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" And fain it would stoop downward
To the mirrored wave below; And fain it would soar upward
In the evening's crimson glow."
“ Well have I seen that castle,
That castle by the sea,
And the mist rise solemnly.”
“ The winds and the waves of ocean,
Had they a merry chime ? Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,
The harp and the minstrel's rhyme ?”
6. The winds and the waves of ocean,
They rested quietly ;
And tears came to mine eye.”
“ And sawest thou on the turrets
The king and his royal bride ?
And the golden crown of pride ?
“ Led they not forth, in rapture,
A beauteous maiden there, Resplendent as the morning sun,
Beaming with golden hair?”
6 Well saw I the ancient parents,
Without the crown of pride ; They were moving slow, in weeds of woe ;
No maiden was by their side ! ”
CASABIANCA. - Mrs. Hemans.
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike, form.
The flames rolled on,- he would not go,
Without his father's word ; That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud, — “Say, father, say
If yet my task is done!”
Unconscious of his son.
“Speak, father! ” once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone,” — And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death,
In still, yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,
“My father! must I stay?". While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendor wild,
They caught the flag on high,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound;
The boy, - 0, where was he?
With fragments strewed the sea !
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part;
Was that young, faithful heart.
LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF CELIN. –
At the gate of old Grenada, when all its bolts are
barred, Attwilight, at the Vega-gate, there is a trampling heard; There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow, And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound
of woe. “ What tower is fallen? what star is set? what chief
come these bewailing ?” “A tower is fallen! A star is set ! - Alas! alas
Three times they knock, three times they cry, the
doors wide open throw; Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go! In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the
hollow porch, Each horseman holding in his hand a black and
flaming torch. Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is
wailing, For all have heard the misery,—“Alas! alas for Celin!”
Him yesterday a Moor did slay, of Bencerrage's blood; 'Twas at the solemn jousting; around the nobles stood; The nobles of the land were there, and the ladies
bright and fair Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight
to share ; But now the nobles all lament, the ladies are bewailing, For he was Grenada's darling knight, — “ Alas! alas
Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two, With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to
view ; Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in sable veil, Between the tambour's dismal strokes take up their
doleful tale ; When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brother
less bewailing, And all the people, far and near, cry, - " Alas alas
The Moorish maid at her lattice stands, the Moor
stands at his door; One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weep
ing sore ;
Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes
black they strew Upon their broidered garments, of crimson, green,
and blue; Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the
loud bewailing, From door and lattice, high and low, —- Alas! alas
An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the
people cry, Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazed eye; Its she who nursed him at her breast, who nursed him
She knows not whom they all lament, but ah! she
soon shall know. With one loud shriek, she forward breaks, when her
ears receive their wailing," Let me kiss my Celin ere I die!-- Alas! alas for
FLOWERS. - Leigh Hunt.
We are the sweet flowers,
Born of sunny showers (Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith);
Utterance, mute and bright,
Of some unknown delight, We fill the air with pleasure by our simple breath;
All who see us love us,
We befit all places ; Unto sorrow we give smiles, and unto graces, graces.