But Thou hast said, "The blood of goat, Are mine accepted sacrifice." And expound the words of fear, Chaldea's seers are good, But here they have no skill; Are wise and deep in lore; A captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, "Belshazzar's grave is made, His canopy the stone; The Persian on his throne!" LORD BYRON. THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA. RISE up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town! From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing, And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet'3 lordly blowing, And banners bright from lattice light are waving every where, And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly in the air: Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town! "Arise, arise, Xarifa! I see Andalla's face, He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace; Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquiver Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely, never. Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of purple mixed with white, guess 't was wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night! Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town! What aileth thee, Xarifa? what makes thine eyes look down? Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town? I've heard you say on many a day, and sure you said the truth, Andalla rides without a peer, among all Granada's youth. Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go, Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow: Then rise - O! rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town!" The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down, Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town; But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove, And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove; One bonny rose-bud she had traced, before the noise drew nigh; That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping from her eye. "No-no!" she sighs, "bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town!" Hear, hear the trumpet, how it swells, and how the people cry! He stops at Zara's palace-gate—why sit ye still —— 0, why?" "At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate; in him shall I dis cover The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover? I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!" J. G. LOCKHART. CORONACH. Spanish Ballads. He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The fount, reappearing, From the raindrops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary; But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. Waft the leaves that are searest ; But our flower was in flushing When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi Sage counsel in cumber, |