XX.

And when the streams are wrapped in gelid sheath, Pleased he beholds them o'er the waters glide; Shuddering at times to see the depth beneath

The thin and fragile glass whereon they slide ;-
Or round the rink among the curlers wreathe,

To view the buoyant stones all stately ride;
And linger at their never-wearying play,
Till the mirk night-mist gathers on their way.

XXI.

Visions of youth, and thou sweet vale, farewell!
Scenes of my boyhood's guileless sports, adieu !
How does my heart with aching rapture swell,

As thus, in dreams, I tread your haunts anew.
Nor will I seek these musings sweet to quell,

To scare such visions from my mental view; Though Memory's glass but gives me back again Thoughts of the past, whose very bliss is pain!

C.

THE CAPTIVE OF ALHAMA.

The story upon which the following ballad is founded, occurs in the last volume of Conde's "History of the Arabs in Spain." It is there said to be a fact:-nothing has been added, but names to the persons concerned.

I.

THE Moslem star was on the wane,
Eclipsed the Paynim powers;

And the haughty lord of Christian Spain
Besieged Granada's towers;
Gonsalvo, with a hundred knights

Of Leon's chivalrie,

Well posted on Alhama's heights,

Staid succour from the sea.

II.

One morn a Moorish youth was led
To brave Gonsalvo's tent;

His escort from the field had fled,

And his horse had fall'n, o'erspent ;

He hung his head in speechless grief,
As the tear rolled down his cheek,
And scornful looked each mailed chief,
To behold a youth so weak.

That thus it weeps, in woman's guise,

Where its fierce forefathers fought?" "Nay, hear my tale," exclaimed the youth, His eye one moment bright'ning, "And Allah, if I speak not truth, Consume me with his lightning!

IV.

"From beauteous Malaga I came,
But by no beaten way;
Superb Granada was my aim,—

Woe, woe the luckless day!
For had I in my journey sped
To Darro's rushing water,
This morn Zorayda I had wed,
Granada's fairest daughter!

V.

"If pity then, or love's sweet power,

E'er touched thy gallant breast,

But grant me freedom for an hour,—

To the oar I give the rest;

These few bright moments yield in grace,

My mournful fate to tell,

To see once more Zorayda's face,

And take my long farewell!"

VI.

Gonsalvo had no marble heart,

Albeit his look was stern;
He bade the Moorish youth depart,
And ere set of sun return:

Each pass and straight the chieftain eyed,
Yet sometimes turned his head,

To mark how down the mountain side
His captive featly sped.

VII.

The Sierra's dazzling peak of snow
Yet blushed with rosy light,

When again the grieving Moor bowed low
Before the Christian knight;

But alone he came not, as he went,

For a damsel pressed his arm,

Faint as a rose by tempests bent,

And quivering with alarm.

VIII.

Awhile they stood in speechless gloom;

She looked at him and wept;

And the knights, still reckless of his doom,
An equal silence kept:

At length the maid unveiled her head,
She knelt at the chieftain's knee,
Few were the stifled words she said,
But he well could guess the plea.

IX.

"Gazúl, thy captive, Christian knight, Is here by his solemn vow ;— He was my lover yesternight,

He is my husband now! Without him life to me is vain,

And its sounding pageants hollow. With him I've promised to remain ; Him-him alone, I follow.

X.

"'Twas for me he dared, unwisely brave

The ambushed road to take;

He was your foe, he is your slave,
But he suffers for my sake;

Ah! then, his love still let me share,

To whom I've pledged my oath ; The fetters, if you will, prepare,

But let them bind us both!"