In the dire carnage of that night's dread hour, " 7. BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.—Mrs. Hemans The celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, having made many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the Count Saldana, who had been imprisoned, by King Alphonso of Asturias, almost from the time of Bernardo's birth, at last took up arms, in despair. The war which he maintained proved so destructive, that the men of the land gathered round the king, and united in demanding Saldana's liberty. Alphonso accordingly offered Bernardo immediate possession of his father's person, in exchange for his castle of Carpio. Bernardo, without hesitation, gave up his strong-hold with all his captives; and, being assured that his father was then on his way from prison, rode forth with the king to meet him. "And when he saw his father approaching, he exclaimed," says the ancient chronicle, "O, God! is the Count of Saldana indeed coming?' 'Look where he is,' replied the cruel king, and now go and greet him, whom you have so long desired to see.'" The remainder of the story will be found related in the ballad. The chronicles and romances leave us nearly in the dark as to Bernardo's history after this event. THE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, "I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!-0! break my father's 66 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 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? the face was of the dead! That hand was cold, -a frozen thing, - it dropped from his like lead! the brow was fixed and white: but in them was no sight! 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, "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!" 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 shed! Thou canst not? - and a king! — his dust be mountains on thy head!" -- He loosed the steed, his slack hand fell; Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the pow der. THE boy stood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled; The flames rolled on - he would not go, without his Father's word; Speak, Father!" once again he cried, "if I may yet be gone! And " but the booming shots replied, and fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath, and in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death, in still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more aloud, "My Father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, the wreathing fires made way. They wrapped the ship in splendor wild, they caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder sound, the boy - O! where was he? Ask of the winds, that far around with fragments strewed the sea, With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, that well had borne their part! But the noblest thing which perished there was that young, faithful heart! 9. ROCKS OF MY COUNTRY.—Mrs. Hemans. ROCKS of my country! let the cloud your crested heights array, 10. THE TWO HOMES.-Mrs. Hemans. SEEST thou my home? 't is where yon woods are waving, Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, 'Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming, From its white walls the very tendrils wreathing There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending, "T is where I, too, am loved with love undying, Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling: 11. INVOCATION. — Mrs. Hemans. ANSWER me, burning stars of night! where is the spirit gone, O! many-toned and chainless wind! thou art a wanderer free; 12. LOCHINVAR.- Sir Walter Scott. O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West,- So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 'Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all. 66 in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode, and they ran: |