" 'Los Moros Hienne."

TRANSLATION OF THE CELEBRATED SPANISH ROMANCE.

THERE'S a sound of arrows on the air,

, A sound of the thundering atabal, I see through the trees the banners glare;

This eve they shall hang on the Christian's wall, And the haughty hands that those banners bore, This eve shall be stiff in their own dark gore.

Then leave me, sweet lady, thy starry eyes

Are made for love, and love alone; Those glowing lips are for passion's sighs;

That form for the silk and the gold of a throne. Before the dawning sky is red, Yon plain shall be heap'd with the dying and dead.

Hark! hark! 'tis the Christian's battle-horn,

Behold the red-cross standard wave Like a fiery stream in the opening morn,

The shout is “glory or the grave.” Unclasp thy hand-no tears-away! The Saracen shouts his last to-day.

One kiss, sweet love, go-pray for Spain,

Light every taper-pray for him
Whose soul may on that fatal plain

But linger for thy parting hymn.
No! be that idle thought forgiven,
We'll me in bliss in earth or heaven.

Song

41

Song.

BY JOSIAH CONDER.

'TWA
"WAS not when early flowers were springing,

When skies were sheen,

And wheat was green,
And birds of love were singing,
That first I loved thee, or that thou
Didst first the tender claim allow.

For when the silent woods had faded

From green to yellow,

When fields were fallow,
And the changed skies o'ershaded,
My love might then have shared decay,
Or pass'd with summer songs away.

'Twas winter: cares and clouds were round me,

Instead of flowers

And sunny hours,
When Love unguarded found me.
'Mid wintry scenes my passion grew,
And wintry cares have proved it true.

Dear are the hours of summer weather,

When all is bright,

And hearts are light,
And Love and Nature joy together.
But stars from night their lustre borrow,
And hearts are closer twined by sorrow,

Ten years Ago.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

“That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures! Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur. Other gifts
Have follow'd for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense."

-WORDSWORTH.

TEN years ago, ten years ago,

Life was to us a fairy scene; And the keen blasts of worldly woe

Had seard not then its pathway green. Youth and its thousand dreams were ours,

Feelings we ne'er can know again;
Unwither'd hopes, unwasted powers,

And frames unworn by mortal pain:
Such was the bright and genial flow
Of life with us-ten years ago.

Time has not blanch'd a single hair

That clusters round thy forehead now; Nor hath the cankering touch of care

Left even one furrow on thy brow. Thine eyes are blue as when we met,

In love's deep truth, in earlier years ; Thy cheek of rose is blooming yet,

Though sometimes stain'd by secret tears ; But where, oh where's the spirit's glow That shone through all ten years ago ?

Ten Years Ago.

43

I, too, am changed—I scarce know why

Can feel each flagging pulse decay ; And youth and health, and visions high,

Melt like a wreath of snow away. Time cannot sure have wrought the ill,

Though worn in this world's sickening strife,
In soul and form I linger still

In the first summer month of life;
Yet journey on my path below,
Oh! how unlike-ten years ago.

But look not thus ;-I would not give

The wreck of hopes that thou must share, To bid those joyous hours revive,

When all around me seem'd so fair. We've wander'd on in sunny weather,

When winds were low and flowers in bloom,
And hand in hand have kept together,

And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom;
Endear'd by ties we could not know
When life was young-ten years ago.

Has fortune frown'd? Her frowns were vain,

For hearts like ours she could not chill
Have friends proved false? Their love might wane,

But ours grew fonder, firmer still.
Twin barks on this world's changing wave,

Steadfast in calms, in tempests tried ;
In concert still our fate we'll brave,

Together cleave life's fitful tide ;
Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Youth's first wild dreams-ten years ago.

Have we not knelt beside his bed,

And watch'd our first-born blossom die ? Hoped, till the shade of hope had fled,

Then wept till feeling's fount was dry ?

Was it not sweet, in that dark hour,

To think, 'mid mutual tears and sighs,
Our bud had left its earthly bower,

And burst to bloom in Paradise ?
What to the thought that soothed that woe
Were heartless joys-ten years ago.

Yes, it is sweet, when heaven is bright,

To share its sunny beams with thee;
But sweeter far, 'mid clouds and blight,

To have thee near to weep with me.
Then dry those tears ;—though something changed

From what we were in earlier youth,
Time, that hath hopes and friends estranged,

Hath left us love in all its truth;
Sweet feelings we would not forego
For life's best joys-ten years ago.

A Woman's Farewell.

THE

'HE waves are all at rest on yon river's shining breast, And in evening's sweet light sleep the towers of Thou

louse; The bright-hair'd god of day ere long will pass away,

And twilight be shedding her shadows and dews.

'Tis now that silent hour when love hath deepest power

To stir the soft heart with its dreams of delight; When even the sickening thrill of hope delay'd still,

And the sunbeams of feeling grow golden and bright.