Page images
PDF
EPUB

Soon would its wing triumphantly o'ersweep
The viewless barrier, if such power might be,
Soon, soon, and fast!

But I shall come to thee! our soul's deep dreams,
Our young affections, have not gushed in vain;
Soon in one tide shall blend the severed streams,
The worn heart break its bonds-and death and pain
Be with the past!

66

THE SISTERS OF SCIO.

As are our hearts, our way is one,
And cannot be divided. Strong affection

Contends with all things and o'ercometh all things.
Will I not live with thee? will I not cheer thee?
Wouldst thou be lonely then? wouldst thou be sad?"
JOANNA BAILlie.

'Sister, sweet sister! let me weep awhile!

Bear with me-give the sudden passion way! Thoughts of our own lost home, our sunny isle,

Come, as a wind that o'er a reed hath sway; Till my heart dies with yearnings and sick fears! Oh! could my life melt from me in these tears!

"Our father's voice, our mother's gentle eye,

Our brother's bounding step-where are they, where? Desolate, desolate our chambers lie!

How hast thou won thy spirit from despair?

O'er mine swift shadows, gusts of terror, sweep ;-
I sink away-bear with me-let me weep!"

"Yes! weep, my sister! weep, till from thy heart
The weight flow forth in tears! yet sink thou not;

I bind my sorrow to a lofty part,

For thee, my gentle one! our orphan lot

To meet in quenchless trust; my soul is strong—
Thou, too, wilt rise in holy might ere long.

"A breath of our free heavens and noble sires,

A memory of our old victorious dead,—

These mantle me with power! and though their fires In a frail censer briefly may be shed,

Yet shall they light us onward, side by side;

Have the wild birds, and have not we, a guide?

[ocr errors]

Cheer, then, beloved! on whose meek brow is set

Qur mother's image-in whose voice a tone,

A faint sweet sound of hers is lingering yet,
An echo of our childhood's music gone;—
Cheer thee thy sister's heart and faith are high:
Our path is one-with thee I live and die!

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

[The celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, having made many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the Count Saldana, who had been imprisoned by King Alfonso, of Asturias, almost from the time of Bernardo's birth, at last took up arms in despair. The war which he maintained proved so destructive, that the men of the land gathered round the King, and united in demanding Saldana's liberty. Alfonso, accordingly, offered Bernardo immediate possession of his father's person in exchange for his castle of Carpio. Bernardo, without hesitation, gave up his stronghold, with all his captives; and being assured that his father was then on his way from prison, rode forth with the King to meet him. And when he saw his father approaching, he exclaimed, says the ancient chronicle, "Oh, God! is the Count of Saldana indeed coming?"-" Look where he is," replied the cruel King, "and now go and greet him whom you have so long desired to see.” The remainder of the story will be found related in the ballad. The chronicles and romances leave us nearly in the dark as to Benardo's history after this event.]

The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire; "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord !-oh, break my father's chain !"

"Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day:

Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on his way."
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed,
And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

And lo! from afar, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band,

With one that midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land; "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's blood came and went ;

He reached that grey-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent;

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took,—
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold--a frozen thing-it dropped from his like lead,

He looked up to the face above-the face was of the dead!

A plume waved o'er the noble brow-the brow was fixed and white

He met at last his father's eyes--but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed, but who could paint that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze ; They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood, For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood,

[ocr errors]

"Father!" at length he murmured low-and wept like childhood

then,

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!—
He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown,-
He flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sate down.

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful
brow,

"No more, there is no more," he said, to lift the sword for now. My king is false, my hope betrayed, my father-oh! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet,

I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had

met,

Thou wouldst have known my spirit then-for thee my fields were

won,

And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!"

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's
rein,

Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ;
And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face-the king before the dead!

"Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?
Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this!
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-give answer, where are
they?

If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold
clay!

"Into these glassy eyes put light-be still! keep down thine ire, Bid these white lips a blessing speak-this earth is not my sire! Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed,

Thou canst not?—and a king!—his dust be mountains on thy head!"

He loosed the steed; his slack hand fell-upon the silent face
He cast one long, deep, troubled look-then turned from that sad
place:

His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain,--
His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain.

THE TOMB OF MADAME LANGHANS.1

"To a mysteriously consorted pair

This place is consecrate; to death and life,
And to the best affections that proceed
From this conjunction."

WORDSWORTH,

How many hopes were borne upon thy bier,
O bride of stricken love! in anguish hither!
Like flowers, the first and fairest of the year,
Plucked on the bosom of the dead to wither;
Hopes from their source all holy, though of earth,
All brightly gathering round affection's hearth.

Of mingled prayer they told of Sabbath hours;
Of morn's farewell, and evening's blessed meeting;
Of childhood's voice, amidst the household bowers;
And bounding step, and smile of joyous greeting ;—
But thou, young mother! to thy gentle heart
Didst take thy babe, and meekly so depart.

How many hopes have sprung in radiance hence !
Their trace yet lights the dust where thou art sleeping!

A solemn joy comes o'er me, and a sense

Of triumph, blent with nature's gush of weeping,

As, kindling up the silent stone, I see

The glorious vision, caught by faith, of thee.

Slumberer! love calls thee, for the night is past :
Put on the immortal beauty of thy waking!
Captive! and hear'st thou not the trumpet's blast,
The long, victorious note, thy bondage breaking!
Thou hear'st, thou answer'st, "God of earth and heaven!
Here am I, with the child whom Thou hast given!"

THE EXILE'S DIRGE.

"Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages,

Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone and ta'en thy wages."

Cymbeline.

["I attended a funeral where there were a number of the German settlers present. After I had performed such service as is usual on similar occasions, a most venerable-looking old man came forward, and asked me if I were willing that they should perform some of their peculiar rites. He opened a very ancient version of Luther's Hymns, and they all began to sing, in German, so loud that the woods echoed the strain. There was something affecting in the singing of these ancient people, carrying one of their brethren to his last home, and using the language and rites which they had brought with them over the sea from the Vaterland, a word which often occurred in this hymn.

1 At Hindlebank, near Berne, she is represented as bursting from the sepulchre, with her infant in her arms, at the sound of the last trumpet. An inscription on the tomb concludes thus :-"Here am I, O God! with the child whom thou hast given me."

:

[ocr errors]

It was a long, slow, and mournful air, which they sung as they bore the body along the words 'mein Gott, mein Bruder,' and 'Vaterland,' died away in distant echoes amongst the woods. I shall long remember that funeral hymn."- FLINT'S Recollections of the Valley of the Mississippi.]

THERE went a dirge through the forest's gloom-
An exile was borne to a lonely tomb.

"Brother!" (so the chant was sung
In the slumberer's native tongue),
"Friend and brother! not for thee
Shall the sound of weeping be:
Long the exile's woe hath lain
On thy life a withering chain;
Music from thine own blue streams,
Wandered through thy fever-dreams;
Voices from thy country's vines
Met thee 'midst the alien pines;
And thy true heart died away,
And thy spirit would not stay."

So swelled the chant ; and the deep wind's moan
Seemed through the cedars to murmur- Gone!"

66

"Brother! by the rolling Rhine
Stands the home that once was thine;
Brother! now thy dwelling lies
Where the Indian arrow flies!
He that blessed thine infant head,
Fills a distant greensward bed;
She that heard thy lisping prayer,
Slumbers low beside him there;
They that earliest with thee played,
Rest beneath their own oak shade,
Far, far hence !—yet sea nor shore
Haply, brother! part ye more;
God hath called thee to that band
In the immortal Fatherland !”

"The Fatherland!"—with that sweet word
A burst of tears 'midst the strain was heard.

"Brother! were we there with thee,
Rich would many a meeting be!
Many a broken garland bound,
Many a mourned and lost one found!
But our task is still to bear,
Still to breathe in changeful air
Loved and bright things to resign,
As even now this dust of thine;
Yet to hope!-to hope in heaven,
Though flowers fall, and ties be riven--
Yet to pray! and wait the hand
Beckoning to the Fatherland!"

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »