ODE TO A SKYLARK.

Higher still and higher,

From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

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And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever, singest.

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O'er which clouds are bright'ning,

Thou dost float and run,

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even

Melts around thy flight.

Like a star of heaven,

In the broad daylight

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.

Keen are the arrows

Of that silver sphere.

Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear,

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare,

From one lonely cloud

[flowed.

The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over

What thou art we know not;

What is most like thee?

From rainbow clouds there flow not

Drops so bright to see,

As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a poet hidden

In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not.

*

*

*

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THE SPANISH CHAMPION.

THE SPANISH CHAMPION.

The warrior bowed his crested head,
And tamed his heart of fire,

And sued the haughty king to free
His long imprisoned sire.

"I bring thee here my fortress keys,
I bring my captive train,

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord,
Oh! break my father's chain.'

"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 hand,
His 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 grateful heart
Hath yearned so long to see.

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved,
His cheeks' blood came and went,

He reached that grey haired chieftain's side,
And then, dismounting, bent,

A lowly knee to earth he bent,

His father's hand he took

What was there in its nerveless touch

That all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold-a frozen thing,
It dropped from his like lead;
He looked up to the face above,
The face was of the dead.

THE SPANISH CHAMPION.

A plume waved o'er the noble brow,
The brow was fixed and white,
He met at length his father's eyes,
But in them was no sight.

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed,
But who could paint that gaze?

They hushed their very eyes 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 arms,
And from his lips 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,
On all his young renown,

He flung the falchion from his side,
And in the dust sate 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, oh! 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.

For thee my fields were won;

And thou hast perished in thy chains,

As though thou hadst no son."

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THE SPANISH CHAMPION.

Then, starting from the ground once more,
He seized the monarch's rein,
Amidst the pale and withered 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 shed;

Thou canst not-and a king? His dust
Be mountains on thy head."

He loosed the rein, 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.

DAMON AND PYTHIAS.

DAMON AND PYTHYAS.

Enter CALANTHE to DAMON.

Calanthe. Hold, sir;-is what they tell me true?
Damon. Calanthe,

At any time save this, thy voice would have
The power to stay me-Prythee, let me pass-
Nor yet abridge me of that fleeting space

Given to my heart.

Cal. Speak! have they said the truth? Have you consented to put in the pledge Of Pythis' life for your return?

Damon. 'Tis better

That I should say to her-" Hermione, I die!"
Than that another should hereafter tell,

"Damon is dead!"

Cal. No! you would say to her,

"Pythias has died for me -even now the citizens
Cried in mine ear, "Calanthe, look to it!"

Damon. And do you think I would betray him!
Cal. Think of it?

I give no thought upon it-Possibility,

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Though it should weigh but the least part of a chance Is quite enough-Damon may let him die

Ay, meanly live himself, and let him die!

Damon. Calanthe, I'll not swear. When men lift up Their hands unto the gods, it is to give

Assurance to a doubt: But to confirm,

By any attestation, the return

Of Damon unto Pythias, would profane

The sanctity of friendship!-Fare thee well

[AS DAMON attempts to leave, she clings to him.

Nay, cling no to me.

Cal. So will Hermione cling—

But Damon will not so reject her

She will implore thee back to life again,

And her loud cries will pierce thy inmost breast,

And Pythias will be murdered!

Damon. I must undo thy grasping.

Cal. Mercy, Damon!

Damon. Unwillingly I stay thy straggling hands

Forgive me for't.