Imatges de pàgina
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o the cold moon a richer, stronger strain, han that with which the lyric lark salutes he new-born day. Her deep and thrilling song eemed with its piercing melody to reach he soul, and in mysterious unison lend with all thoughts of gentleness and love. heir hearts were open to the healing power f nature; and the splendour of the night, he flow of waters, and that sweetest lay ame to them like a copious evening dew, alling on vernal herbs which thirst for rain.

THE VALE OF COVADONGO.

There was a stirring in the air, the sun Prevailed, and gradually the brightening mist Began to rise and melt. A jutting crag Jpon the right projected o'er the stream, Not farther from the cave than a strong hand Expert, with deadly aim, might cast the spear, Or a strong voice, pitched to full compass, make ts clear articulation heard distinct. ■ venturous dalesman, once ascending there To rob the eagle's nest, had fallen, and hung Among the heather, wondrously preserved: Therefore had he with pious gratitude Placed on that overhanging brow a cross, Tall as the mast of some light fisher's skiff, And from the vale conspicuous. As the Moors Advanced, the chieftain in the van was seen, Known by his arms, and from the crag a voice

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Pronounced his name-Alchaman, hoa! look up,
Alchaman! As the floating mist drew up,
It had divided there, and opened round
The cross; part clinging to the rock beneath,
Hovering and waving part in fleecy folds,
A canopy of silver light, condensed

To shape and substance. In the midst there stood
A female form, one hand upon the cross,
The other raised in menacing act: below
Loose flowed her raiment, but her breast was armed,
And helmeted her head. The moor turned pale;
For on the walls of Auria he had seen

That well-known figure, and had well believed
She rested with the dead. What, hoa! she cried;
Alcahman! In the name of all who fe!l
At Auria in the massacre, this hour
I summon thee before the throne of God,
To answer for the innocent blood! This hour,
Moor, Miscreant, Murderer, Child of Hell, this hour
I summon thee to judgment! In the name
Of God! for Spain and vengeance!

Thus she closed

Her speech; for, taking from the Primate's hand
That oaken cross, which at the sacring rites
Had served for crosier, at the cavern's mouth
Pelayo lifted it, and gave the word.
From voice to voice on either side it past
With rapid repetition-In the name
Of God! for Spain and vengeance! and forthwith
On either side, along the whole defile,
The Austrians shouting in the name of God,

Set the whole ruin loose! huge trunks and stones,

And loosened crags, down, down they rolled with rush
And bound, and thundering force. Such was the fall,
As when some city, by the labouring earth
Heaved from its strong foundations, is cast down,
And all its dwellings, towers, and palaces
In one wide desolation prostrated.
From end to end of that long strait, the crash
Was heard continuous, and commixt with sounds
More dreadful-shrieks of horror, and despair,
And death-the wild and agonizing cry
Of that whole host in one destruction whelmed.
Vain was all valour there, all martial skill;
The valiant arm is helpless now; the feet
Swift in the race, avail not now to save;
They perish, all their thousands perish there,
Horsemen and infantry, they perish all,-
The outward armour, and the bones within,
Broken, and bruised, and crushed.
The long uproar; a suence then ensued,
Through which the sound of Deva's stream was heard,
A lonely voice of waters, wild and sweet.
The lingering groan, the faintly-uttered prayer,
The louder curses of despairing death,
Ascended not so high. Down from the cave
Pelayo hastes, the Asturians hasten down;
Fierce and unmitigable, down they speed
On all sides, and along the vale of blood
The avenging sword did mercy's work that hour.

Echo prolonged

.

POVERTY.

Aye, Idleness! the rich folks never fail To find some reason why the poor deserve Their miseries! - Is it idleness I pray you, That brings the fever or the ague fit? That makes the sick one's sickly appetite Turn at the dry bread and potatoe meal? Is it idleness that makes small wages fail For-growing wants? Six years ago, these bells Rung on my wedding-day, and I was told What I might look for, -but I did not heed Good counsel. I had lived in service, Sir, Knew never what it was to want a meal: Laid down without one thought to keep me sleepless, Or trouble me in sleep; had for a Sunday My linen gown, and when the pedlar came Could buy me a new ribbon. And my husband, A towardly young man and well to do. He had his silver buckles and his watch; There was not in the village one who looked Sprucer on holidays. We married, Sir, And we had children, but as wants increased Wages did not. The silver buckles went, So went the watch; and when the holiday coat Was worn to work, no new one in its place. For me you see my rags! but I deserve them, For wilfully, like this new married pair, I went to my undoing.

But the Parish

Aye, it falls heavy there; and yet their pittance

ust serves to keep life in. A blessed prospect, To slave while there is strength, in age the workhouse,

A parish shell at last, and the little bell

Tolled hastily for a pauper's funeral!

Is this your child?

Aye, Sir; and were he drest

And cleaned, he'd be as fine a boy to look on

As the Squire's young master. These thin rags of his

Let comfortably in the summer wind;

But when the winter comes, it pinches me
To see the little wretch! I've three besides;
And, God forgive me! but I often wish
To see them in their coffins.

SLAVERY.

Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep
As undisturbed as Justice! but no more
The wretched slave, as on his native shore,
Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep!
Though through the toil and anguish of the day
No tear escaped him, not one suffering groan
Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone
n bitterness; thinking that far away
Though the gay Negroes join the midnight song,
Though merriment resounds on Niger's shore,
She whom he loves, far from the cheerful throng
Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door
With dim-grown eye, silent and wo-begone
And weeps for him who will return r more.

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