66

Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day!

Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his

way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed,

And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band,

With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land: "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see.”

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went ;

He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent;

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold -a frozen thing- it dropped from his like

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed, — but who could paint

that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts that saw its horror and amaze; They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood; For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood.

"FATHER!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then:

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown, He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful

brow,

"No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for,

now;

My king is false, my hope betrayed! My father-O! the

worth,

The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet!

I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had

met!

Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then;

were won;

for thee my fields

And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no

son!"

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein,

Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train;
And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse

led,

And sternly set them face to face - the king before the dead :—

"Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss? Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — give answer, where are they?

If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay!

"Into these glassy eyes put light;-be still! keep down thine ire!

Bid these white lips a blessing speak, this earth is not my

sire :

Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was

Thou canst not? — and a king!—his dust be mountains on thy

head."

He loosed the steed, - his slack hand fell;

--

upon the silent face

He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad

place:

His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain: His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spain.

Mrs. Hemans.

CLXXV.

BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO.

WITH some good ten of his chosen men,

Bernardo hath appeared,

Before them all in the palace hall,

The lying king to beard;
With cap in hand and eye on ground,
He came in reverend guise,
But ever and anon he frowned,
And flame broke from his eyes.

"A curse upon thee," cries the king,
"Who com'st unbid to me!

But what from traitor's blood should spring,
Save traitor like to thee?

His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart,

Perchance our champion brave

May think it were a pious part
To share Don Sancho's grave."

"Whoever told this tale,

I saw the falchion shine

That soon had drunk your royal blood,

Had I not ventured mine;

But memory soon of service done

Deserteth the ingrate;

You've thanked the son for life and crown

By the father's bloody fate.

"Ye swore upon your kingly faith

To set Don Sancho free;

But, curse upon your paltering breath!

The light he ne'er did see;
He died in dungeon cold and dim,
By Alphonso's base decree;
And visage blind and stiffened limb,

Were all they gave to me.

"The king that swerveth from his word, Hath stained his purple black;

No Spanish lord will draw his sword

Behind a liar's back;

But noble vengeance shall be mine,

And open hate I'll show

The king hath injured Carpio's line,

And Bernard is his foe!"

66

Seize, seize him!" loud the King doth scream; "There are a thousand here!

Let his foul blood this instant stream;

What! caitiffs, do ye fear?

Seize, seize the traitor!"

But not one

And here's the sword that owns no lord,
Excepting Heaven and me;

Fain would I know who dares its point,
King, Condé, or Grandee."