LA FRESCURA BY THOMAS PRINGLE. Tis Summer-neath the brilt at sky The sighing breeze just stirs the bower. It is a lovely spot; and there watch where tl swans in besary swine, And, there, the sage released from toils, LA FRESCURA. BY THOMAS PRINGLE. 'Tis Summer-'neath the brilliant sky Of fair Castile or Italy. The sighing breeze just stirs the bower, Rich with the spoils of fruit and flower; Above, the marble porch is gleaming; Below, the sparkling fount is streaming; And circling woodlands stretch their shade O'er limpid stream and lawny glade. It is a lovely spot; and there Are happy hearts its joys to share: Yon group that o'er the lakelet's brim Watch where the swans in beauty swim; And, there, the sage released from toils, The warrior won from battle broils, The lady in her matron charms, The laughing girl with clasping arms Around her brother's neck, and she Who dandles on her dancing knee The infant crowing wild with glee. A graceful group—a joyous scene! In exile from their native land, It was their crime to hope too high And now the remnant of her train God of our fathers! and shall we The offspring of the brave and free- And shut our sordid hearts and hands, Oh, no! the thought I will not brook While thus the stranger, at our gate, No! though the train of pampered pride As did the Pharisee of old, Yet there are hearts of better mould Enough-the blush-the starting tear Reveal the purpose nobly dear! And see! the Exile's languid eyes Are lightened up in glad surprise, As, wakening from despair's wild trance, Kind faces meet his wildered glance. -Enough!-here let the curtain fall: Hearts that can feel will picture all— All that my versé may not unfold Of meeting minds of generous mould. |