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What could her grief be?-she had all she loved,
of a fantastic realm; lier thoughts
For blight and desolation, compassid round
In all which was served up to him, intil,
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A loud lament along the sweeping sea!
IFT, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,
yet they only murmur in their sleep.
I Mihridat * of Ponius.
| And so the film comes o'er lim--and the dizzy Were of the softer order-born of love,
Chamber swims round and round-and shadows busy She drank no blood, nor fatten'd on the dead,
But gladden'd where her harmless conquests spread; Till the last rattle chokes the strangled scream,
For these restored the cross, that from above And all is ice and blackness,--and the earth
Hallow'd her sheltering banners, which incessant
Flew between earth and the unholy crescent,
The city it has clothed in chains, which clank
Now, creaking in the cars of those who owe
The name of freedom to her glorious struggles;
Yet she but shares with them a common woe,
And call'd the « kingdom» of a conquering foe,-
But knows what all-and, most of all, we know-
With what set gilded terms a tyrant juggles!
The name of commonwealth is past and gone
O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe;
Venice is crush'd, and Holland deigns to own Even where their driver goads them, though to slaughter. Ye men, who
A sceptre, and endures the purple robe; pour your blood for kings as water, What have they given your children in return?
If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone A heritage of servitude and woes,
Ilis chainless mountains, 't is but for a time, A blindfold bondage, where your hire is blows.
For tyranny of late is cunning grown, What? do no yet the red-hot ploughshares burn,
Aud in its own good season tramples down O'er which you stumble in a false ordeal,
The sparkles of our ashes. One great clime, And deem this proof of loyalıy the real;
Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean Kissing the haud that guides you to your scars,
Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion And glorying as you tread the glowing bars ?
Of freedom, which their fathers fought for, and All that your sires have left you, all that time
Bequeath &-a heritage of heart and hand, Bequcaths of free, and history of sublime,
And proud distinction from each other land, Spring from a different theme !-Ye see and read,
Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's motion, Admire and sigh, and then succumb and bleed!
As if his senseless sceptre were a wand Save the few spirits, who despite of all,
Full of the magic of exploded scienceAnd worse than all, the sudden crimes engender'd
Sull one great clime, in full and free defiance, By the down-thundering of the prison-wall,
Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime, And thirst to swallow the sweet waters tender'd,
Above the far Atlantic!--She has taught Gushing from freedom's fountains, when the crowd,
Her Esau-brethren that the haughty tlag, Madden'd with centuries of drought, are loud,
The tioating fence of Albion's feebler crag, And trample on each other to obtain
May strike to those whose red right hands have bought The cup which brings oblivion of a chain
Rights cheaply earn'd with blood. Still, still, for ever Heavy and sore, -in which Jong yoked they plough'd
Better, though each man's life-blood were a river, The sand, or if there sprung the yellow grain,
That it should flow, and overflow, than creep 'T was not for them, their necks were too much bowd, Through thousand lazy channels in our veins, And their dead palates chew'd the cud of pain :
Damm'd like the dull canal with locks and chains, Yes! the few spirits-who, despite of deeds
And moving, as a sick man in his sleep,
Thrce Which they abhor, confound not with the cause
paces, and then faltering : better be
Where the extinguish'd Spartans still are free, Those momentary starts from nature's laws,
in their proud charnel of Thermopyla, Which, like the pestilence and earthquake, smite But for a term, then pass, and leave the earth
Than stagnate in our marsh,-or o'er the deep With all her seasons to repair the blight
Fly, and one current to the ocean add, With a few summers, and again put forth
One spirit to the souls our fathers liad,
One freeman more, America, to thee!
WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.
As o'er the cold sepulchral stone
Some name arrests the passer-by,
Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eye!
And when by thee that name is read,
Perchance in some succeeding year,
Reflect on me as on the dead, The many felt, for from all days and climes
And think my heart is buried here. She was the voyager's worship;-even her crimes
September 14th, 1809.
A VERY MOURNFUL BALLAD
ROMANCE MUY DOLOROSO
SITIO Y TOMA DE ALILAMA,
EL CU.IL DECIA EN ARABIGO ASI.
PASEABASE el Rey moro
puerta de Elvira Hasta la de Bivarambla.
Ay de mi, Whama!
SIEGE AND CONOCEST OF ALUAMA, Which, in the Arabic language, is to the following
purport. The effert of the original ballad (which existed both in Spanih and Arabia) was such, that it is forbidden to be sua lista Doors, on pain of death, within Granada.
The Moorish king rides up and down
Woe is me, Alhama!
Cartas le fucron venidas Que Albaina era ganada. Las cartas echó en el fuego, Y al mensagero matara.
Ay de mí, Alhama : Descavalya de una mula, Y en un caballo cavalga. Por d Zacatin arriba Subido se habial Alhambra.
Ay de mí, ihana!
Como en el Alhambra esiuvo, Al mismo punto mandaba Que se toquen las trompetas Con analiles de plata.
Ay de mí, Alhama! Y que atumbores de guerra Apriesa toquen alarma ; Por que lo oigan uns Voros, Los de la Vega y Granada.
Ay de mí, Alhama!
And when the hollow drums of war
Woe is me, Albama!
Then the Moors, by this aware
Woe is me, Alhama!
Out then «pake an aged Moor In these words the king before, « Wherefore call on us, oh king? What may mean this gathering?»
Woc is me, Allama!
d son overon, Que al sangriento Marte llama, l'un á uno, y
dos á dos, Cu gran escuadıon formaban.
Ay de mi, Albama!
Ay de mi, Alhama!
Av de mí, llhama!
y cina: « Bien se te emple, buen Rey; Buco Rey, bien se tr ompleabr.
Ay de ni, albama!
Ay de iní, Albania:
Friends! ye luave, alas! to know Of a most disastrous blow, That the Christians, stern and bold, llave obtund Alhama's hold.»
Woe is me, Albama!
Out theu spake old Alfaqui,
Woe is me, Alhuna!
« By thee were slaid, in evil hour, The thencerrage, Granada's tlower; And strangers were received by thee Of Cordova the chivalry.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Di due vache donzelle, oneste, accorte
Licci e miscri padri il ciel ne fco;
L'una e l'altra vergendo, ambo chiedeo.
A le fumanti tede d' Imenco:
Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo.
Irremeabil soglia, ove s'asconde
La sua tenera udir voce pictosa.
Corro a quel marmo in cui la figlia or posu,
Of two fair virgins, modest though admired,
Heaven made us happy, and now, wretched sires;
Ileaven for a nobler doom their worth desires,
L'ecomes cxtinguislid, soon–100 soon expires :
Eternal captive, to her God aspires:
Which sbuts between your never-meeting eyes,
May-t hear her sweet and pious voice opce more
pour, And knock, and knock, and knock--but none replies.