He clasp'd her close and groan'd farewell
In one another's arms they fell;
They leapt adown the craggy side,
In one another's arms they died.

And side by side they there are laid,
The Christian youth and Moorish maid,
But never cross was planted there,
To mark the victims of despair.

Yet every Murcian maid can tell
Where Laila lies who loved so well,
And every youth who passes there,
Says for Manuel's soul a prayer.

HENRY THE HERMIT.

It was a little island where he dwelt,
A solitary islet, bleak and bare,

Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spots
Its gray stone surface. Never mariner
Approach'd that rude and uninviting coast,
Nor ever fisherman his lonely bark
Anchored beside its shore. It was a place
Befitting well a rigid anchoret,

Dead to the hopes, and vanities, and joys,
And purposes of life; and he had dwelt
Many long years upon that lonely isle ;
For in ripe manhood he abandoned arms,
Honours and friends and country and the world,
And had grown old in solitude. That isle
Some solitary man in other times

Had made his dwelling-place; and Henry found
The little chapel which his toil had built

Now by the storms unroofed; his bed of leaves
Wind-scattered; and his grave o'ergrown with grass,
And thistles, whose white seeds, winged in vain,
Withered on rocks, or in hte waves were lost.
So he repaired the chapel s ruined roof,
Clear'd the grey lichens from the altar-stone,
And underneath a rock that shelter'd him
From the sea-blast, he built his hermitage.

The peasants from the shore would bring him food,
And beg his prayers; but human converse else
He knew not in that utter solitude,

Nor ever visited the haunts of men,

Save when some sinful wretch on a sick bed
Implored his blessing and his aid in death.
That summons he delayed not to obey,
Though the night tempest or autumnal wind
Maddened the waves; and though the mariner,
Albeit relying on his saintly load,

Grew pale to see the peril. Thus he lived
A most austere and self-denying man,
Till abstinence, and age, and watchfulness
Had worn him down, and it was pain at last
To rise at midnight from his bed of leaves
And bend his knees in prayer. Yet not the less,
Though with reluctance of infirmity,

Rose he at midnight from his bed of leaves,

And bent his knees in prayer; but with more zeal,
More self-condemning fervour, raised his voice
For pardon for that sin, 'till that the sin

Repented was a joy like a good deed.

One night upon the shore his chapel bell
Was heard the air was calm, and its far sounds
Over the water came, distinct and loud.
Alarmed at that unusual hour to hear
Its toll irregular, a monk arose.
The boatmen bore him willingly across,
For well the hermit Henry was beloved.
He hastened to the chapel; on a stone
Henry was sitting there, cold, stiff, and dead,
The bell-rope in his hand, and at his teet
The lamp that stream'd a long unsteady light.

THE CROSS ROADS.

THERE was an old man breaking stones
To mend the turnpike way;

He sate him down beside a brook
And out his bread and cheese he took,
For now it was mid-day.

He leant his back against a post,
His feet the brook ran by;

And there were water-cresses growing,
And pleasant was the water's flowing,
For he was hot and dry.

A soldier with his knapsack on,
Came travelling o'er the down;
The sun was strong and he was tired;
And he of the old man inquired
How far to Bristol town.

Half an hour's walk for a young man,
By lanes and fields and stiles;
the foot-path do not know,
And if along the road you go,
Why then 'tis three good miles.

But you

The soldier took his knapsack off,

For he was hot and dry;

And out his bread and cheese he took
And he sat down beside the brook
To dine in company.

Old friend! in faith, the soldier says,
I envy you almost;

My shoulders have been sorely prest,
And I should like to sit and rest
My back against that post.

In such a sweltering day as this,
A knapsack is the devil!

And if on t'other side I sat,
It would not only spoil our chat,
But make me seem uncivil.

The old man laugh'd and moved-I wish
It were a great arm'd-chair!

But this may help a man at need!
And yet it was a cursed deed

That ever brought it there.