And poured forth on each other's neck
Such tears as warriors need not check.

The mists o'er boyhood's memory spread
All melted with those tears,

The faces of the holy dead

Rose as in vanished years;

The Rhine, the Rhine, the ever-blest,
Lifted its voice in each full breast!

Oh! was it then a time to die?

It was

that not in vain

The soul of childhood's purity

And peace might turn again.

A ball swept forth-'twas guided well-
Heart unto heart those brothers fell!

Happy, yes, happy thus to go!
Bearing from earth away
Affections, gifted ne'er to know
A shadow-a decay-

A passing touch of change or chill,

A breath of aught whose breath can kill.

And they, between whose severed souls,

Once in close union tied,

A gulf is set, a current rolls

For ever to divide ;

Well may they envy such a lot,

Whose hearts yearn on-but mingle not.

THE LAST WISH.

"Well may I weep to leave this world-thee-all these beautiful woods, and plains, and hills.”—Lights and Shadows.

Go to the forest shade

Seek thou the well-known glade,

Where, heavy with sweet dew, the violets lie,
Gleaming through moss-tufts deep,

Like dark eyes, filled with sleep,
And bathed in hues of summer's midnight sky.

Bring me their buds, to shed
Around my dying bed

A breath of May and of the wood's repose;
For I, in sooth, depart

With a reluctant heart,

That fain would linger where the bright sun glows.

Fain would I stay with thee !

Alas! this may not be ;

Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours !

Go where the fountain's breast

Catches, in glassy rest,

The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers.

I know how softly bright,
Steeped in that tender light,

The water-lilies tremble there e'en now;

Go to the pure stream's edge,
And from its whispering sedge

Bring me those flowers to cool my fevered brow!

Then, as in Hope's young days,
Track thou the antique maze

Of the rich garden to its grassy mound;
There is a lone white rose,

Shedding, in sudden snows,

Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around.

Well knowest thou thai fair tree

A murmur of the bee

Dwells ever in the honeyed lime above:
Bring me one pearly flower

Of all its clustering shower

For on that spot we first revealed our love.

Gather one woodbine bough,

Then, from the lattice low

Of the bowered cottage which I bade thee mark,
When by the hamlet last

Through dim wood-lanes we passed,

While dews were glancing to the glow-worm's spark. Haste! to my pillow bear

Those fragrant things and fair;

My hand no more may bind them up at eve-
Yet shall their odour soft

One bright dream round me waft

Of life, youth, summer-all that I must leave !

And oh if thou wouldst ask
Wherefore thy steps I task,

The grove, the stream, the hamlet vale to trace-
'Tis that some thought of me,
When I am gone, may be

The spirit bound to each familiar place.

I bid mine image dwell
(Oh! break not thou the spell !)

In the deep wood and by the fountain-side;
Thou must not, my beloved!

Rove where we two have roved,

Forgetting her that in her spring-time died!

FAIRY FAVOURS.

Give me but

Something whereunto I may bind my heart;
Something to love, to rest upon, to clasp
Affection's tendrils round.

WOULDST thou wear the gift of immortal bloom?
Wouldst thou smile in scorn at the shadowy tomb?
Drink of this cup! it is richly fraught

With balm from the gardens of Genii brought;
Drink! and the spoiler shall pass thee by,
When the young all scattered like rose-leaves lie.
And would not the youth of my soul be gone,
If the loved had left me, one by one?
Take back the cup that may never bless,
The gift that would make me brotherless.
How should I live, with no kindred eye
To reflect mine immortality!

Wouldst thou have empire, by sign or spell,
Over the mighty in air that dwell?
Wouldst thou call the spirits of shore and steep
To fetch thee jewels from ocean's deep?
Wave but this rod, and a viewless band,
Slaves to thy will, shall around thee stand.

And would not fear, at my coming, then
Hush every voice in the homes of men?
Would not bright eyes in my presence quail?
Young cheeks with a nameless thrill turn pale?
No gift be mine that aside would turn
The human love for whose founts I yearn

Wouldst thou then read through the hearts of those
Upon whose faith thou hast sought repose?
Wear this rich gem! it is charmed to show
When a change comes over affection's glow:
Look on its flushing or fading hue,
And learn if the trusted be false or true!

Keep, keep the gem, that I still may trust,
Though my heart's wealth be but poured on dust!
Let not a doubt in my soul have place,
To dim the light of a loved one's face;

Leave to the earth its warm sunny smile

That glory would pass could I look on guile !

Say, then, what boon of my power shall be,
Favoured of spirits! poured forth on thee?
Thou scornest the treasures of wave and mine,
Thou wilt not drink of the cup divine,
Thou art fain with a mortal's lot to rest-
Answer me! how may I grace it best?

Oh! give me no sway o'er the powers unseen,
But a human heart where my own may lean!
A friend, one tender and faithful friend,

Whose thoughts' free current with mine may blend
And, leaving not either on earth alone,

Bid the bright, calm close of our lives be one!

THE history of Spain records two instances of the severe and self-devoting heroism which forms the subject of the following dramatic poem. The first of these occurred at the siege of Tarifa, which was defended, in 1294, for Sancho, King of Castile, during the rebellion of his brother, Don Juan, by Guzman, surnamed the Good.1 The second is related of Alonso Lopez de Texeda, who, until his garrison had been utterly disabled by pestilence, maintained the city of Zamora for the children of Don Pedro the Cruel, against the forces of Henrique of Trastamara.2

Împressive as were the circumstances which distinguished both these memorable sieges, it appeared to the author of the following pages that a deeper interest, as well as a stronger colour of nationality, might be imparted to the scenes in which she has feebly attempted "to describe high passions and high actions," by connecting a religious feeling with the patriotism and highminded loyalty which had thus been proved, "faithful unto death," and by surrounding her ideal dramatis persone with recollections derived from the heroic legends of Spanish chivalry. She has, for this reason, employed the agency of imaginary characters, and fixed upon Valencia del Cid as the scene to give them

"A local habitation and a name."

A Moorish Prince, Chief of the
Army besieging Valencia.

A Spanish Knight.

Wife to Gonzalez.

Her Daughter.

An Attendant.

Citizens, Soldiers, Attendants, &c.

1 See Quintana's Vidas de Espanoles Célèbres, p. 53.
2 See the preface to Southey's Chronicle of the Cid