NOTE 21. And then his play Through the wide Llanos cheer'd again our way. Llanos, or savannahs, the great plains in South America. noco. NOTE 22. And by the mighty Orinoco stream, On whose lone margin we have heard at morn, De Humboldt speaks of these rocks on the shores of the OriTravellers have heard from time to time subterraneous sounds proceed from them at sunrise, resembling those of an organ. He believes in the existence of this mysterious music, although not fortunate enough to have heard it himself; and thinks that it may be produced by currents of air issuing through the crevices. NOTE 23. Yet those deep southern shades oppress'd The same distinguished traveller frequently alludes to the extreme stillness of the air in the equatorial regions of the new continent, and particularly on the thickly-wooded shores of the Orinoco. "In this neighbourhood," he says, "no breath of wind ever agitates the foliage." The following pieces may so far be considered a series, as each is intended to be commemorative of some national recollection, popular custom, or tra dition. The idea was suggested by Herder's "Stimmen der Völker in Liedern;" the execution is, however, different, as the poems in his collection are chiefly translations. (86) LAYS OF MANY LANDS. MOORISH BRIDAL SONG. "It is a custom among the Moors, that a female who dies unmarried is clothed for interment in wedding apparel, and the bridal-song is sung over her remains before they are borne from her home." See the Narrative of a Ten Years' Residence in Tripoli, by the Sister-in-law of Mr. Tully. THE citron-groves their fruit and flowers were strewing Around a Moorish palace, while the sigh Of low sweet summer-winds, the branches wooing, With music through their shadowy bowers went by; Music and voices, from the marble halls, Through the leaves gleaming, and the fountain-falls. A song of joy, a bridal-song came swelling, And thus it flow'd;-yet something in the lay Belong'd to sadness, as it died away. (87) "The bride comes forth! her tears no more are falling To leave the chamber of her infant years; Kind voices from a distant home are calling; She comes like day-spring-she hath done with tears; Now must her dark eye shine on other flowers, Her soft smile gladden other hearts than ours!— Pour the rich odours round! "We haste! the chosen and the lovely bringing; Love still goes with her from her place of birth; Deep, silent joy within her soul is springing, Though in her glance the light no more is mirth! Her beauty leaves us in its rosy years; Her sisters weep—but she hath done with tears! Now may the timbrel sound!" Know'st thou for whom they sang the bridal numbers? One, whose rich tresses were to wave no more! One, whose pale cheek soft winds, nor gentle slumbers, Nor Love's own sigh, to rose-tints might restore! Her graceful ringlets o'er a bier were spread.Weep for the young, the beautiful,-the dead! |