Whose quiet beauty o'er my soul through distant years will come -Yet what but as the dead, to thee, shall I be then, my home? "Not as the dead!—no, not the dead!—We speak of them-we keep Their names, like light that must not fade, within our bosoms deep! We hallow e'en the lyre they touched, we love the lay they sung, We pass with softer step the place they filled our band among! There had passed many changes o'er her brow, THE SULIOTE MOTHER. It is related in a French Life of Ali Pacha, that several of their mountain fastnesses, assembled on a lofty summit, and, after chanting a wild song, precipitated themselves, with their No trace of sorrow or delight, no memory of its children, into the chasm below, to avoid becoming the slaves birth! But I depart like sound, like dew, like aught that the Suliote women, on the advance of the Turkish troops into leaves on earth of the enemy. For in the rocky strait beneath, Lay Suliote sire and son; They had heaped high the piles of death They had crossed the torrent, and on they come! And now the horn's loud blast was heard, As cliff and hollow rang. "Hark! they bring music, my joyous child! What saith the trumpet to Suli's wild: Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire, And quench its thirst with love's free tears!-'tis As if at a glance of thine armed sire? And farther yet the tambour's peal "Hearest thou the sound of their savage mirth? And from the arrowy peak she sprung, Ye weep, and it is well! For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday -Now gaze! and bear the silent unto rest! Look yet on him, whose eye Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth! Was he not fair amidst the sons of earth, The beings born to die? -But not where death has power may love be blessed Come near! and bear ye the beloved to rest! How may the mother's heart Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again? Is he not gone, our brightest and our best? Look on him! is he laid To slumber from the harvest or the chase? His voice of mirth had ceased The Siege of Valencia. A DRAMATIC POEM. Judicio ha dado esta no vista hazana Hallò sola en Numancia todo quanto ADVERTISEMENT. THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA SCENE-ROOM IN A PALACE OF VALENCIA, BALLAD. At the pouring of the wine; THE history of Spain records two instances of the severe and self-devoting heroism, which forms the subject of the following dramatic poem. The first of these occurred at the siege of Tarifa, which" THOU hast not been with a festal throng, was defended in 1294 for Sancho, King of Castile, during the rebellion of his brother, Don Juan, by Guzman, surnamed the Good.* The second is related of Alonzo Lopez de Texeda, who, until his garrison had been utterly disabled by pestilence, maintained the city of Zamora for the children of Don Pedro the Cruel, against the forces of Henrique of Trastamara.t Impressive as were the circumstances which distinguished both these memorable sieges, it appeared to the author of the following pages that a deeper interest, as well as a stronger colour of nationality, might be imparted to the scenes in which she has feebly attempted "to describe high passions and high actions;" by connecting a religious feeling with the patriotism and high-minded loyalty which had thus been proved "faithful unto death," and by surrounding her ideal dramatis persona with recollections derived from the heroic legends of Spanish chivalry. She has, for this reason, employed the agency of imaginary characters, and fixed upon "Valencia del Cid" as the scene to give them "a local habitation and a name." -There's blood upon thy shield, "And is there blood upon my shield? We have sent the streams from our battle-field We have given the founts a stain, "The ground is wet-but not with rain- I have seen the strong man dic, "In the gloomy Roncesvalles' Strait There's many a fair young face "Alas! for love, for woman's breast, -Hast thou seen a youth with an eagle crest. And a white plume waving free? With his proud quick flashing eye, Doth he come from where the swords flashed high, The trumpet's blast unstartled, and to look In the Roncesvalles' Strait ?" "In the gloomy Roncesvalles' Strait I saw and marked him well; -But it is not youth which turns For the boy's high heart too wildly burns "Thou canst not say that he lies low, The lovely and the brave! Oh! none could look on his joyous brow, Dark, dark perchance the day From the Roncesvalles' Strait!" "There is dust upon his joyous brow, And o'er his graceful head; And the war-horse will not wake him now, Though it bruise his greensward bed! -I have seen the stripling die, And the strong man meet his fate, Where the mountain-winds go sounding by, In the Roncesvalles' Strait !" ELMINA enters. In the fixed face of Death without dismay? Elmina. Wo! wo! that aught so gentle and so young Should thus be called to stand i' the tempest's path, And bear the token and the hue of death On a bright soul so soon! I had not shrunk From mine own lot, but thou, my child, shouldst move As a light breeze of heaven, through summer. bowers, And not o'er foaming billows. We are fall'n Ximena. Ay, days, that wake All to their tasks!-Youth may not loiter now Elmina. Hast thou some secret wo Ximena. What sorrow should be mine, Unknown to thee? Elmina. Alas! the baleful air Wherewith the pestilence in darkness walks Elmina. Your songs are not as those of other And wrought an early withering!-Thou nast days, Mine own Ximena !-Where is now the young And buoyant spirit of the morn, which once Breathed in your spring-like melodies, and woke Joy's echo from all hearts? Ximena. My mother, this Is not the free air of our mountain-wilds; Elmina. Alas! thy heart (I see it well) doth sicken for the pure Their wild wood-paths. crossed The paths of Death, and ministered to those I look on thee in fear! Ximena. Thou hast no cause To fear for me. When the wild clash of steel, GONZALEZ enters Welcome from this day's toil!-It is the hour Gonzalez. There may be rest For the tired peasant, when the vesper bell height, Elmina. Meanest thou ?-knowest thou aught?— When Heaven lets loose the storms that chasten I cannot utter it-My sons! my sons! realms -Who speaks of rest? Ximena. My father, shall I fill The wine-cup for thy lips, or bring the lute Gonzalez. If there be strains of power Is it of them?-Oh! wouldst thou speak of them? Gonzalez. A mother's heart divineth but too well! Elmina. Speak, I adjure thee! I can bear it all. Where are my children? Gonzalez. In the Moorish camp Tears and fond thoughts to earth; give voice to -All is not lost, my mother! I have need of such, Ximena! we must hear Ximena. I know all high Sung by the mountain-Christians,(1) in the holds Elmina. Say, they live. Gonzalez. Elmina, still they live. Whom my fond heart had imagined to itself Are captives with the Moor!-Oh! how was this? The praise of later champions. Wouldst thou hear Of boyish daring, left our mountain-halls, Gonzalez. Ay, speak of him; for in that name is power, Such as might rescue kingdoms! Speak of him! Elmina. Oh, why is this? How my heart sinks! Gonzalez. It must not fail thee yet, Daughter of heroes!-thine inheritance With his young brother, eager to behold A ransom far too high. Elmina. What! have we wealth Which might redeem a monarch, and our sons Is strength to meet all conflicts. Thou canst num- But as the plumage to a warrior's helm, ber In thy long line of glorious ancestry Men, the bright offering of whose blood hath made As with a conqueror's robe, till th' infidel Worn or thrown off as lightly. And for me, Ximena. Father! doubt thou not O'erawed, shrank back before them?-Ay, the earth May win them back.-Distrust us not, my father We can bear all things. • "Serranos," mountaineers. Gonzalez. Can ye bear disgrace? |