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And look like beralds of eternity:

III. They pass like spirits of the past, -they speak A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Like sybils of the future; they have power

There was an ancient mansion, and before
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;

Its walls there was a steed caparison'd:
They make us what we were not--what they will, Within an antique oratory stood
And shake us with the vision that 's gone by, The boy of whom I spake ;-he was alone,
The dread of vanish'd shadows-Are they so?

And pale, and pacing to and fro; anon
Is not the past all shadow? What are they?

He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced Creations of the mind ?- The mind can make

Words which I could not guess of: then he leand Substance, and people planets of its own

His bow'd head on his hands, and shook as 't were With beings brighter than have been, and give With a convulsion-then arose again, A breath to forms which can outlive all tlesh. And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear I would recal a vision which I dream'd

What he had written, but he shed no tears. Perchance in sleep-for in itself a thought,

And he did calm himself, and fix his brow A slumbering thought, is capable of years,

Into a kind of quict : as he paused, And curdles a long life into one hour.

The lady of his love re-enter'd there;

She was serene and smiling then, and yet

She knew she was by him beloved, -- she knew, I saw two beings in the hues of youth

For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,

Was darken'd with her shadow, and she saw Green and of mild declivity, the last

That he was wretched, but she saw not all. As 't were the cape of a long ridge of such,

He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp Save that there was no sea to lave its base,

He took her hand; a moment o'er his face
But a most living landscape, and the wave

A tablet of unutterable thoughts
Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men Was traced, and then it faded as it came;
Scatter'd at intervals, and wreathing smoke

He dropp'd the land he held, and with slow steps Arising from such rustic roofs;- the hill

Retired, but not as bidding her adieu, Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem

For they did part with mutual smiles: he pass'd Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd,

From out the massy gate of that old hall, Not by the sport of nature, but of man:

And mounting on his steed he went his way, These two, a maiden and a youth, were there

And ne'er repassid that hoary threshold more. Gazing-the one on all that was beneath Fair as herself ---but the boy gazed on her;

IV. And both were young, and one was beautiful : A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. And both were young, yet not alike in youth. The boy was sprung to manhood : in the wilds As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,

Of fiery climes he made himself a home, The maid was on the eve of womanhood;

And his soul drank their sunbeams; he was girt The boy had fewer summers, but his heart

With strange and dusky aspects; he was not liad far outgrown his years, and to his eye

Himself like what he had been; on the sea There was but one beloved face on earth,

And on the shore he was a wanderer; And that was shining on him; he had look'd

There was a mass of many images Upon it till it could not pass away;

Crowded like waves upon me, but he was He had no breath, no being, but in hers;

A part of all; and in the last he lay She was his voice; he did not speak to her,

Reposing from the noon-tide sultriness, But trembled on her words ; she was his sicht, Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade For his eye follow'd hers, and saw with hers,

Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names Which colour'd all his objects ;-he had ceased Of those who reard them; by his sleeping side To live within himself ; she was his life,

Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds The occan to the river of his thoughts,

Were fasten'd near a fountain; and a man Which terminated all: upon a tone,

Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while, A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,

While many of his tribe slumber'd around: And bis cheek change tempestuously—his heart And they were canopied by the blue sky, Unknowing of its cause of agony.

So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
But she in these fond feelings had no share :

That God alone was to be seen in heaven.
Her sighs were not for him; to her he was
Even as a brother-but no more; 't was much,

For brotherless she was, save in the name

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Her infant friendship had bestow'd on bim;

The lady of his love was wed with one Herself the solitary scion left

Who did not love her better: in her home, Of a time-honour'd race. - It was a name

A thousand leagues from his, --her native home, Which pleased him, and yet pleased him bot-and why? She dwelt, begirt with growing infancy, Time taught him a deep answer--when she loved Daughters and sons of beauty,--but behold! Another; even now she loved another,

l'pon her face there was the tint of grief, And on the summit of that hill she stood

| The settled shadow of an inward strife, Looking afar if yet her lover's steed

ind an unquiet drooping of the eye, liept pace with her expectancy, and flew.

As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.

And the quick spirit of the universe
He held liis dialogues; and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries;
To hin the book of night was opeu'd wide,
And voices from the deep abyss reveald
A marvel and a secret-Be it so.

My dream was past; it had no further change.
It was of a strange order, that the doom
Of these two creatures should be thus traced out
Almost like a reality-the one
To end in madness, both in misery.


What could hier grief be?- she had all she loved,
And lie who had so loved her was not there
To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish,
Or ill-repressid aftliction, hier pure thoughts.
What could her grief be?—she had loved him not,
Nor given him causc to deem himself beloved,
Nor could he be a part of that which prey'd
Upon lier miod-a spectre of the past.

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The wanderer was return d.-I saw him stand
Before an altar- with a gentle bride;
ller face was fair, but was not that which made
The star-light of his boyhood ;-as he stood
Even at the altar, o'cr luis brow there came
The selssame aspect, and the quivering shock
That in the antique oratory shook
His bosom in its solitude; and then-
As in that hour-a moment o'er his face
The tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced, -and then it faded as it came,
And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke
The filling vows, but heard not his owu words,
And all things reeld around him; he could see
Not that which was, nor that which should have been
But the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall,
And the remember'd chambers, and the place,
The day, the hour, the sunshine and the shade,
All things pertaining to that place and liour,
And her who was bois destiny came back,
And trust themselves between him and the light
What business bad they there at such a time?

I change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The lady of his love;-oh! she was cluanged
As by the sickness of the soul; her mind
Had wanderd from its dwelling, and her eyes,
They had not their own lustre, but the look
Which is not of the carth; she was become
The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts
Were combinations of disjointed things;
And forins, impalpable and unperceived
of others' siglit, familiar were to hers,
And this the world calls frenzy; but the wiic
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift;
What is it but the telescope of truth?
Which strips the distance of its phantasies,
And brings life near in ulter nakedness,
Making the cold reality too real!

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The wanderer was alone as beretofore,
The beings which surrounded him were gone,
Or were at war wille liim; he was a mark

For blight and desolation, compass'd round
į With hatred and contention; pain wa, mix'd

In all which was served up to liiin, imuil,
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,'
lie fed on poisons, and they had no power,
Dut were a kind of putriment; le livel
Through that which had been death to many men,
And made him friends of mountains: with the stars

On Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls

Are level with the waters, there shall be
I cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,

A loud lament along the sweeping sea!

If I, a northern wanderer, Weep for thee, What should thy sons do ?-anything but Weep: ud

yet they only murmur in their sleep. In contrast with their fathers—as the slime, The dull green ooze of the receding deep, Is with the dashing of the spring-lide foam, That drives the sailor slipless to his home, Are they to those thar were; and thus they creep, Crouchiog and crabs-like through their sapping succis Oh! agony--that centuries should reap No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred

years Of wealth and glory turu'di to dust and tears; And every monunent the stranger meets, Church, palace, pillar, as a mouroer greets; And even thic Lion all subdued appears, And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum, With dull and daily dissonance, repeals The echo of thy tyrant's voice along The soft waves, once all musical to song, That heaved beneath the moou-light with the throng Of gondolas—and to the busy bunn Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds Were but the overbcatiog of tbe heart, And tlow of too much happiness, which needs The aiil of age to turn its course apart From the luxuriant and voluptuous tlood Of sweet sensations battling with the blood. But these are better than the gloomy errors, The weeds of nations in their last decay, Wien vice walks forth with her unsofteo'd terror, Ind mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay, And hope is nothing but a fal-e delay, The sick man's lighwving half au bour ere death, Wheu faintness, the last mortal birth of pain, And a pathy of limb, the dull beginning Of the cold staggering race which death is winning. Sual veio by vein and pulse by pulse away; Yet so relieving the o'eriortured clay, To lim appears renewal of his breath, Jnd freedom the mere numbness of his chain ;And then he talks of life, and how again ile feels luis spirits soaring-albeit weak,

iud of the fresher air, which he would seek; i Ind as he whispers knows not that he gasps,

That is thin lingo feels not what it clasps,

Mithridata of Pontus.

And so the film comes o'er him--and the dizzy Werc of the softer order-born of love,
Chamber swins round and round--and shadows busy She drank no blood, nor fattend on the dead,
At which he vainly catches, flit and gleam,

But gladden'd where her harmless conquests spread ;
Till the last rattle chokes the strangled scream, For these restored the cross, that from above
And all is ice and blackness, -and the earth

Hallow'd her sheltering banners, which incessant
That which it was the moment ere our birth.

Flew between earth and the unholy crescent,
"Thich, if it waned and dwindled, carth may thank

The city it has clothed in chains, which clank
There is no hope for nations ! Search the page

Now, creaking in the ears of those who owe
Of many thousand years—the daily scene,

The name of freedom to her glorious struggles; The flow and ebb of each recurring age,

Yet she but shares with them a common woe,

And call'd the « kingdom» of a conquering foe,The everlasting to be which hath been,

But knows what all-and, most of all, we know-
Vath taught us nought or little : still we lean

With what set gilded terms a tyrant juggles !
On things that rot beneath our weight, and wear
Our strength away in wrestling with the air ;

iv. For 't is our nature strikes us down : the beasts

The name of commonwealth is past and gone
Slaughter'd in bourly hecatombs for feasts
Are of as bigh an order-they must go

O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe;
Even where their driver goads them, though to slaughter. Veuice is crush'd, and Holland deigns to own
Ye men, who pour your blood for kings as water,

A sceptre, and endures the purple robe;
What have they given your children in return ?

If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone A heritage of servitude and woes,

His chainless mountains, 't is but for a time,

For tyranny of late is cunning grown,
A blindfold bondage, where your hire is blows.
What? do no yet the red-hot ploughshares burn,

Aud in its own good season tramples down
O'er which you stumble in a false ordeal,

The sparkles of our ashies. One great clime, And deem this proof of loyalty the real;

Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean Kissing the land that guides you to your scars,

Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion And glorying as you tread the glowing bars ?

Of freedom, which their fathers fought for, and All that your sires have left you, all that time

Bequeath'd-a heritage of heart and hand, Bequcaths of free, and history of sublime,

And proud distinction from each other land, Spring from a different theme!-Ye see and read,

Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's motion, Admire and sigh, and then succumb and bleed!

As if his senseless sceptre were a wand Save the few spirits, who despite of all,

Full of the magic of exploded scienceAnd worse than all, the sudden crimes engender'd

Still one great clime, in full and free defiance, By the down-thundering of the prison-wall,

Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime, And thirst to swallow the sweet waters tender'd,

Above the far Atlantic!--She has taught Gushing from freedom's fountains-when the crowd,

Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag, Madden'd with centuries of drought, are loud,

The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag, And trample on each other to obtain

May strike to those whose red right hands have bought The cup which brings oblivion of a chain

Rights cheaply carn'd with blood. Still, still, for ever Heavy and sore,-in which long yoked they plough'd Better, though each man's life-blood were a river, The sand,-or if there sprung the yellow grain,

That it should flow, and overflow, than creep 'T was not for them, their necks were too much bow'd, Through thousand lazy channels in our veins, And their dead palates chew'd the cud of pain :

Damm'd like the dull canal with locks and chains, Yes! the few spirits—who, despite of deeds

And moving, as a sick man in his sleep, Which they abhor, confound not with the cause

Three paces, and then faltering : better be Those momentary starts from nature's laws,

Where the extinguish'd Spartans still are free,

in their proud charnel of Thermopylæ, Wbich, like the pestilence and earthquake, smite But for a term, then pass, and leave the earth

Than stagnate in our marsh,--or o'er the deep With all her seasons to repair the blight

Fly, and one current to the ocean add, With a few summers, and again put forth

One spirit to the souls our fathers had,

One freeman more, America, to thee!
Cities and generations--fair, when free-
For, tyranny, there blooms no bud for thec !

Glory and empire ! once upon these towers

As o'er the cold sepulchral stone
With freedom-god-like triad! how ye sate!

Some name arrests the passer-by, The league of mightiest nations, in those hours

Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
When Venice was an envy, might abate,

May mine attract thy pensive eye!
But did not quench, her spirit-in her fate
All were enwrapp'd : the feasted monarchs knew

And when by thee that name is read,
And loved their hostess, nor could learn to hate,

Perchance in some succeeding year, Although they bumbled-- with the kingly few

Reflect on me as on the dead, The many felt, for from all days and climes

And ibink my heart is buried here. She was the voyager's worship;-even her crimes

September 14th, 1809.





PASEABASE el Rey moro
Por la ciudad de Granada,
Desde la puerta de Elvira
Hasta la de Bivarambla.

Ay de mi, Alhama!
Cartas le fueron venidas
Que Allama era ganada.
Las cartas echó en el fuego,
Y al mensagero matara.

Ay de mí, Alhama ! Descavalga de uma mula, Y en un caballo cavalga. Por el Zacatin arriba Subido se habia al alhambra.

Ay de mí, Alhama! Como en el Alhambra esiuvo, Al mismo punto mandaba Que se toquen las trompetas Con añables de plata.

Ay de mí, Albama! Y que atambores de

guerra Apriesa toqueu alarma ; Por

que lo oigan sus Voros, Los de la Vega y Granada.

Ay de mí, Alhama!




Which, in the Arabic language, is to the follouing

The effect of the original hallad (which existed both in Spanish
and Arabic) was such, that it was forbidden to be sugby the
Noors, on pain of death, within Granada.!

The Moorish king rides up and down
Through Granada's royal town;
From Elvira's gates to those
Of Bivarambla on he goes.

Woe is me, Alhama!
Letters to the monarch tell
llow Alhama's city fell;
In the fire the scroll he threw,
And the messenger he slew.


Woe is me,

le quits his mule and mounts his horse,
And through the strect directs his course;
Through the street of Zacatin
To the Alhambra spurring in.

Woe is me, Alhama !
When the Albambra walls he gain'd,
On the moment he ordain'd
That the trumpet straighi should sound
With the silver clarion round.

Woe is me, Alhama !

And when the hollow drums of war
Beat the loud alarm afar,
That the Moors of town and plain
Miglit answer to the martial strain.

Woe is



Then the Moors, by this aware
That bloody Mars recall'd them there,
One by one, and two by two,
To a mighty squadron grew.

Woe is Alhama !


Los Voros que

son overon, Que al sangriento Varle llama, Uno á uno, y

dos á dos, Un gran escuadron formaban.

Ay de mi, Albama!
Alli habló un Moro viejo ;
De esta manera hablaba :-
«¿Para qué nos llamas, Rey?
¿Para qué es esta llamada ?»

Ay de mi, Albama!
« Uabeis de saber, amigos,
Una nueva desdichada :
Que cristianos, con brasera,
Ya nos han tomado Alhami.

Av de mí, Alhama!

Out then spake an aged Moor
In these words the king before,
« Wherefore call on us, oh king?
may mean this gathering ?»

Woe is me, Alhama !

« Friends ! ye liave, alas! to know
Of a most disastrous blow,
That the Christians, stern and bold,
Have obtain'd Albama's hold.»

Woe is me, Albarna!

Out then spake old Alfaqui,
With his beard so white to sce,
« Good king, thou art jusdy served,
Good king, this thou hast deserved.

Alhama :

Woe is me,

Alli habló un viejo Alfiqui,
De barba crecida y cana:-
« Bien se te emplea, buen Rey's
Buen Rey, bien se te empleabs.

Ay de nui, Alhama !
u Mataste los Bencerrages,
Que eran la flor de Granada;
Cogiste los tornadizos
De Córdova la nombrada.

Ay de mí, Alhama !

« By thee were slain, in evil hour,
The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
Aud strangers were received by thee
Of Cordova the chivalry.

Woe is me, Alhama!

« Por eso mereces, Rey,
Una pena bien doblada ;
Que te pierdas tú y el reyno,
Y que se pierda Granada.

Ay de mí, Alhama!

« Si no se respetan leyes,
Es ley que todo se pierda;
Y que se pierda Granada,
Y que te pierdas en ella.»

Ay de mí, Alhama!

Fuego por los ojos vierte,
El Rey que esto oyera,
Y como el otro de leyes
De leyes tambien hablaba.

Ay de mí, Alhama!

« Sabe un Rey que no hay leyes De darle á Reyes disgusto.»-Eso dice el Rey moro Relinchando de cólera.

Ay de mí, Alhama:

Moro Alfaqui, Moro Alfaqui,
El de la vellida barba,
El Rey te manda preoder,
Por la pérdida de Alhama.

Ay de mí, Alhama!
Y cortarte la cabeza,
Y ponerla en el Alhambra,
Porque á tí castigo sea,
Y otros tiemblen en miralla.

Ay de mí, Alhama!

« Caballeros, hombres buenos,
Decid de mi parte al Rey,
Al Rey moro de Granada,
Como no le devo nada.

Ay de mí, Alhama:

« De haberse Alhama perdido A mí me pesa en el alma ; Que si el Rey perdió su tierra Otro mucho mas perdiera.

Ay de mi, Alhama : « Perdieran hijos padres, Y casados las casadas : Las cosas que mas amara Perdió uno y otro fama.

Ay de mí, Alhama !

« Perdí una hija doncella
Que era la flor d'esta tierra ;
Cien doblas daba por ella,
No me las estimo en nada.»

Ay de mí, Alhama!
Diciendo asi al hacen Alfaqui,
Le cortaron la cabeza,
Y la elevan al Alhambra,
Asi como el Rey lo manda.

Ay de mí, Alhama !

« And for this, oh king! is sent
On thee a double chastisement :
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
One last wreck shall overwhelm.

Woe is me, Alhama!

« He who holds no laws in awe,
He must perish by the law;
And Granada must be won,
And thyself with her undone.»

Woe is me, Alhama !

Fire flash'd from out the old Moor's eyes
The monarch's wrath began to rise,
Because he answer'd, and because
He spake exceeding well of laws.

Woe is me, Alhama!

« There is no law to say such things
As may disgust the ear of kings : »
Thus, sporting with his choler, said
The Moorish king, and doom'd bim dead.

Woe is me, Alhama!

Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
Though thy beard so boary be,
The king hath sent to have thee seized,
For Alhama's loss displeased.

Woe is me, Alhama !

And to fix thy head upon
High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
That this for thee should be the law,
And others tremble when they saw,

Woc is me, Alhama!

« Cavalier! and man of worth!
Let these words of mine go forth!
Let the Moorish monarch know,
That to him I nothing owe:

Woe is me, Alhama!

« But on my soul Alhama weighs,
And on my inmost spirit preys;
And if the king his land hath lost,
Yet others may have lost the most.

Woe is me, Alhama!

* Sires have lost their children, wives Their lords, and valiant men their lives ; One what best his love might claim Hath lost, another wealth or fame.

Woe is me, Alhama!

«I lost a damsel in that hour,
Of all the land the loveliest flower;
Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
And think her ransom cheap that day.”

Woe is me, Alhama!

And as these things the old Moor said, They sever'd from the trunk his head; And to the Alhambra's wall with speed 'T was carried, as the king decreed. Woe is me, Alhama!

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