor, a warrior of the wild, Who the lone hours with mournful strains beguiled, Hath taught his mountain-home the tale of those Who thus have suffer'd, and who thus repose. NOTES. Note 1 , page 58, line 2. Not the light zambra. Zarubra, a Moorish dance. Note 2, page 58, line 5. Within the hall of Lions. The hall of Lions was the principal one of the Alhambra, and was so called from twelve sculptured lions which supported an alabaster basin in the centre. Note 3, page 59, line 2. His Aben-Zurrahs there young Hornet leads. Aben-Zurrahs; the name thus written is taken from the trans- lation of an Arabic MS. given in the 3d volume of Bourgoanne's Travels through Spain. Note 4, page C2, line 4. The Vega's green expanse. The Vega, the plain surrounding Granada, the scene of fre- quent actions between the Moors and Christians. 144 NOTES. Note 5, page 63, line 18. Seen 'midst the rednets of the desert storm. An extreme redness in the sky is the presage of the Simoom. See Brace's Travels. Note 6, page 65, lines 9 and 10. Stillness like that, when fierce the Kamsin's blast Hath o'er the dwellings of the desert pass'd. Of the Kamsin, a hot south wind, common in Egypt, we have the following account in Volney's Travels. " These winds are known in Egypt by the general name of winds of fifty days, because they prevail more frequently in the fifty days preceding and following the equinox. They are mentioned by travellers under the name of the poisonous winds, or hot winds of the desert: their heat is so excessive, that it is difficult to form any idea of its violence without having experienced it. When they begin to blow, the sky, at other times so clear in this climate, becomes dark and heavy ; the sun loses his splendor, and appears of a violet colour; the air is not cloudy, but grey and thick, and is filled with a subtle dust, which penetrates every where : respira- tion becomes short and difficult, the skin parched and dry, the lungs are contracted and painful, and the body consumed with internal heat. In vain is coolness sought for; marble, iron, water, though the sun no longer appears, are hot: the streets are deserted, and a dead silence appears every where. The natives of towns and villages shut themselves up in their houses, and NOTES. 145 those of the desert in tents, or holes dug in the ea T\h, where they wait the termination of this heat, which generally lasts three days. Woe to the traveller whom it surprises remote from shelter: he must suffer all its dreadful effects, which are sometimes mortal." Note 7, page 71, line 18. While tearless eyes enjoy the honey dews of sleep. " Enjoy the honey-heavy-dew of slumber." Sliahpearc. Note 8, page 84, line 18. On the green Vega won in single fight. Garcilaso de la Vega derived his surname from a single combat (in which he was the victor), with a Moor, on the Vega of Granada. Note 9, page 86, line 6. Who drank for man the bitter cup of tears. " El Rey D. Fernando bolvi6 a la Vega, y puso su Real a la vista de Huecar, a veyute y seys dias del mes de Abril, adonde fue fortificado de todo lo necessario ; poniendo el Christiano toda su gente en esquadron, con todas sus vanderas tendidas, y su Real Estandarte, el qual llevava por divisa un Christo crucifi- cado. ''Historia de las giierras civiles de Granada. Note 10, page 86, line last. From yon rich province of the western star. Andalusia signifies, in Arabic, the region of the evening of the 146 XOTFS. west; in a word, the Helped i of the Greeks See Cusiri. Bihliot. Arabico Hispana, and Gibbon's Decline and Fall, i$ r. Note 11, page 87, line 4. The mow-white charger, and the auire etttt, " Los Abencerrages salieron con su acostumbrada librea azul y blanca, todos llenos de ricos texidos de plata, las plumas de la misma color; en sus adargas, su acostumbrada divisa, salvages que desquixalavan leones, y otros un mundo que lo deshazia on selvage con un baston." Guerrat civiles de Granada. Note 12, page 88, line 10, TV eternal snow that crowns Veleta?* heud. The loftiest heights of the Sierra Nevada are those called Mul- liacen and Picacho de Veleta. Note 13, page 88, line last. The wounded sought a shelter, and expired. It is known to be a frequent circHmstance in battle, that the dying and the wounded drag themselves, as it were mechanically, to the shelter which may be afforded by any bush or thicket on the field. Note 14, page 102, line 1. Severely beauteous. " Severe in youthful beauty." Milton. NOTES. 14* Note 15, page 104, line 5. While streams that bear thee treasures in their wave. Granada stands upon two hills separated by the Darro. The Genii runs under the walls. The Darro is said to carry with its stream small particles of gold, and the Genii, of silver. When Charles V. came to. Granada with the Empress Isabella, the city presented him with a crown made of gold, which had been col- lected from the Darro. See Bourgoanne's and other Travels. Note 16, page 104, line last. The hearts of warriors echo to its call. " At this period, while the inhabitants of Granada were sunk in indolence, one of those men, whose natural and impassioned elo- quence has sometimes aroused a people to deeds of heroism, raised his voice, in the midst of the city, and awakened the inhabitants from their lethargy. Twenty thousand enthusiasts, ranged under his banners, were prepared to sally forth, with the fury of despera- tion, to attack the besiegers, when Abo Abdeli, more afraid of his subjects than of the enemy, resolved immediately to capitulate, and made terms with the Christians, by which it was agreed that the Moors should be allowed the free exercise of their religion and laws; should be permitted, if they thought proper, to depart unmolested with their effects to Africa ; and that he himself, it he remained in Spain, should retain an extensive estate, with houses and slaves, or be granted an equivalent-in money if he preferred retiring to Barbary." See Jacob's Travels in Spain. l2 148 NOTES. Note 17, page 105, line last. Atarques, Zegris, Almoia&is, hear ! Azarques, Zegris, Almoradis, different tribe* of the Moors of Granada, all of high distinction. Note 18, page 106, line 2. Dyed with no blood but that of hostile bands. The conquest of Granada was greatly facilitated by the civil dissensions which, at this period, prevailed in the city. Several of the Moorish tribes, influenced by private feuds, were fully pre- pared for submission to the Spaniards ; others had embraced the cause of Muley el Zagal, the uncle and competitor for the throne of Abdallah, (or Abo Abdeli) and all was jealousy and animosity. Note 19, page 106, line 6. When Tank's bands o'erspread the western shore. Tarik, the first leader of the Arabs and Moors into Spain. ' The Saracens landed at the pillar or point of Europe : the corrupt and familiar appellation of Gibraltar, (Gebei al Tarik) describes the mountain of Tarik, and the entrenchments of his camp were the first outline of those fortifications, which, in the hands of our coun- trymen, have resisted the art and power of the House of Bourbon. The adjacent governors informed the court of Toledo of the de- scent and progress of the Arabs j and the defeat of his lieutenant Edeco, who had been commanded to seize and bind the presump- tuous strangers, first admonished Roderic of the magnitude of the Norts. 149 danger. At the royal summons, the dukes and counts, the bishops and nobles of the Gothic monarchy, assembled at the head of t\"~' r followers, and the title of king of the Romans, which is employed by an Arabic historian, may be excused by the close affinity of lan- guage, religion, and manners, between the nations of Spain." Gibbon's Decline and Fall, #c. Vol. 9, p. 472, 473. Note 20, page 106, line 7. When the long combat raged on Xeres' plain. " In the neighbourhood of Cadiz, the town of Xeres has been illustrated by the encounter which determined the fiite of the kingdom; the stream of the Guadalete, which falls iuto the bay, divided the two camps, and marked the advancing aud retreating skirmishes of three successive days. On the fourth day, the two armies joined a more serious and decisive issue. Notwithstand- ing the valour of the Saracens, they fainted under the weight of multitudes, and the plain of Xeres was overspread with sixteen thousand of their dead bodies. "My brethren," said Tarik to his surviving companions, " the enemy is before you, the sea is be- hind ; whither would ye fly ? Follow your general; I am resolved cither to lose my life, or to trample on the prostrate king of the Romans." Besides the resource of despair, he confided in the secret correspondence and nocturnal interviews of Count Julian with the sons and the brother of Wit'ua. The two princes, and the archbishop of Toledo, occupied the most important post: their well-timed defection broke the ranks of the Christians; each war- rior was prompted by fear or suspicion to consult his personal 150 NOTES. safety ; and the remains of the Gothic army were scattered or destroyed in the flight and pursuit of the three following days." Gibbon's Decline and Fall, #c. Vol. 9, p. 473, 474. Note 21, page 106, line 8. And Afric's tecbir swell'd through yielding Spain. The tecbir, the shout of onset used by the Saracens in battle. Note 22, page 109, line 3. Ye, that around the oaken cross of yore. The oaken cross, carried by Pelagius in battle. Note 23, page 110, line 3. And thou, the warrior born in happy hour. See Southey's Chronicle of the Cid, in which that warrior is frequently styled, " he who was born in happy hour." Note 24, page 110, lines 11 and 12. E'en in the realm of spirits didst retain A patriot's vigilance, remembering Spain ! " Moreover, when the Miramamolin brought over from Africa against King Don Alfonso, the eighth of that name, the mightiest power of the misbelievers that had ever been brought against Spain, since the destruction of the kings of the Goths, the Cid C'ampeador remembered his country in that great danger; for the night before the battle was fought at the Navas de Tolosa, in the dead of the night, a mighty sound was heard in the whole city of Leon, as if it were the tramp of a great army passing through; and NOTES. 151 it passed on to the royal monastery of St. lsidro, and there was a great knocking at the gate thereof, and they called to a priest who was keeping vigils in the church, and told him, that the captains of the array whom he heard were the Cid Ruydiez, and Count Ferran Gonzalez, and that they came there to call up King Don Ferrando the Great, who lay buried in that church, that he might go widi them to deliver Spain. And on the morrow that great battle of the Navas de Tolosa was fought, wherein sixty thousand of the misbelierers were slain, which was one of the greatest and noblest battles ever won over the Moors." Southey's Chronicle of the Cid. Note 25, page 111, line 6. realm of evening! The name of Andalusia, the region of evening or of the west, was applied by the Arabs not only to the province so called, but to the whole peninsula. Note 26, page 111, line 7. What banner streams from high Comares' tower f The tower of Comares is the highest and most magnificent in the Alhambra. Note 27, page 1 13, lines 15 and 16. TJie y reach those towers irregularly vast And rude they seem, in mould barbaric cast. Swinburne, after describing the noble palace built by Charles V. in the precincts of the Alhambra, thus proceeds: " Adjoining (to 152 NOTES. the north) stands a huge heap of as ugly buildings as can well be seen, all huddled together, seemingly without the least intentiou of forming one habitation out of them. The walls are entirely un- ornamented, all gravel and pebbles, daubed over with plaster by a very coarse hand; yet this is the palace of the Moorish kings of Granada, indisputably the most curious place within, that exists in Spain, perhaps in Europe. In many countries you may see excellent modern as well as ancient architecture, both entire and in ruins ; but nothing to be met with any where else can convey an idea of this edifice, except you take it from the decorations of an opera, or the tales of the Genii." Svrinburne's Travels through Spain. Note 28, page 114, line 2. A Genii palace an Arabian heaven. " Passing round the corner of the emperor's palace, you are admitted at a plain unornaraented door, in a corner. On my first visit, I confess, I was struck with amazement as I stept over the threshold, to find myself on a sudden transported into a species of fairy land. The first place you come to is the court called the Communa, or del Mesucar, that is, the common baths: an oblong square, with a deep bason of clear water in the middle ; two flights of marble steps leading down to the bottom ; on each side a par- terre of flowers, and a row of orange-trees. Hound the court runs a peristyle paved with marble ; the arches bear upon very slight pillars, in proportions and style different from all the regularordcrs of architecture. The ceilings and walls are incrustated with fret- NOTES. 153 work in stucco, so minute and intricate, that the most patient draughtsman would find it difficult to follow it, unless he made himself master of the general plan." Swinburne's Travels in Spain. Note 29, page 115, line 16. Borders the walls in characters of gold. The walls and cornices of the Alhambra are covered with in- scriptions in Arabic characters. " In examining this abode of magnificence," says Bourgoanne, " the observer is every moment astonished at the new and interesting mixture of architecture and poetry. The palace of the Alhambra may be called a collection of fugitive pieces j and whatever duration these may have, time, with which every thing passes awa\', has too much contributed to confirm to them that title." See Bourgoanne's Travels in Spain. Note 30, page 116, line 3. Tambour, and flute, and atabal, are there- Atabal, a kind of Moorish drum. Note 31, page 116, line 6. Granada! for Castile and Arragnn! " Y ansi entraron en la ciudad, y subieron al Alhambra, y en- cima de la torre de Comares tan famosa se levantb la serial de la Sauta Cruz, y luego el real estandarte de los dos Christianos reyes. Y al punto los reyes de armas, a grandes bozes dizieron, ' Granada, Granada, por su magestad, y por la reyna su muger.' La serenissima reyua D. Isabel, que vio la sciial de la Santa 154 Cruz sobre la hcrmosa torre de Comares, y el su estandartc real con ella, se hincd de Rodillas, y did infinitas gracias a Dios por la victoria que le avia dado contra aquella gran ciudad. La musica real de la capilla del rey luego a canto de organo canto Te Deum laudaraus. Fue tan grande el plazer que todos Uoravan. Luego del Alhambra sonaron mil instrumentos de musica de belicas trompetas. Los Moros amigos del rey, que querian ser Christianos, cuya cabeza era el valeroso Muca, tomaron mil dulzaynas y anafiles, sonando grande ruydo de atambores por toda la Ciudad." Historia de las guerras civiles de Granada. Note 32, page 1 1 6, line 8. The festal lamps innumerably Hate. '* Los cavalleros Moros que avemos dicho, aquella noclie jngaron galanamente alcancias y cafias. Andava Granada aquella noclie con tanta alegria, y con tantas luminarias, que parecia que se ardia la terra.*' Historia de las Guerras chiles ae Granada. Swinburne, in his Travels through Spain in the years 1775 and 1 77n, mentions, that the anniversary of the surrender of Granada to Ferdinand and Isabella was still observed in the city as a great festival and day of rejoicing; and that the populace on that occasion paid an annual visit to the Moorish palace. Note 33, page 1 1 7, line last. 7b Ajric't wilds the royal exile Jlies. " Los Gomeles (odos se passaron en Africa, y el IUy Chko NOTES. 155 con ulloi, que no quito estar en Espaiia, y en Africa le mataron los Moros de aquellas partes, porque perdio & Granada." Guerras civites de Granada. Note 34, page 118, line 16. Of him who knew not, as a man, to die. Abo Abdeli, upon leaving Granada, after its conquest by Fer- dinand and Isabella, stopped on the hill of Padul to take a last look of his city and palace. Overcome by the sight, he burst into tears, and was thus reproached by his mother, the Sultaness Ayia: " Thou dost well to weep, like a woman, over the loss of that kingdom which thou knewest not how to defend and die for, like a man.'' Note 35, page 120, line 11. TK avenger's task is closed. u El Rey mando, que si quedavan Zegris, que no viviessen en Granada, por la maldad que hizieron contra los Abencerrages. Guerras civile* de Granada. Note 36, page 191, line 7. Midst the wild Alpuxarras. " The Alpuxarras are so lofty, that the coast of Barbary, and the cities of Tangier and Ceuta, are discovered from their summits; they are about seventeen leagues in length, from Veles Malaga to Almeria, and eleven in breadth, and abound with fruit-trees of ] 56 NOTES. great beauty and prodigious size. In these mountains the wretched remains of the Moors took refuge." Bourgoanne's Travels in Spain, Note 37, page 128, line 9. Were but too blest if aught remain' d to fear. " Plut a Dieu que je craignisse !" Andromaque. Note 38, page 129, line 4, Iliad the tints that Jloat o'er summer skies. Mrs. Radcliffe, in her journey along the banks of the Rhine, thus describes the colours of granite rocks in the mountains of the Bergstrasse. " The nearer we approached these mountains, the more we had occasion to admire the various tints of their granites. Sometimes the precipices were of a faint pink, then of a deep red, a dull purple, or a blush approaching to lilac, and sometimes gleams of a pale yellow mingled with the low shrubs that grew upon their sides. The day was cloudless and bright, and we were too near these heights to be deceived by the illu- sions of aerial colouring ; the real hues of their features were as beautiful as their magnitude was sublime." THE LAST BANQUET ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Antony, concluding that he could not die more honourably than in battle, determined to attack Caesar at the same time both by sea and land. The night preceding the execution of this de- sign, he ordered his servants at supper to ren- der him their best services that evening, and fill the wine round plentifully, for the day fol- lowing they might belong to another master, whilst he lay extended on the ground, no longer of consequence either to them or to himself. His friends were affected, and wept to hear him talk thus; which, when he perceived/he en- couraged them by assurances that his expecta- tions of a glorious victory were at least equal to those of an honourable death. At the dead of night, when universal silence reigned through the city, a silence that was deepened by the awful thought of the ensuing day, on a sudden was heard the sound of musical instruments, and a noise which resembled the exclamations of Bacchanals. This tumultuous procession seemed to pass through the whole city, and to go out at the gate which led to the enemy's camp. Those who reflected on this prodigy concluded that Bacchus, the god whom Antony affected to imitate, had then forsaken him." Langhornes Plutarch. THE LAST BANQUET ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. THY foes had girt thee with their dread array, O stately Alexandria ! yet the sound Of mirth and music, at the close of day, Swell'd from thy splendid fabrics, far around O'er camp and wave. Within the royal hall, In gay magnificence the feast was spread ; And, brightly streaming from the pictured wall, A thousand lamps their trembling lustre shed O'er many a column, rich with precious dyes, That tinge the marble's vein, 'neath Afric's burning skies. 162 THE LAST BANQUET OF And soft and clear that wavering radiance play'd O'er sculptured forms, that round the pillar'd scene, Calm and majestic rose, by art array'd In godlike beauty, awfully serene. Oh ! how unlike the troubled guests, reclined Round that luxurious board ! in every face, Some shadow from the tempest of the mind, Rising by fits, the searching eye might trace, Though vainly mask'd in smiles which are not mirth, But the proud spirit's veil thrown o'er the woes of earth. Their brows are bound with wreaths, whose transient bloom May still survive the wearers and the rose Perchance may scarce be wither'd, when the tomb Receives the mighty to its dark repose ! The day must dawn on battle and may set In death but fill the mantling wine-cup high ! [Despair is fearless, and the Fates e'en yet Lend her one hour for parting revelry. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 163 They who the empire of the world possess'd, Would taste its joys again, ere all exchanged for rest. Its joys ! oh ! mark yon proud triumvir's mien, And read their annals on that brow of care ! 'Midst pleasure's lotus-bowers his steps have been j Earth's brightest pathway led him to despair. Trust not the glance that fain would yet inspire The buoyant energies of days gone by; There is delusion in its meteor-fire, And all within is shame, is agony ! Away ! the tear in bitterness may flow, But there are smiles which bear a stamp of deeper woe. Thy cheek is sunk, and faded as thy fame, O lost, devoted Roman ! yet thy brow To that ascendant and undying name, Pleads with stern loftiness thy right e'en now. Mi 1 64 THE LAST BANQUET OF Thy glory is departed but hath left A lingering light around thee in decay Not less than kingly, though of all bereft, Thou seem' st as empire had not pass'd away. Supreme in ruin ! teaching hearts elate, A deep, prophetic dread of still mysterious fate ! But thou, enchantress-queen ! whose love hath made His desolation thou art by his side, In all thy sovereignty of charms array'd, To meet the storm with still unconquer'd pride. Imperial being ! e'en though many a stain Of error be upon thee, there is power In thy commanding nature, which shall reign O'er the stern genius of misfortune's hour ; And the dark beauty of thy troubled eye E'en now is all illumed with wild sublimity. Thine aspect, all impassion'd, wears a light Inspiring and inspired thy cheek a dye, ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 165 Which rises not from joy, but yet is bright With the deep glow of feverish energy. Proud siren of the Nile ! thy glance is fraught With an immortal fire in every beam It darts, there kindles some heroic thought, But wild and awful as a sybil's dream ; For thou with death hast communed, to attain Dread knowledge of the pangs that ransom from the chain. ' And the stern courage by such musings lent, Daughter of Afric ! o'er thy beauty throws The grandeur of a regal spirit, blent With all the majesty of mighty woes ! While he, so fondly, fatally adored, Thy fallen Roman, gazes on thee yet, Till scarce the soul, that once exulting soar'd, Can deem the day-star of its glory set ; Scarce his charm'd heart believes that power can be In sovereign fate, o'er him, thus fondly loved by thee. 160 THE LAST BANQUET OF But there is sadness in the eyes around, Which mark that ruin'd leader, and survey His changeful mien, whence oft the gloom profound, Strange triumph chases haughtily away. '* Fill the bright goblet, warrior guests !" he cries, " Quaff, ere we part, the generous nectar deep ! Ere sunset gild once more the western skies, Your chief, in cold forgetfulness, may sleep, While sounds of revel float o'er shore and sea, And the red bowl again is crown'd but not for me. " Yet weep not thus the struggle is not o'er, O victors of Philippi ! many a field Hath yielded palms to us : one effort more, By one stern conflict must our doom be seal'd ! Forget not, Romans ! o'er a subject world How royally your eagle's wing hath spread, Though from his eyrie of dominion hurl'd, Now bursts the tempest on his crested head ! ANTONY AKD CLEOPATRA. 167 Yet sovereign still, if banish'd from the sky, The sun's indignant bird, he must not droop but die." The feast is o'er. 'Tis night, the dead of night Unbroken stillness broods o'er earth and deep ; From Egypt's heaven of soft and starry light The moon looks cloudless o'er a world of sleep : For those who wait the morn's awakening beams, The battle signal to decide their doom, Have sunk to feverish rest and troubled dreams ; Rest, that shall soon be calmer in the tomb, Dreams, dark and ominous, but there to cease, When sleep the lords of war in solitude and* peace. Wake, slumberers, wake ! Hark ! heard ye not a sound Of gathering tumult ? Near and nearer still Its murmur swells. Above, below, around, Bursts a strange chorus forth, confused and shrill. 168 THE LAST BANQUET OF, %c. Wake, Alexandria ! through thy streets the tread Of steps unseen is hurrying, and the note Of pipe, and lyre, and trumpet, wild and dread, Is heard upon the midnight air to float ; And voices, clamorous as in frenzied mirth, Mingle their thousand tones, which are not of the earth. These are no mortal sounds their thrilling strain Hath more mysterious power, and birth more high ; And the deep horror chilling every vein Owns them of stern, terrific augury. Beings of worlds unknown ! ye pass away, O ye invisible and awful throng ! Your echoing footsteps and resounding lay To Caesar's camp exulting move along. Thy gods forsake thee, Antony ! the sky By that dread sign reveals thy doom " Despair and die !" 2 NOTES. Note 1, page 165, line 8. Dread knowledge of the pangs that ransomfrom the chain. Cleopatra made a collection of poisonous drugs, and being desirous to know which was least painful in the operation, she tried them on the capital convicts. Such poisons as were quick in their operation, she found to be attended with violent pain and convulsions ; such as were milder were slow in their effect : she therefore applied herself to the examination of venomous creatures; and at length she found that the bite of the asp was the most eligible kind of death; for it brought on a gradual kind of lethargy. See Plutarch. Note 2, page 1 68, line last. Despair and die I " To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword ; despair and die !" Richard 111. ALARIC IN ITALY. After describing the conquest of Greece and Italy by the German and Scythian hordes, united under the command of Alaric, the historian of " The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," thus proceeds : " Whether fame, or conquest, or riches, were the object of Alaric, he pursued that object with an indefatigable ardour, which could neither be quelled by adversity, nor sa- tiated by success. No sooner had he reached the extreme land of Italy than he was attracted by the neighbouring prospect of a fair and peaceful island. Yet even the possession of Sicily he considered only as an intermediate step to the important expedition which he already meditated against the continent of Africa. The straits of Rhegium and Messina are twelve miles in length, and, in the narrowest passage, about one mile and a half broad ; and the fa- bulous monsters of the deep, the rocks of Scylla, and the whirlpool of Charybdis, could terrify none but the most timid and unskilful mariners : yet, as soon as the first division of the Goths had embarked, a sudden tempest arose, which s\mk or scattered many of the transports : their courage was daunted by the terrors of a new element j and the whole design was defeated by the premature death of Alaric, which fixed, after a short illness, the fatal term of his con- quests. The ferocious character of the barba- rians was displayed in the funeral of a hero, whose valour and fortune they celebrated with mournful applause. By the labour of a captive multitude they forcibly diverted the course of the Busentinus, a small river that washes the walls of Consentia. The royal sepulchre, adorned with the splendid spoils and trophies of Rome, was constructed in the vacant bed ; the waters were then restored to their natural channel, and the secret spot, where the remains of Alaric had been deposited, was for ever con- cealed by the inhuman massacre of the prisoners who had been employed to execute the work." See the Decline and Fall of the Roman Em- pire, Vol. 5, page 329. ALARIC IN ITALY. HEARD ye the Gothic trumpet's blast ? The march of hosts, as Alaric pass'd ? His steps have track'd that glorious clime, The birth-place of heroic time ; But he, in northern deserts bred, Spared not the living for the dead, ' Nor heard the voice, whose pleading cries From temple and from tomb arise. He pass'd the light of burning fanes Hath been his torch o'er Grecian plains } And woke they not the brave, the free, To guard their own Thermopylae ? And left they not their silent dwelling, AYhen Scythia's note of war was swelling ? N 178 ALARIC IN ITALY. No ! where the bold Three Hundred slept, Sad freedom battled not but wept ! For nerveless then the Spartan's hand, And Thebes could rouse no Sacred Band ; Nor one high soul from slumber broke, When Athens own'd the northern yoke. But was there none for thee to dare The conflict, scorning to despair ? O city of the seven proud hills ! Whose name e'en yet the spirit thrills, As doth a clarion's battle-call, Didst thou too, ancient empress, fall ? Did no Camillus from the chain Ransom thy Capitol again ? Oh ! who shall tell the days to be, No patriot rose to bleed for thee ? Heard ye the Gothic trumpet's blast ? The march of hosts, as Alaric pass'd ? ALARTC IN ITALY. 179 That fearful sound, at midnight deep, 8 Burst on th' eternal city's sleep : How woke the mighty ? She, whose will So long had bid the world be still, Her sword a sceptre, and her eye Th' ascendant star of destiny ! She woke to view the dread array Of Scythians rushing to their prey, To hear her streets resound the cries Pour'd from a thousand agonies ! While the strange light of flames, that gave A ruddy glow to Tyber's wave, Bursting in that terrific hour From fane and palace, dome and tower, Reveal'd the throngs, for aid divine Clinging to many a worshipp'd shrine ; Fierce fitful radiance wildly shed O'er spear and sword, with carnage red, Shone o'er the suppliant and the flying, And kindled pyres for Romans dying. n 2 180 ALARIC IN ITALT. Weep, Italy ! alas ! that e'er Should tears alone thy wrongs declare ! The time hath been when thy distress Had roused up empires for redress ! Now, her long race of glory run, Without a combat Rome is won, And from her plunder'd temples forth Rush the fierce children of the north, To share beneath more genial skies Each joy their own rude clime denies. Ye who on bright Campania's shore Bade your fair villas rise of yore, With all their graceful colonnades, And crystal baths, and myrtle shades, Along the blue Hesperian deep, Whose glassy waves in sunshine sleep ; Beneath your olive and your vine Far other inmates now recline, And the tall plane, whose roots ye fed With rich libations duly shed, 3 ALAKIC IN ITALY. 181 O'er guests, unlike your vanish'd friends, Its bowery canopy extends : For them the southern heaven is glowing, The bright Falernian nectar flowing j For them the marble halls unfold, Where nobler beings dwelt of old, Whose children for barbarian lords Touch the sweet lyre's resounding chords, Or wreaths of Paestan roses twine, To crown the sons of Elbe and Rhine. Yet though luxurious they repose Beneath Corinthian porticoes, While round them into being start, The marvels of triumphant art ; Oh ! not for them hath genius given To Parian stone the fire of heaven, Enshrining in the forms he wrought A bright eternity of thought. In vain the natives of the skies In breathing marble round them rise. 182 ALARIC IN ITALY. And sculptured nymphs, of fount or glade, People the dark -green laurel shade j Cold are the conqueror's heart and eye To visions of divinity ; And rude his hand which dares deface The models of immortal grace. Arouse ye from your soft delights ! Chieftains ! the war-note's call invites ; And other lands must yet be won, And other deeds of havock done. Warriors ! your flowery bondage break, Sons of the stormy north, awake ! The barks are launching from the steep, Soon shall the Isle of Ceres weep, * And Afric's burning winds afar Waft the shrill sounds of Alaric's war. Where shall his race of victory close ? When shall the ravaged earth repose ? ALARIC IN ITALY. 183 But hark ! what wildly mingling cries From Scythia's camp tumultuous rise ? Why swells dread Alaric's name on air ? A sterner conqueror hath been there ! A conqueror yet his paths are peace, He comes to bring the world's release ; He of the sword that knows no sheath, Th' avenger, the deliverer Death ! Is then that daring spirit fled ? Doth Alaric slumber with the dead ? t Tamed are the warrior's pride and strength, And he and earth are calm at length. The land where heaven unclouded shines, Where sleep the sunbeams on the vines ; The land by conquest made his own, Can yield him now a grave alone. But his her lord from Alp to sea No common sepulchre shall be ! Oh, make his tomb where mortal eye Its buried wealth may ne'er descry ! 184 ALARIC IN ITALY. Where mortal foot may never tread Above a victor-monarch's bed. Let not his royal dust be hid 'Neath star-aspiring pyramid 5 Nor bid the gather'd mound arise, To bear his memory to the skies. Years roll away oblivion claims Her triumph o'er heroic names j And hands profane disturb the clay That once was fired with glory's ray ; And Avarice, from their secret gloom, Drags e'en the treasures of the tomb. But thou, O leader of the free ! That general doom awaits not thee ! Thou, where no step may e'er intrude, Shalt rest in regal solitude, Till, bursting on thy sleep profound, Tli* Awakener's final trumpet sound. Turn ye the waters from their course, Bid Nature ) ield to human force, AXAR1C IN ITALY. 185 And hollow in the torrent's bed A chamber for the mighty dead. The work is done the captive's hand Hath well obey'd his lord's command. Within that royal tomb are cast The richest trophies of the past, The wealth of many a stately dome, The gold and gems of plunder'd Rome ; And when the midnight stars are beaming, And ocean-waves in stillness gleaming, Stern in their grief, his warriors bear The Chastener of the Nations there ; To rest, at length, from victory's toil, Alone, with all an empire's spoil ! Then the freed current's rushing wave, Rolls o'er the secret of the grave ; Then streams the martyr'd captives' blood To crimson that sepulchral flood, Whose conscious tide alone shall keep The mystery in its bosom deep. 186 ALAKIC IN ITALY. Time hath past on since then and swept From earth the urns where heroes slept ; Temples of gods, and domes of kings, Are mouldering with forgotten things j Yet shall not ages e'er molest The viewless home of Alaric's rest : Still rolls, like them, th' unfailing river, The guardian of his dust for ever. NOTES. Note 1, page 177, line 6. Spared not the living for the dead. After the taking of Athens by Sjlla, " though such numbers were put to the sword, there were as many who laid violent hands upon themselves in grief for their sinking country. What reduced the best men among them to this despair of finding any mercy or moderate terms for Athens, was the well-known cruelty of Sylla; yet partly by the intercession of Midias and Calliphon, and the exiles who threw themselves at his feet, partly by the entreaties of the senators who attended him in that expedition, and being himself satiated with blood besides, he was at last prevailed upon to stop his hand, and in compliment to the ancient Athenians, he said, " he forgave the many for the sake of the few, the living for the dead." Plutarch. Note 2, page 179, line I. That fearful sound, at midnight deep. " At the hour of midnight, the Salarian gate was silently opened, and the inhabitants were awakened by the tremendous sound of 188 NOTES. the Gothic trumpet. Eh'ven hundred and sixty-three years after the foundation of Rome, the imperial city, which had subdued and civilised so considerable a portion of mankind, was delivered to the licentious fury of the tribes of Germany and Scythia." Decline and Fall of' the Roman Empire, Vol- b, p. 311. Note 3, page 180, line last. With rich libutions duly shed. The plane-tree was much cultivated among the Romans, on account of its extraordinary shade; and they used to nourish it with wine instead of water, believing (as Sir W. Temple observes) that " this tree loved that liquor as well as those who used to drink under its shale." See the notes to Melmoth's Pliny. Note 4, page 182, line 14. Soon shall the Isle of Ceres weep- Sicily was anciently considered as the favoured and peculiar dominion of Ceres. THE WIFE OF ASDRUBAL. "This governor, who had braved death when it was at a distance, and protested that the sun should never see him survive Carthage, this fierce Asdrubal, was so mean-spirited, as to come alone, and privately throw himself at the con- queror's feet. The general, pleased to see his proud rival humbled, granted his life, and kept him to grace his triumph. The Cartha- ginians in the citadel no sooner understood that their commander had abandoned the place, than they threw open the gates, and put the proconsul in possession of Byrsa. The Romans had now no enemy to contend with but the nine hundred deserters, who, being reduced to despair, retired into the temple of Esculapius, (which was a second citadel within the first : there the proconsul attacked them; and these unhappy wretches, finding there was no way to escape, set fire to the temple. As the flames spread, they retreated from one part to another, till they got to the roof of the building : there Asdrubal's wife appeared in her best apparel, as if the day of her death had been a day of triumph; and after having uttered the most bitter imprecations against her husband, whom she saw standing below with Emilianus, * Base coward !' said she, ' the mean things thou hast done to save thy life shall not avail thee 3 thou shalt die this instant, at least in thy two children.* Having thus spoken, she drew out a dagger, stabbed them both, and while they were yet struggling for life, threw them from the top of the temple, and leaped down after them into the flames." Ancient Universal History. WIFE OF ASDRUBAL. THE sun sets brightly but a ruddier glow O'er Afric's heaven the flames of Carthage throw ; Her walls have sunk, and pyramids of fire In lurid splendor from her domes aspire j Sway'd by the wind, they wave while glares the sky As when the desert's red Simoom is nigh j The sculptured altar, and the pillar'd hall, Shine out in dreadful brightness ere they fall ; Far o'er the seas the light of ruin streams, Rock, wave, and isle, are crimson'd by its beams ; While captive thousands, bound in Roman chains, Gaze in mute horror on their burning fanes ; And shouts of triumph, echoing far around, Swell from the victor's tents with ivy crown'd.* * It was a Roman custom to adorn the tents of victors with ivy. 194 THE WIFE OF ASDRUBAL. -But mark ! from yon fair temple's loftiest height What towering form bursts wildly on the sight, All regal in magnificent attire, And sternly beauteous in terrific ire ? She might be deem'd a Pythia in the hour Of dread communion and delirious power j A being more than earthly, in whose eye There dwells a strange and fierce ascendancy. The flames are gathering round intensely bright, Full on her features glares their meteor-light, But a wild courage sits triumphant there, The stormy grandeur of a proud despair ; A daring spirit, in its woes elate, Mightier than death, untameable by fate. The dark profusion of her locks unbound, Waves like a warrior's floating plumage round ; Flush'd is her cheek, inspired her haughty mien, She seems th' avenging goddess of the scene. Are those her infants, that with suppliant-cry Cling round her, shrinking as the flame draws nigh, THE WIFE OF ASDRUBAL. 195 Clasp with their feeble hands her gorgeous vest, And fain would rush for shelter to her breast ? Is that a mother's glance, where stern disdain, And passion awfully vindictive, reign } Fix'd is her eye on Asdrubal, who stands, Ignobly safe, amidst the conquering bands j On him, who left her to that burning tomb, Alone to share her children's martyrdom ; Who when his country perish'd, fled the strife, And knelt to win the worthless boon of life. "Live, traitor, live !" she cries, " since dear to thee, E'en in thy fetters, can existence be ! Scorn'd and dishonour' d, live ! with blasted name, The Roman's triumph not to grace, but shame. O slave in spirit ! bitter be thy chain With tenfold anguish to avenge my pain ! Still may the man&s of thy children rise To chase calm slumber from thy wearied eyes \ o2 196 THE WIFE OF ASDRUBAL. Still may their voices on the haunted air In fearful whispers tell thee to despair, Till vain remorse thy wither' d heart consume, Scourged by relentless shadows of the tomb ! E'en now my sons shall die and thou, their sire, In bondage safe, shalt yet in them expire. Think' st thou I love them not ? 'Twas thine to fly 'Tis mine with these to suffer and to die. Behold their fate ! the arms that cannot save Have been their cradle, and shall be their grave." Bright in her hand the lifted dagger gleams, Swift from her children's hearts the life-blood streams j With frantic laugh she clasps them to the breast Whose woes and passions soon shall be at rest ; Lifts one appealing, frenzied glance on high, Then deep midst rolling flames is lost to mortal eye. HELIODORUS IN THE TEMPLE. From Maccabees, book 2, chapter 3. 21. " Then it would have pitied a man to see the falling down of the multitude of all sorts, and the fear of the high priest, being in such an agony. 22. They then called upon the Almighty Lord to keep the things committed of trust safe and sure, for those that had committed them. 23. Never- theless Heliodorus executed that which was de- creed. 24. Now as he was there present himself with his guard about the treasury, the Lord of Spirits, and the Prince of all Power, caused a great apparition, so that all that presumed to come in with him were astonished at the power of God, and fainted, and were sore afraid. 25. For there appeared unto them an horse with a terrible rider upon him, and adorned with a very fair covering, and he ran fiercely, and smote at Heliodorus with his forefeet, and it seemed that he that sat upon the horse had complete harness of gold. 26. Moreover, two other young men appeared before him, notable in strength, excellent in beauty, and comely in apparel, who stood by him on either side, and scourged him continually, and gave him many sore stripes. 27. And Heliodorus fell suddenly to the ground, and was compassed with great darkness ; but they that were with him took him up, and put him into a litter. 28. Thus him that lately came with great train, and with all his guard into the said treasury, they carried out, being unable to help himself with his weapons, and manifestly they acknowledged the power of God. 29. For he by the hand of God was cast down, and lay speechless, without all hope of life." HELIODORUS IN THE TEMPLE. A SOUND of woe in Salem ! mournful cries Rose from her dwellings youthful cheeks were pale, Tears flowing fast from dim and aged eyes, And voices mingling in tumultuous wail ; Hands raised to heaven in agony of prayer, And powerless wrath, and terror, and despair. Thy daughters, Judah ! weeping, laid aside The regal splendor of their fair array, With the rude sackcloth girt their beauty's pride, And throng'd the streets in hurrying, wild dismay; While knelt thy priests before his awful shrine, Who made, of old, renown and empire thine. 202 HELI0D0RUS IN THE TEMPLE. But on the spoiler moves the temple's gate, The bright, the beautiful, his guards unfold, And all the scene reveals its solemn state, Its courts and pillars, rich with sculptured gold ; And man, with eye unhallow'd, views th' abode, The sever'd spot, the dwelling-place of God. Where art thou, Mighty Presence ! that of yore Wert wont between the cherubim to rest, Veil'd in a cloud of glory, shadowing o'er Thy sanctuary the chosen and the blest ? Thou ! that didst make fair Sion's ark thy throne, And call the oracle's recess thine own ! Angel of God ! that through th' Assyrian host, Clothed with the darkness of the midnight -hour, To tame the proud, to hush th' invader's boast, Didst pass triumphant in avenging power, Till burst the dayspring on the silent scene, And death alone reveal'd where thou hadst been. HELIODORUS IN THE TEMPLE. 203 Wilt thou not wake, O Chastener ! in thy might, To guard thine ancient and majestic hill, Where oft from heaven the full Shechinah's light Hath stream'd the house of holiness to fill ? Oh ! yet once more defend thy loved domain, Eternal one ! Deliverer ! rise again ! Fearless of thee, the plunderer, undismay'd, Hastes on, the sacred chambers to explore Where the bright treasures of the fane are laid, The orphan's portion, and the widow's store ; What recks his heart though age unsuccour'd die, And want consume the cheek of infancy I Away, intruders ! hark ! a mighty sound ! Behold, a burst of light ! away, away ! A fearful glory fills the temple round, A vision bright in terrible array ! And lo ! a steed of no terrestrial frame, His path a whirlwind, and his breath a flame ! 204 HELIOD0RUS IN THE TEMPLE. His neck is clothed with thunder * and his mane Seems waving fire the kindling of his eye Is as a meteor ardent with disdain His glance his gesture, fierce in majesty ! Instinct with light he seems, and form'd to bear Some dread archangel through the fields of air. But who is he, in panoply of gold, Throned on that burning charger? bright his form, Yet in its brightness awful to behold, And girt with all the terrors of the storm ! Lightning is on his helmet's crest and fear Shrinks from the splendor of his brow severe. And by his side two radiant warriors stand All-arm' d, and kingly in commanding grace * " Hast thou given the horse strength ? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?" Job, chapter 39, verse 19. HELIODORUS IN THE TEMPLE. 205' Oh ! more than kingly, godlike ! sternly grand Their port indignant, and each dazzling face Beams with the beauty to immortals given, Magnificent in all the wrath of heaven. Then sinks each gazer's heart each knee is bow'd In trembling awe but, as to fields of fight, Th' unearthly war-steed, rushing through the crowd, Bursts on their leader in terrific might j And the stern angels of that dread abode Pursue its plunderer with the scourge of God. Darkness thick darkness !-^-low on earth he lies, Rash Heliodorus motionless and pale Bloodless his cheek, and o'er his shrouded eyes Mists, as of death, suspend their shadowy veil ; And thus th* oppressor, by his fear-struck train, Is borne from that inviolable fane. 206 HELIODORUS IN THE TEMPLE. The light returns the warriors of the sky Have pass'd, with all their dreadful pomp, away ; Then wakes the timbrel, swells the song on high Triumphant, as in Judah's elder day ; Rejoice, O city of the sacred hill ! Salem, exult ! thy God is with thee still. NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. FROM SISMONDl's " REPUBLIQUES ITALIENXES." En meme temps que les Genois poursuivoient avec ardeur la guerre contre Pise, ils etoient dechires eux-memes par une discorde civile. Les consuls de l'annee 1169, pour retablir la paix dans leur patrie, au milieu des factions sourdes a leur voix et plus puissantes qu'eux, furent obliges d'ourdir en quelque sorte une conspiration. Ils commencerent par s'assurer secretement des dispositions pacifiques de plu- sieurs des citoyens, qui cependant etoient en- traines dans les emeutes par leur parente avec les chefs de faction ; puis, se concertant avec le venerable vieillard, Hugues, leur archeveque, ils firent, long-temps avant le lever du soleil, ap- peler au son des cloches les citoyens au parle- ment ; ils se flattoient que la surprise et l'alarme de cette convocation inattendue, au milieu de p l'obscurite de la nuit, rendroit l'assemblee et plus complete et plus docile. Les citoyens, en accourant au parlement general, virent, au milieu de la place publique, le vieil archeveque, entoure de son clerge en habit de c6remonies, et portant des torches allumees, tandis que les reliques de Saint Jean Baptiste, le protecteur le Genes, etoient exposees devant lui, et que les citoyens les plus respectables portoient a leurs mains des croix suppliantes. Des que l'as- semblee fut formee, le vieillard se leva, et de sa voix cassee il conjura les chefs de parti, au nom du Dieu de paix, au nom du salut de leurs ames, au nom de leur patrie et de la liberte, dont leurs discordes entraineroient la mine, de jurer sur l'evangile l'oubli de leurs querelles, et la paix a venir. " Les herauts, des qu'il eut fini de parler, s'avan- cerent aussitot vers Roland Avogado, le chef de l'une des factions, qui ctoit present a l'as- semblee, et, secondes par les acclamations de tout le peuple, et par les prieres de ses parens eux-memes, ils le sommerent de se conformer au vceu des consuls et de la nation. " Roland, a leur approche, dechira ses habits, et, s'asseyant par terre en versant des larmes, il appela a haute voix les morts qu'il avoit jure de venger, et qui ne lui permettoient pas de pardonner leurs vieilles offenses. Comme on ne pouvoit le determiner a s'avancer, les consuls eux-memes, l'archeveque et le clerge, s'appro- cherent de lui, et, renouvelant leurs prieres, ils l'entrainerent enfin, et lui firent jurer sur l'evangile l'oubli de ses inimities passees. " Les chefs du parti contraire, Foulques de Castro, et Ingo de Volta, n'etoient pas presens a l'as- semblee, mais le peuple et le clerge se porterent en foule a leurs maisons ; ils les trouverent deja ebranles par ce qu'ils venoient d'apprendre, et, profitant de leur emotion, ils leur firent jurer p2 une reconciliation sincere, et donner le baiser de paix aux chefs de la faction opposee. Alors les cloches de la ville sonnerent en temoignage d'allegresse, et V archeveque de retour sur la place publique entonna un Te Deum avec tout le peuple, en honneur du Dieu de paix qui avoit sauve leur patrie." Histoire des Republiques Italiennes, vol. II. page 149 50. NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. IN Genoa, when the sunset gave Its last warm purple to the wave, No sound of war, no voice of fear, Was heard, announcing danger near : Though deadliest foes were there, whose hate But slumber' d till its hour of fate, Yet calmly, at the twilight's close, Sunk the wide city to repose. But when deep midnight reign' d around, All sudden woke the alarm-bell's sound, Full swelling, while the hollow breeze Bore its dread summons o'er the seas. 214 NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. Then, Genoa, from their slumber started Thy sons, the free, the fearless hearted j Then mingled with th' awakening peal Voices, and steps, and clash of steel. Arm, warriors, arm ! for danger calls, Arise to guard your native walls ! With breathless haste the gathering throng Hurry the echoing streets along ; Through darkness rushing to the scene Where their bold councils still convene. But there a blaze of torches bright Pours its red radiance on the night, O'er fane, and dome, and column playing, With every fitful night-wind swaying, Now floating o'er each tall arcade, Around the pillar'd scene display'd, In light relieved by depth of shade ; And now, with ruddy meteor-glare, Full streaming on the silvery hair And the bright cross of him who stands, Rearing that sign with suppliant hands, NIGHTSCENE IN GENOA. 215 Girt with his consecrated train, The hallow'd servants of the fane. Of life's past woes, the fading trace Hath given that aged patriarch's face Expression holy, deep, resign'd, The calm sublimity of mind. Years o'er his snowy head have pass'd, And left him of his race the last 3 Alone on earth yet still his mien Is bright with majesty serene j And those high hopes, whose guiding-star Shines from th' eternal worlds afar, Have with that light illumed his eye, Whose fount is immortality, And o'er his features pour'd a ray Of glory, not to pass away. He seems a being who hath known Communion with his God alone, On earth by nought but pity's tie Detain'd a moment from on high ! 216 NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. One to sublimer worlds allied, One, from all passion purified, E'en now half mingled with the sky, And all prepared oh ! not to die- But, like the prophet, to aspire, In heaven's triumphal car of fire. He speaks and from the throngs around Is heard not e'en a whisper'd sound ; Awe-struck each heart, and fix'd each glance, They stand as in a spell-bound trance : He speaks oh ! who can hear nor own The might of each prevailing tone ? " Chieftains and warriors ! ye, so long Aroused to strife by mutual wrong, Whose fierce and far-transmitted hate Hath made your country desolate j Now by the love ye bear her name, By that pure spark of holy flame NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. 217 On freedom's altar brightly burning, But, once extinguish'd ne'er returning ; By all your hopes of bliss to come When burst the bondage of the tomb ; By Him, the God who bade us live To aid each other, and forgive ; I call upon ye to resign Your discords at your country's shrine, Each ancient feud in peace atone, Wield your keen swords for her alone, And swear upon the cross, to cast Oblivion's mantle o'er the past." No voice replies the holy bands Advance to where yon chieftain stands, With folded arms and brow of gloom, O'ershadow'd by his floating plume. To him they lift the cross in vain He turns oh ! say not with disdain, But with a mien of haughty grief, That seeks not, e'en from heaven, relief: 218 NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. He rends his robes he sternly speaks Yet tears are on the warrior's cheeks. " Father ! not thus the wounds may close Inflicted by eternal foes. Deem'st thou thy mandate can efface The dread volcano's burning trace ? Or bid the earthquake's ravaged scene Be, smiling, as it once hath been ? No ! for the deeds the sword hath done Forgiveness is not lightly won ; The words, by hatred spoke, may not Be, as a summer breeze, forgot ! 'Tis vain we deem the war-feud's rage A portion of our heritage. Leaders, now slumbering with their fame, Bequeath'd us that undying flame ; Hearts that have long been still and cold Yet rule us from their silent mould, And voices, heard on earth no more, Speak to our spirits as of yore. NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. 219 Talk not of mercy blood alone The stain of bloodshed may atone ; Nought else can pay that mighty debt, The dead forbid us to forget." He pauses from the patriarch's brow There beams more lofty grandeur now ; His reverend form, his aged hand, Assume a gesture of command, His voice is awful, and his eye Fill'd with prophetic majesty. " The dead ! and deem'st thou they retain Aught of terrestrial passion's stain ? Of guilt incurr'd in days gone by, Aught but the fearful penalty ? And say'st thou, mortal ! blood alone For deeds of slaughter may atone ? There hath been blood by HIM 'twas shed To expiate every crime who bled ; 120 NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. TV absolving God who died to save, And rose in victory from the grave ! And by that stainless offering given Alike for all on earth to heaven ; By that inevitable hour When death shall vanquish pride and power, And each departing passion's force Concentrate all in late remorse ; And by the day when doom shall be Pass'd on earth's millions, and on thee, The doom that shall not -be repeal'd, Once utter'd, and for ever seal'd ; I summon thee, O child of clay ! To cast thy darker thoughts away, And meet thy foes in peace and love, As thou would' st join the blest above." Still as he speaks, unwonted feeling Is o'er the chieftain's bosom stealing ; Oh ! not in vain the pleading cries Of anxious thousands round him rise, i NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. 221 He yields devotion's mingled sense Of faith, and fear, and penitence, Pervading all his soul, he bows To offer on the cross his vows, And that best incense to the skies, Each evil passion's sacrifice. Then tears from warriors' eyes were flowing, High hearts with soft emotions glowing, Stern foes as long-loved brothers greeting, And ardent throngs in transport meeting, And eager footsteps forward pressing, And accents loud in joyous blessing ; And when their first wild tumults cease, A thousand voices echo "Peace!" Twilight's dim mist hath roll'd away, And the rich Orient burns with day ; Then, as to greet the sunbeam's birth, Rises the choral hymn of earth j 222 NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. Th' exulting strain through Genoa swelling, Of peace and holy rapture telling. Far float the sounds o'er vale and steep, The seaman hears them on the deep, So mellow'd by the gale, they seem As the wild music of a dream j But not on mortal ear alone Peals the triumphant anthem's tone, For beings of a purer sphere Bend with celestial joy, to hear. THE TROUBADOUR, AND RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. Not only the place of Richard's confinement," (when thrown into prison by the Duke of Aus- tria) " if we believe the literary history of the times, but even the circumstance of his captivity, was carefully concealed by his vindictive ene- mies : and both might have remained unknown but for the grateful attachment of a Provencal bard, or minstrel, named Blondel, who had shared that prince's friendship, and tasted his bounty. Having travelled over all the European continent to learn the destiny of his beloved patron, Blondel accidentally got intelligence of a certain castle in Germany, where a prisoner of distinction was confined, and guarded with great vigilance* Persuaded by a secret impulse that this prisoner was the King of England, the minstrel repaired to the place j but the gates of the castle were shut against him, and he could Q obtain no information relative to the name or quality of the unhappy person it secured. In this extremity, he bethought himself of an ex- pedient for making the desired discovery. He chanted, with a loud voice, some verses of a song which had been composed partly by him- self, partly by Richard ; and to his unspeakable joy, on making a pause, he heard it re-echoed and continued by the royal captive. (Hist. Troubadours.) To this discovery the English monarch is said to have eventually owed his release." See Russell's Modern Europe, vol. 1, p. 369. THE TROUBADOUR, AND RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. THE Troubadour o'er many a plain Hath roam'd unwearied, but in vain. O'er many a rugged mountain-scene, And forest-wild, his track hath been ; Beneath Calabria's glowing sky He hath sung the songs of chivalry, His voice hath swell'd on the Alpine breeze. And rung through the snowy Pyrenees ; From Ebro's banks to Danube's wave, He hath sought his prince, the loved, the brave, And yet, if still on earth thou art, O monarch of the lion-heart ! o2 228 THE TROUBADOUR, AND The faithful spirit, which distress But heightens to devotedness, By toil and trial vanquish'd not, Shall guide thy minstrel to the spot. He hath reach'd a mountain hung with vine, And woods that wave o'er the lovely Rhine ; The feudal towers that crest its height Frown in unconquerable might ; Dark is their aspect of sullen state, No helmet hangs o'er the massy gate l To bid the wearied pilgrim rest, At the chieftain's board a welcome guest ; Vainly rich evening's parting smile Would chase the gloom of the haughty pile, That midst bright sunshine lowers on high, Like a thunder-cloud in a summer -sky. Not these the halls where a child of song Awhile may speed the hours along ; RICHARD CfEUR DE HON. 229 Their echos should repeat alone The tyrant's mandate, the prisoner's moan, Or the wild huntsman's bugle-blast. When his phantom-train are hurrying past. 2 The weary minstrel paused his eye Roved o'er the scene despondingly : Within the lengthening shadow, cast By the fortress-towers and ramparts vast, Lingering he gazed the rocks around Sublime in savage grandeur frown'd ; Proud guardians of the regal flood, In giant strength the mountains stood ; By torrents cleft, by tempests riven, Yet mingling still with the calm blue heaven. Their peaks were bright with a sunny glow, But the Rhine all shadowy roll'd below j In purple tints the vineyards smiled, But the woods beyond waved dark and wild; Nor pastoral pipe, nor convent's bell, Was heard on the sighing breeze to swell, 230 THE TROUBADOUR, AND But all was lonely, silent, rude, A stern, yet glorious solitude. But hark ! that solemn stillness breaking, The Troubadour's wild song is waking. Full oft that song, in days gone by, Hath cheer'd the sons of chivalry j It hath swell'd o'er Judah's mountains lone, Hermon ! thy echos have learn'd its tone j On the Great Plain 3 its notes have rung, The leagued Crusaders tents among j Twas loved by the Lion-heart, who won The palm in the field of Ascalon ; And now afar o'er the rocks of Rhine Peals the bold strain of Palestine. THE TROUBADOUR'S SONG. ** Thine hour is come, and the stake is set," The Soldan cried to the captive knight, " And the sons of the Prophet in throngs are met To gaze on the fearful sight. RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 231 " But be our faith by thy lips profess'd, The faith of Mecca's shrine, Cast down the red-cross that marks thy vest, And life shall yet be thine:" " I have seen the flow of my bosom's blood, And gazed with undaunted eye j I have borne the bright cross through fire and flood, And think'st thou I fear to die ? " I have stood where thousands, by Salem's towers, Have fall'n for the name divine j And the faith that cheer'd their closing hours Shall be the light of mine." " Thus wilt thou die in the pride of health, And the glow of youth's fresh bloom ? Thou art offer'd life, and pomp, and wealth, Or torture and the tomb." 232 THE TROUBADOUR, AND " I have been where the crown of thorns was twined For a dying Saviour's brow ; He spurn'd the treasures that lure mankind, And I reject them now!" " Art thou the son of a noble line In a land that is fair and blest ? And doth not thy spirit, proud captive ! pine, Again on its shores to rest ? " Thine own is the choice to hail once more The soil of thy fathers' birth, Or to sleep, when thy lingering pangs are o'er, Forgotten in foreign earth." " Oh ! fair are the vine-clad hills that rise In the country of my love j But yet, though cloudless my native skies, There's a brighter clime above !" RICHARD CCEUR DE LION. 233 The bard hath paused for another tone Blends with the music of his own ; And his heart beats high with hope again, As a well-known voice prolongs the strain. " Are there none within thy father's hall, Far o'er the wide blue main, Young Christian ! left to deplore thy fall, With sorrow deep and vain ?" " There are hearts that still, through all the past, Unchanging have loved me well ; There are eyes whose tears were streaming fast When I bade my home farewell. * Better they wept o'er the warrior's bier Than th' apostate's living stain ; There's a land where those who loved, when here, Shall meet to love again." 234 THE TROUBADOUR, &c. Tis he ! thy prince long sought, long lost, The leader of the red-cross host ! 'Tis he ! to none thy joy betray, Young Troubadour ! away, away ! Away to the island of the brave, The gem on the bosom of the wave, 4 Arouse the sons of the noble soil, To win their lion from the toil ; And free the wassail-cup shall flow, Bright in each hall the hearth shall glow j The festal board shall be richly crown'd, While knights and chieftains revel round, And a thousand harps with joy shall ring, When merry England hails her king. NOTES. Note 1, page 228, line 10. No helmet hangs o'er the massy gate. It was a custom in feudal times to hang out a helmet on a castle, as a token that strangers were invited to enter, and partake of hos- pitality. So in the romance of ' Perceforest, " ils fasoient mettre au plus hault de leur hostel un heaulme, en signe que tous les gentils hommes et gentilles femmes entrassent hardiment en leur hostel comme en leur propre." Note 2, page 229, lines 3 and 4.] Or the wild huntsman's bugle-blast, When his phantom-train are hurrying past. Popular tradition has made several mountains in Germany the haunt of the wild Jager, or supernatural huntsman the super- stitious tales relating to the Unterburg are recorded in Eustace's Classical Tour; and it is still believed in the romantic district < f the Odenwald, that the knight of Rodenstein, issuing from his ruined castle, announces the approach of war by traversing tie air with a noisy armament to the opposite castle of Schnellerts. See the " Manuel pour les Voyageurs sur le Rhin," and " Autumn on the Rhine." 236 NOTES. Note 3, page 230, line 9. On the Great Plain Us notes have rung. The Plain of Esdraelon, called by way of eminence the ** Great Plain;" in Scripture, and elsewhere, the " field ofMegiddo," the Galilaean Plain." This plain, the most fertile part of all the land of Canaan, has been the scene of many a memorable contest in the first ages of Jewish history, as well as during the Roman empire, the Crusades, and even in later times. It has been a chosen place for encampment in every contest carried on in this country, from the days of Nabuchodonosor, king of the Assyrians, until the disastrous march of Bonaparte from Egypt into Syria. Warriors out of " every nation which is under heaven" have pitched their tents upon the Plain of Esdraelon, and have beheld the various banners of their nations wet with the dews of Hermon and Thabor. Br. Clarke's Travels. Note 4, page 234, line 6. The gem on the bosom of the wave. " This precious stone set in the silver sea." Shakespeare's Richard II. THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. k FROM SISMONDI S " REPUBLIQUES ITALIENNES. ** La defaite de Conradin ne devoit mettre une terme ni a sea malheurs, ni aux vengeances du roi (Charles d'Anjou). L'amour du peuple pour l'heritier legitime du trone, avoit eclate d'une maniere eflfrayante ; il pouvoit causer de nouvelles revolutions, si Conradin demeuroit en vie 5 et Charles, revetant sa defiance et sa cruaut6 des formes de la justice, resolut de faire perir sur l'echafaud le dernier rejeton de la Maison de Souabe, Tunique esperance de son parti. Un seul juge provengal et sujet de Charles, dont les historiens n'ont pas voulu conserver le nom, osa voter pour la mort, d'autres se renfermerent dans un timide et coupable silence 5 et Charles, sur l'autorite de ce seul juge, fit prononcer, par Robert de Bari, protonotaire du royaume, la sentence de mort contre Conradin et tous ses compagnons. Cette sentence fut communiquee a 1 Conradin, comme il jouoit aux echecs ; on lui laissa peu de temps pour se preparer a son execution, et le 26 d'Octobre, il fut conduit, avec tous ses amis, sur la Place du Marche de Naples, le long du rivage de la mer. Charles etoit present, avec toute sa cour, et une foule immense entouroit le roi vainqueur et le roi condamne. Conradin etoit entre les mains des bourreaux j il detacha lui-meme son manteau, et s'ctant mis a genoux pour prier, il se releva en s'ecriant : ' Oh, ma mere, quelle profonde douleur te causera la nouvelle qu'on va te porter de moi !' Puis il tourna les yeux sur la foule qui l'entouroit; il vit les larmes, il entendit les sanglots de son peuplej alors, detachant son gant, il jeta au milieu de ses sujets ce gage d'un combat de vengeance, et rendit sa tte au bourreau. Apres lui, sur le meme echafaud, Charles fit trancher la tete au Due d'Autriche, aux Comtes Gualferano et Bartolommeo Lancia. et aux Comtes Gerard et Galvano Donoratico de Pise. Par un refinement de cruante, Charles voulut que le premier, fils du second, precedat son pere, et mourut entre ses bras. Les ca- davres, d'apres ses ordres, furent exclus d'une terre sainte, et inhumes sans pompe sur le rivage de la mer. Charles II., cependant fit dans la suite, batir sur le meme lieu, une eglise de Carmehtes, comme pour appaiser ces ombres irritees." THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. NO cloud to dim the splendor of the day Which breaks o'er Naples and her lovely bay, And lights that brilliant sea and magic shore With every tint that charm'd the great of yore j Th' imperial ones of earth who proudly bade Their marble domes e'en Ocean's realm invade. That race is gone but glorious Nature here Maintains unchanged her own sublime career, And bids these regions of the sun display Bright hues, surviving empires past away. The beam of Heaven expands its kindling smile Reveals each charm of many a fairy isle, r2 244 THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. Whose image floats, in softer colouring drest, With all its rocks and vines, on Ocean's breast. Misenum's cape hath caught the vivid ray, On Roman streamers there no more to play} Still as of old, unalterably bright, Lovely it sleeps on Posilippo's height, With all Italia's sunshine to illume The ilex canopy of Virgil's tomb. Campania's plains rejoice in light, and spread Their gay luxuriance o'er the mighty dead j Fair glittering to thine own transparent skies, Thy palaces, exulting Naples ! rise -, While, far on high, Vesuvius rears his peak, Furrow'd and dark with many a lava streak. O ye bright shores of Circe and the Muse ! Rich with all Nature's and all fiction's hues j Who shall explore your regions, and declare The poet err'd to paint Elysium there ? Call up his spirit, wanderer ! bid him guide Thy steps, those syren-haunted seas beside, THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. 345 And all the scene a lovelier light shall wear, And spells more potent shall pervade the air. What though his dust be scatter'd, and his urn Long from its sanctuary of slumber torn, l Still dwell the beings of his verse around, Hovering in beauty o'er th' enchanted ground ; His lays are murmur'd in each breeze that roves Soft o'er the sunny waves and orange-groves. His memory's charm is spread o'er shore and sea, The soul, the genius of Parthenope j Shedding o'er myrtle-shade and vine-clad hill The purple radiance of Elysium still. Yet that fair soil and calm resplendent sky Have witness'd many a dark reality. Oft o'er those bright blue seas the gale hath borne The sighs of exiles, never to return. 2 There with the whisper of Campania's gale Hath mingled oft affection's funeral-wail, Mourning for buried heroes while to her That glowing land was but their sepulchre. 5 246 THE DEATH OF CONRAPIN. And there of old, the dread, mysterious moan Swell'd from strange voices of no mortal tone ; And that wild trumpet, whose unearthly note Was heard, at midnight, o'er the hills to float Around the spot where Agrippina died, Denouncing vengeance on the matricide. Fast are those ages yet another crime, Another woe, must stain th' Elysian clime. There stands a scaffold on the sunny shore It must be crimson'd ere the day is o'er ! There is a throne in regal pomp array'd, A scene of death from thence must be survey 'd. Mark'd ye the rushing throngs ? each mien is pale, Each hurried glance reveals a fearful tale j But the deep workings of th' indignant breast, Wrath, hatred, pity, must be all suppress'd ; The burning tear awhile must check its course, Th' avenging thought concentrate all its force, For tyranny is near and will not brook Aught but submission in each guarded look. THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. 247 Girt with his fierce Provencals, and with mien Austere in triumph, gazing on the scene, 5 And in his eye a keen suspicious glance Of jealous pride and restless vigilance, Behold the conqueror ! vainly in his face, Of gentler feeling hope would seek a trace ; Cold, proud, severe, the spirit which hath lent Its haughty stamp to each dark lineament ; And pleading mercy, in the sternness there, May read at once her sentence to despair ! But thou, fair boy ! the beautiful, the brave, Thus passing from the dungeon to the grave, While all is yet around thee which can give A charm to earth, and make it bliss to live ; Thou on whose form hath dwelt a mother's eye, Till the deep love that not with thee shall die Hath grown too full for utterance can it be ? And is this pomp of death prepared for thee ? Young, royal Conradin ! who should'st have known Of life as yet the sunny smile alone ! 248 THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. Oh ! who can view thee, in the pride and bloom Of youth, array'd thus richly for the tomb, Nor feel, deep-swelling in his inmost soul, Emotions tyranny may ne'er control ? Bright victim ! to ambition's altar led, Crown'd with allflowers that heaven on earth can shed, Who, from th' oppressor towering in his pride, May hope for mercy if to thee denied ? There is dead silence on the breathless throng, Dead silence all the peopled shore along, As on the captive moves the only sound, To break that calm so fearfully profound, The low, sweet murmur of the rippling wave, Soft as it glides, the smiling shore to lave ; While on that shore, his own fair heritage, The youthful martyr to a tyrant's rage Is passing to his fate the eyes are dim Which gaze, through tears that dare not flow, on him : He mounts the scaffold doth his footstep fail ? Doth his lip quiver? doth his cheek turn pale? THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. 249 Oh ! it may be forgiven him, if a thought Cling to that world, for him with beauty fraught, To all the hopes that promised Glory's meed, And all th' affections that with him shall bleed ! If, in his life's young day-spring, while the rose Of boyhood on his cheek yet freshly glows, One human fear convulse his parting breath, And shrink from all the bitterness of death ! But no ! the spirit of his royal race Sits brightly on his brow that youthful face Beams with heroic beauty and his eye Is eloquent with injured majesty. He kneels but not to man his heart shall own Such deep submission to his God alone ! And who can tell with what sustaining power That God may visit him in fate's dread hour \ How the still voice, which answers every moan, May speak of hope, when hope on earth is gone I 250 THE DEATH OF CONRADIK. That solemn pause is o'er the youth hath given One glance of parting love to earth and heaven j The sun rejoices in th' unclouded sky, Life all around him glows and he must die ! Yet 'midst his people, undismay'd, he throws The gage of vengeance for a thousand woes j Vengeance, that like their own volcano's fire, May sleep suppress'd awhile but not expire. One softer image rises o'er his breast, One fond regret, and all shall be at rest ! n Alas, for thee, my mother ! who shall bear To thy sad heart the tidings of despair, When thy lost child is gone?" that thought can thrill His soul with pangs one moment more shall still. The lifted axe is glittering in the sun It falls the race of Conradin is run ! Yet from the blood which flows that shore to stain, A voice shall cry to heaven and not in vain ! Gaze thou, triumphant from thy gorgeous throne, In proud supremacy of guilt alone, THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. 251 Charles of Anjou ! but that dread voice shall be A fearful summoner e'en yet to thee ! The scene of death is closed the throngs depart, A deep stern lesson graved on every heart. No pomp, no funeral rites, no streaming eyes, High-minded boy ! may grace thine obsequies. O vainly royal and beloved ! thy grave, Unsanctified, is bath'd by ocean's wave, Mark'd by no stone, a rude, neglected spot, Unhonour'd, unadorn'd but unforgot; For thy deep wrongs in tameless hearts shall live, Now mutely suffering never to forgive ! The sunset fades from purple heavens away, A bark hath anchor'd in th' unruffled bay ; Thence on the beach descends a female form, 6 Her mien with hope and tearful transport warm ; But life hath left sad traces on her cheek, And her soft eyes a chasten'd heart bespeak, 252 THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. Inured to woes yet what were all the past ! She sunk not feebly 'neath affliction's blast, While one bright hope remain'd who now shall tell Th' uncrown'd, the widow'd, how her loved-one fell ? To clasp her child, to ransom and to save, The mother came and she hath found his grave '. And by that grave, transfix' d in speechless grief, Whose death-like trance denies a tear's relief, Awhile she kneels till roused at length to know, To feel the might, the fulness of her woe, On the still air a voice of anguish wild, A mother's cry, is heard " My Conradin ! my child ! " NOTES. Note 1 , page 245, line 4. Long from its sanctuary of slumber torn. The urn, supposed to have contained the ashes of Virgil, has long since been lost. Note 2, page 245, line 16. The sighs of exiles, never to return. Many Romans of exalted rank were formerly banished to some of the small islands in the Mediterranean, on the coast of Italy. Julia, the daughter of Augustus, was confined mauy years in the isle of Pandataria, and her daughter, Agrippina, the widow of Germanicus, afterwards died in exile on the same desolate spot. Note 3, page 245, line last. That glowing land was but their sepulchre. " Quelques souvenirs du cceur, quelques noms de femmes, re- clament aussi vos pleurs. C'est a Misene, dans le lieu meme oil nous sommes, que la veuve de Pompee, Cornelie, conserva jusqu'a la mort son noble deuil; Agrippine pleura long-temps Germanicus sur ces bords. Un jour, le meme assassin qui lui ravit son epoux BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 1. THE RESTORATION OF THE WOHKS OF ART TO ITALY. 2. MODERN GREECE. 3. TRANSLATIONS FROM CAMOENS AND OTHER POETS. LONDON: PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIAKS. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 892 AC MAY CU99I ink 10m-ll,'50(2555)470 ) University of Ca/, Worna, LosAngete: L 05 325 626 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 081 721 3 y* % 'i / 1 *& , ? S3 5 ->>