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THE MASQUER'S SONG.

THE festal eve o'er earth and sky,
In her sunset robe looks bright;
And the purple hills of Sicily,

With their vineyards, laugh in light.
From the marble cities of her plains
Glad voices mingling swell;

But with yet more loud and lofty strains
They shall hail the vesper-bell.

Oh! sweet the tones when the summer breeze Their cadence wafts afar,

To float o'er the blue Sicilian seas,

As they gleam to the first pale star.

The shepherd greets them on his height,
The hermit in his cell;

But a deeper power shall breathe to-night,
In the sound of the vesper-bell.

SONG OF THE CID.

(Founded on a passage in Southey's Chronicle.) 'Twas the deep mid-watch of the silent night, And Leon in slumber lay,

When a sound went forth in rushing might,
Like an army on its way!

In the stillness of the hour,

When the dreams of sleep have power,
And men forget the day.

Through the dark and lonely streets it went,
Till the slumberers awoke in dread;
The sound of a passing armament,

With the charger's stony tread,
There was heard no trumpet's pea!,
But the heavy tramp of steel,
As a frosts, to combat led:

Through the dark and lonely streets it pass'd,
And the hollow pavement rang,
And the towers as with a sweeping blast,
Rock'd to the stormy clang!

But the march of the viewless train
Went on to a royal fane,

Where a priest his night-hymn sang.
There was a knocking that shook the marble floor;
And a voice at the gate, which said-
"That the Cid Ruy Diar, the Campeador,
Was there in his arms array'd;
And that with him from the tomb,
Had the Count Gonzalez come,
With a host, uprisen to aid;

And they came for the buried king that lay
At rest in that ancient fane;
For he must be array'd on the battle-day,
With them, to deliver Spain!"
Then the march went sounding on,
And the Moors, by noontide sun,
Were dust on Tolosa's plain.

SONG OF EMIGRATION.

THERE was heard a song on the chiming sea,
A mingled breathing of grief and glee;
Man's voice, unbroken by sighs, was there,
Filling with triumph the sunny air;
Of fresh green lands, and of pastures new
It sang, while the bark through the surges flew.

But ever and anon

A murmur of farewell

Told, by its plaintive tone,
That from woman's lip it fell.

"Away, away, o'er the foaming main!"
-This was the free and joyous strain-
"There are clearer skies than ours, afar
We will shape our course by a brighter star

There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press'd, And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest."

"But alas! that we should go,"

Sang the farewell voices then,
"From the homesteads warm and low,

By the brook and in the glen."

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

"But wo for that sweet shade

Of the flowering orchard trees,
Where first our children play'd

'Midst the birds and honey-bees!"

"All, all, our own shall the forests be,
As to the bound of the roe-buck free!
None shall say, 'hither, no farther pass !'
We will track each step through the wavy grass!
We will chase the elk in his speed and might,
And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night."

"But oh! the gray church-tower,

And the sound of the Sabbath bell,
And the shelter'd garden bower-
We have bid them all farewell!"

"We will give the names of our fearless race
To each bright river whose course we trace;
We will leave our memory with mounts and floods,
And the path of our daring in boundless woods!
And our works unto many a lake's green shore,
Where the Indian's graves lay alone before !"

"But who shall teach the flowers,
Which our children lov'd, to dwell
In a soil that is not ours?

--Home, home, and friends farewell!"

TIME'S SONG.

O'ER the level plain where mountaius
Greet me as I go,

O'er the desert waste where fountains
At my bidding flow,

On the boundless beam by day,
On the cloud by night,
I am rushing hence away!
Who will chain my flight?

War his weary watch was keeping;
I have crush'd his spear;
Grief within her bower weeping,
I have dried her tear;

Pleasure caught a minute's hold-
Then I hurried by,
Leaving all her banquet cold,
And her goblet dry.

Power had won a throne of glory--
Where is now his fame?
Genius said "I live in story ;"

Who hath heard his name?
Love, beneath a myrtle bough,

Whisper'd "Why so fast ??? And the roses on his brow Wither'd as I pass'd.

I have heard the heifer lowing
O'er the wild wave's bed,
I have seen the billows flowing
Where the cattle fed;
Where began my wanderings?
Memory will not say;
Where will rest my weary wings?

Science turns away.

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WOMAN ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

-Where hath not woman stood,

Strong in affection's might?
A reed, upborne
By an o'ermaturing current!

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