"Yes! weep, my sister! weep, till from thy heart The weight flow forth in tears; yet sink thou not. I bind my sorrow to a lofty part,

For thee, my gentle one! our orphan lot
To meet in quenchless trust. My soul is strong:
Thou, too, wilt rise in holy might ere long.

"A breath of our free heavens and noble sires, A memory of our old victorious dead—

These mantle me with power; and though their fires In a frail censer briefly may be shed,

Yet shall they light us onward, side by side.

Have the wild birds, and have not we, a guide?

Cheer, then, beloved! on whose meek brow is set

Our mother's image-in whose voice a tone,

A faint sweet sound of hers is lingering yet,
An echo of our childhood's music gone.

Cheer thee! thy sister's heart and faith are high :
Our path is one-with thee I live and die!"

THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE

"Thither where he lies buried!

That single spot is the whole world to me."

WALLENSTEIN.

THY voice was in my soul! it called me on ;
O my lost friend! thy voice was in my soul.
From the cold faded world whence thou art gone,
To hear no more life's troubled billows roll,
I come! I come!

THEKLA AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE

Now speak to me again! we loved so well

27

We loved!-oh! still, I know that still we love!
I have left all things with thy dust to dwell,
Through these dim aisles in dreams of thee to rove:
This is my home!

Speak to me in the thrilling minster's gloom;
Speak! thou hast died, and sent me no farewell:
I will not shrink. Oh, mighty is the tomb,
But one thing mightier, which it cannot quell—
This woman's heart!

This lone, full, fragile heart!—the strong alone
In love and grief-of both the burning shrine!
Thou, my soul's friend, with grief hast surely done;
But with the love which made thy spirit mine,
Say, couldst thou part?

I hear the rustling banners; and I hear

The wind's low singing through the fretted stone.

I hear not thee; and yet I feel thee near

What is this bound that keeps thee from thine own?.
Breathe it away.

I wait thee-I adjure thee! Hast thou known
How I have loved thee? couldst thou dream it all?

Am I not here, with night and death alone,

And fearing not? And hath my spirit's call
O'er thine no sway?

Thou canst not come ! or thus I should not weep;
Thy love is deathless, but no longer free!
Soon would its wing triumphantly o'ersweep
The viewless barrier, if such power might be,
Soon, soon and fast!

But I shall come to thee! our souls' deep dreams,
Our young affections, have not gushed in vain ;
Soon in one tide shall blend the severed streams,
The worn heart break its bonds-and death and pain
Be with the past!

THE KING OF ARRAGON'S LAMENT FOR HIS BROTHER.

[The grief of Ferdinand, King of Arragon, for the loss of his brother, Don Pedro, who was killed during the siege of Naples, is affectingly described by the historian Mariana. It is also the subject of one of the old Spanish Ballads in Lockhart's beautiful collection.]

"If I could see him, it were well with me!"-WALLENSTEIN.

THERE were lights and sounds of revelling in the vanquished city's halls,

As by night the feast of victory was held within its

walls;

And the conquerors filled the wine-cup high, after years of bright blood shed;

But their lord, the King of Arragon, midst the triumph wailed the dead.

He looked down from the fortress won, on the tents and flowers below,

The moonlit sea, the torchlit streets-and a gloom came o'er his brow:

The voice of thousands floated up, with the horn and

cymbal's tone;

But his heart midst that proud music felt more utterly alone.

THE KING OF ARRAGON'S LAMENT

29

And he cried, "Thou art mine, fair city! thou city of

the sea!

But, oh, what portion of delight is mine at last in

thee?—

I am lonely midst thy palaces, while the glad waves past them roll,

And the soft breath of thine orange bowers is mournful to my soul.

My brother! O my brother! thou art gone the true and brave,

And the haughty joy of victory hath died upon thy

grave.

There are many round my throne to stand, and to march where I lead on;

There was one to love me in the world-my brother! thou art gone!

"In the desert, in the battle, in the ocean-tempest's

wrath,

We stood together, side by side-one hope was ours, one path;

Thou has wrapped me in thy soldier's cloak, thou hast fenced me with thy breast;

Thou hast watched beside my couch of pain bravest heart, and best!

I see the festive lights around,-o'er a dull sad world

they shine;

I hear the voice of victory

thine?

my Pedro where is

The only voice in whose kind tone my spirit found

reply

O brother! I have bought too dear this hollow page

antry.

"I have horse and gallant fleets, to spread my glory and

my sway,

And chiefs to lead them fearlessly,-my friend hath passed away!

For the kindly look, the word of cheer, my heart may thirst in vain ;

And the face that was as light to mine-it cannot come

again!

I have made thy blood, thy faithful blood, the offering for a crown;

With love, which earth bestows not twice, I have purchased cold renown;

How often will my weary heart midst the sounds of triumph die,

When I think of thee, my brother! thou flower of chivalry!

"I am lonely

death!

-I am lonely! this rest is even as

Let me hear again the ringing spears and the battletrumpet's breath:

Let me see the fiery charger foam and the royal banner

wave

But where art thou, my brother? where? In thy low and early grave !"

And louder swelled the songs of joy through that victorious night,

And faster flowed the red wine forth, by the stars' and torches' light:

But low and deep, amidst the mirth, was heard the

'conqueror's moan

"My brother! O my brother! best and bravest ! thou art gone!"