The Moors that saw it shouted, for esquire none was near, Loud, loud he blew his bugle, sore troubled was his eye, What leech may cure, what beadsman shrive, if once that weight ye feel? But when Don Alvar saw him thus bruising down the foe, Quoth he, "I've seen some flail-armed men belabor barley so; Sure, mortal mould did ne'er enfold such mastery of power; Let's call Diego Perez THE POUNDER from this hour!" LOCKHART. XVII. - BALBOA'S DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC. FROM San Domingo's crowded wharf Fernandez' vessel bore, But when the fading town and land had dropped below the sea, and wherefore serve "To be thy follower," he replied, — three hundred years ago. He wore a manly form and face, a courage firm and bold, But when Fernandez' vessel lay at golden Darien, A murmur, born of discontent, grew loud among the men; THE DAYS OF YOUTH. 315 He led them up through tangled brakes, the rivulet's sliding bed, And through the storm of poisoned darts, from many an ambush shed; He gained the turret crag, alone, and wept to see below And while he raised upon the height the banner of his lord, T. B. READ. XVIII. THE DAYS OF YOUTH. GIVE me, O! give me back the days When I-I, too, was young, And felt, as they now feel, each coming hour, New consciousness of power. O! happy, happy time, above all praise! Then thoughts on thoughts and crowding fancies sprung, And found a language in unbidden lays; Unintermitted streams from fountains ever flowing! In every field, for me Its thousand flowers were blowing! A veil through which I did not see, A thin veil o'er the world was thrown, In every bud a mystery! Magic in every thing unknown! The field, the grove, the air, was haunted, And all that age has disenchanted! Yes! give me give me back the days of youth, Poor, yet how rich!—my glad inheritance The inextinguishable love of truth, While life's realities were all romance! GOETHE (translated by Anster). XIX. THE VENGEANCE OF MUDARA. To the chase goes Rodrigo,* with hound and with hawk; 'O, in vain have I slaughtered the Infants of Lăra ; old knight." While Rodrigo rides on in the heat of his wrath, A stripling, armed cap-à-pee, crosses his path: "Good-morrow, young esquire."-"Good-morrow, "Will you ride with our party, and share our delight?". Speak your name, courteous stranger," the young man replied; Speak your name and your lineage, ere with 66 you I ride.". "My name is Rodrigo," thus answered the knight; "Of the line of old Lăra, though barred from my right; For the kinsman of Salas proclaims for the heir Of our ancestor's castles and forestries fair A stripling, a renegade's offspring — Mudăra, Whom I'll send, if I can, to the Infants cf Lăra. "I behold thee, disgrace to thy lineage! with joy "I am armed for the forest chase-not for the fight; XX. LOCKHART (altered). - THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. STAY, jailer! stay, and hear my woe! He is not mad who kneels to thec; And what I was and what should be! *The i in this word has the sound of long e, as in me. THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. I'll rave no more in proud despair- I am not mad! I am not mad! My tyrant foes have forged the tale, He smiles in scorn he turns the key - "Tis gone and all is gloom again! Cold, bitter cold! no warmth, no light! Life, all thy comforts once I had! Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night, Although not mad! no, no not mad! 'Tis sure some dream some vision vain! What! I the child of rank and wealth. Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, Bereft of freedom, friends, and health? Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled, Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head! But 't is not mad! it is not mad! Hast thou, my child, forgot e'er this A parent's face, a parent's tongue? I'll ne'er forget thy parting kiss, Nor round my neck how fast you clung! Nor how with me you sued to stay, Nor how that suit my foes forbăde; Nor how I'll drive such thoughts away They'll make me mad! they 'll make me mad! Thy rosy lips, how sweet they smiled! Thy mild blue eyes, how bright they shone! None ever saw a lovelier child! And art thou now for ever gone? 317 O, hark! what mean those yells and cries? Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes! Yes, soon; for, lo! now, while I speak, He whirls a serpent high in air! Your task is done - I'm mad! I'm mad! M. G. LEWIS (attered). XXI. -SEIZE THE PRESENT HOUR. ENJOY the present smiling hour, And put it out of fortune's power! The tide of business, like the morning stream, Is sometimes high, and sometimes low, Now with a noiseless gentle course Anon it lifts aloft the head, And bears down all before it with impetuous force; And trunks of trees come rolling down ; Sheep and their folds together drown: Both house and homestead into seas are borne ; And woods, made thin with winds, their scattered honors mourn Happy the man, and happy he alone, * Pronounced prit'ty. See Sargent's Standard Speller, p. 44. |