13. Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyes, 14. "There in no law to say such things 15. Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui! Though thy beard so hoary be, The king hath sent to have thee seized, For Albama's loss displeased. Wo is me, Alhama! ( 16, And to fix thy head upon High Alhambra's loftiest stone; That this for thee should be the law, Wo is me, Alhama! 17. "Cavalier! and man of worth! Let these words of mine go forth; That to him I nothing owe. Wo is me, Alhama! 18. "But on my soul Alhama weighs, Wo is me, Alhama! 19. "Sires have lost their children, wives Their lords, and valiant men their lives; One what best his love might claim Hath lost, another wealth, or fame. Wo is me, Alhama! 20, "I lost a damsel in that hour, 21. And as these things the old Moor said, They severed from the trunk his head; And to the Alhambra's wall with speed 'Twas carried, as the King decreed. Wo is me, Alhama! 22. And men and infants therein weep 23. And from the windows o'er the walls The King weeps as a woman o'er His loss, for it is much and sore. Wo is me, Alhama! TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELLI. ON A NUN. Sonnet composed in the name of a father whose daughter had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the veil. Or two fair virgins, modest, though admired, Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sires, Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires, And gazing upon either, both required. But thou at least from out the jealous door, Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes, Rush, the swoln flood of bitterness I pour, MADAME LAVALETTE. LET Edinburgh critics o'erwhelm with their praises But cheering's the beam, and unfading the splendour Of thy torch, Wedded Love! and it never has yet Shone with lustre more holy, more pure, or more tender, Than it sheds on the name of the fair Lavalette. Then fill high the wine cup, e'en Virtue shall bless it, And hallow the goblet which foams to her name; The warm lip of Beauty shall piously press it, And Hymen shall honour the pledge to her fame: To the health of the Woman, who freedom and life too Has risk'd for her Husband, we'll pay the just debt; And hail with applauses the Heroine and Wife too, The constant, the noble, the fair Lavalette. Her foes have awarded, in impotent malice, To their captive a doom, which all Europe abhors, And turns from the stairs of the Priest haunted palace, While those who replaced them there, blush for their cause: But, in ages to come, when the blood-tarnish'd glory Of dukes, and of marshals, in darkness hath set, Hearts shall throb, eyes shall glisten, at reading the story Of the fond self-devotion of fair Lavalette. ODE. Oн, shame to thee, Land of the Gaul! Oh, shame to thy children and thee! Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall, How wretched thy portion shall be! Derision shall strike thee forlorn, A mockery that never shall die; The curses of Hate, and the hisses of Scorn And, proud o'er thy ruin, for ever be hurl'd Oh, where is thy spirit of yore, The spirit that breathed in thy dead, For where is the glory they left thee in trust? Go, look through the kingdoms of earth, From Indus, all around to the Pole, And something of goodness, of honour, and worth, Shall brighten the sins of the soul: But thou art alone in thy shame, The world cannot liken thee there; Abhorrence and vice have disfigur'd thy name Beyond the low reach of compare; Stupendous in guilt thou shalt lend us through time A proverb, a by-word, for treachery and crime! While conquest illumin'd his sword, While yet in his prowress he stood, Though tyranny sat on his crown, And wither'd the nations afar, Yet bright in thy view was that Despot's renown, Then, back from the Chieftain thou slunkest away- |