Polluted Coward villain! and he lurks
Behind his armies and his multitudes,
And mocks my idle wrath! It is not fit,
It is not possible that I should live!
Live! and deserve to be the finger-mark
Of slave-contempt! His blood I cannot reach,
But in my own all stains shall be effaced;
It shall blot out the marks of infamy ;
And when the warriors of the days to come
Tell of Ximalpoca, it shall be said,
He died the brave man's death!
Unworthy, do I seek his altar thus,
A voluntary victim. And perchance
The sacrifice of life may profit ye,
My people, though all living efforts fail'd
By fortune, not by fault.
And if your ill-doom'd king deserved your love,
Say of him to your children, he was one
Who bravely bore misfortune; who, when life
Became dishonor, shook his body off,
And join'd the spirits of the heroes dead.
Yes! not in Miclanteuctli's dark abode,
With cowards shall your king receive his doom;
Not in the icy caverns of the north,
Suffer through endless ages! He shall join
The spirits of the brave; with them at morn
Shall issue from the eastern gate of Heaven,
And follow through his fields of light the sun;
With them shall raise the song and weave the dance,
Sport in the stream of splendor; company
Down the western palace of his rest,
The Prince of Glory, and with equal eye
Endure his center'd radiance. None of you
Forgetful, O my people, even then ;
But often, in the amber cloud of noon
Diffused, will I o'erspread your summer fields,
And on the freshen'd maize and brightening meads
Shower plenty.
Spirits of my valiant sires,
I come! Mexitli, never at thy shrine
Flow'd braver blood! never a nobler heart
Steam'd up its life to thee! Priest of the God,
Perform your office!
XLVI. THE MINSTREL'S CURSE.
From the German of Uhland.
HELEN HERBERT.
IN ancient days a castle-a castle high and grand-
Shone out upon the ocean across a smiling land,
And around about it gardens in flowery mazes twined,
Where sparkled sunny fountains against the sunny wind.
There`dwelt a haughty monarch, to siege and battle known;
With pallid brow and sullen he sat upon his throne;
For all his looks were fury, his thought a gruesome flood,
And all he spoke was scoffing, all he wrote was blood.
Once to the castle journeyed two bards, a noble pair,
One crowned with golden ringlets, the other gray of hair;
A harp the elder carried, a gallant steed he rode,
While gayly on beside him his young companion strode.
Out spake the minstrel hoary : “Be ready, now, my own,
Choose of our lay the choicest and strike your fullest tone;
Sing joy and bitter sorrow, love's crown and passion's dart—
Join all the powers of melody to touch the tyrant's heart."
The massive gates were opened-they passed the portal wide;
Throned sat the King before them, his consort by his side;
The King in awful splendor, like the bloody polar light-
But like the moon the lady, so fair and softly bright.
The master sweeps the harp-strings with skillful touch and clear—
Full rolls the swelling music upon the ravished ear,
And high a young voice soars, borne on a winged strain
The other follows softly in spirit-like refrain.
They sing of love and spring-time-of gentle joys that bless-
Of freedom, manly honor—of truth and holiness;
They sing of all things tender, that stirs the heart's desire;
They sing of all things noble, that lift the spirit higher.
The knights forget their jesting, the clowns their antics odd,
The haughty warriors tremble and bow before their God;
The queen is softly weeping in tender, sad unrest—
She tosses to the singers the rose from off her breast.
"Ye've led away my people and now allure my wife!
So cries the King, upstarting, his soul in evil strife;
He hurls his sword, and, flashing, it cleaves the young man's breast, Deep under rushing life-blood the golden song is pressed.
The waiting crowd is scattered as leaves before the blast,
Upon his master's bosom the youth has breathed his last.
He wraps his mantle round him, he binds him on the horse,
And leaving court and castle, walks forth beside the corse.
But lo! the minstrel pauses before the portal grand,
He lifts the lyre, the peerless, the pride of all the land,
He breaks it 'gainst a pillar, he hurls it to the ground,
And shrill through hall and gardens his fearsome tones resound.
"Oh! woe to you, ye towers! No more shall blessed song
Ring through your echoing arches to thrill a careless throng;
No! sighs and bitter groaning and the stealthy step of slaves,
Until the avenging spirit shall tread you into graves!
"Oh! woe to you, ye gardens in the tender light of May !
Look on these ghastly features, this senseless, breathless clay—
Look, and, beholding, wither; strike all your fountains dumb,
Lie desolate and barren through all the years to come!
"Woe, woe to thee, assassin! Thou curse of minstrelsy!
Vain, vain shall all thy striving for bloody glory be,
Thy name shall be forgotten, lost in eternal doom,
And dies the last death-rattle, breathed into empty gloom!"
So shrieked the bard in anguish, and Heaven heard his cry—
The stately halls have vanished, the walls in ruins lie,
One shaft alone remaining tells of departed power,
And that, already crumbling, may perish in an hour.
Where once were blooming gardens is spread a moorland bare,
There never shade reposes, or fountain leaps in air;
No legend names the monarch, or line of sounding verse—
All fallen and forgotten!
That is the minstrel's cure.
XLVII. ODE IN IMITATION OF ALCŒUS.
HAT constitutes a state?
Not high-raised battlement, or laboured mound,
Thick wall, or moated gate;
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned ;
Not bays, and broad-armed ports,
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;
Not starred and spangled courts,
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride :—
No:-Men, high-minded men,
With powers as far above dull brutes endued,
In forest, brake, or den.
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude:
Men, who their duties know,
But know their rights, and knowing dare maintain ;
Prevent the long-aimed blow,
And crush the tyrant, while they rend the chain,
These constitute a state;
And sovereign Law, that state's collected will,
O'er thrones and globes elate,
Sits empress, crowning Good, repressing Ill;
Smit by her sacred frown
The fiend, Dissension, like a vapour, sinks;
And e'en the all-dazzling Crown
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks.—
Such was this heaven-loved Isle,
Than Lesbos fairer, and the Cretan shore :
No more shall Freedom smile?
Shall we now languish, and be men no more?
Since all must life resign,
Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave
'Tis folly to decline,
And steal inglorious to the silent grave.
XLVIII.—THE DEATH OF THE OLD SERGEANT.
(Adaptation.) B. F. WILSON.
OME a little nearer, doctor!
Let me take the cup:
Draw your chair in-draw it closer :-just one other little sup!
It's soothing!" "Now you're better?" "Ah! I know this won't last long:
Doctor, you've done all you could do all that's right, and nothing wrong!
"Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to-but it ain't much use to try!"
"Never say that!" said the surgeon. "Courage, Burton! don't say die!".
"What we say will make no difference ;-there's a rising something here;
A goin' up-up-somewhere :-I wish Harry would appear!
"Doctor! what has been the matter ?" "You were very faint, they say:
You must try to get to sleep now. Doctor, have I been away?"
"Not that anybody knows of "-"I'm afraid my head's not right—
But I'll tell you all about it :- -can you stay awhile to-night?
"I have got my 'marching orders!' and I'm ready, too, to go!-
Doctor, did you say I fainted? But I know it was not so;
For, as sure as I'm a sargeant, and was wounded on the hill,
I've this very night been back there!—you may doubt if you will.
"At first, I was in quarters, and the guards had been their round. And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises stopped, around:
They had not been gone five minutes, when . . . some one called my name :
́ORDERLY SERGEANT-ROBERT BURTON!'-just that way-quite clear it came!
"I thought it might be fancy, till I heard the voice once more :
· ORDERLY SERGEAT-ROBERT BURTON !'-and I turned round to the door;
Then . . . I some-how don't remember . . . till a sudden flash displayed,
All about me, the broad river, where an anchorage was made.
"We were waiting to be ferried to the field we were to fight,
And I saw the dark clouds plainly, with the cannon on the height;
But a palpitation seized me-when a bugle sounded soft;
High it seemed-but all was darkness, as I turned my eyes
"And the same mysterious voice said—as if speeking from some tower'ORDERLY SERGEANT-ROBERT BURTON! IT IS NOW THE ELEVENTH HOUR!' Doctor Austin, sir-what day's this? Is it Wednesday?" Wednesday night; And to-morrow will be New Year. Yes, to-morrow: right- quite right.
“What time is it, Doctor Austin?"-" Nearly twelve.".
Can it be that all this happened?- all this, but an hour ago? . . .
Where was I? Ah, I know!-We lay at anchor off the coast;
Well, the same old gun-boat came, and took me over to my post.
"I past the two log-houses-you remember ?—by the mill,
And came where Webster ranged his guns, in a crescent, on the hill:
There was snow on all around me-there was silence in the air-
And only for this cloak of mine, and the old cap lying there,
"(Which showed me all was real), I'd have thought that I was dead;
For my footsteps were as silent as the snow beneath my tread :
'Death and silence!-death and silence !' -As I stepped my way along,
These words kept always with me, like the burden of a song.
"Then before me stood a tower-high, massive, dark, and dread,
With the Old Flag, I have followed long, out-hanging overhead ;
But suddenly the doorway opened, and a bright and dazzling glare
Showed me many of my comrades moving forward up the stair.
""Halt! who goes there?' The challenge of the Sentry stopped my way:
'I am a friend,' I said, 'if you are.'-'Then advance without delay.'
I advanced. That sentry, Doctor, was.. Elijah Ballantyne !-
First of all to fall that morning, after we had formed our line!
""Welcome! said he, "Sergeant! welcome! By that countersign you show,
You'll be welcome at Head-Quarters!' And he meant my wound, I know,
Then a sudden shame came on me, for his uniform was new,
While mine was dirty-stained with blood--and old and tattered too,
"Ah!' said he, your clothes are thread bare; they look shabby in this light :-
Hurry back for fresh equipments-but be here by twelve to-night!'
And the next thing I remember-you were sitting there--and I—
Doctor! did you hear footsteps? No? I'd like to say good-bye!—
"Doctor! please to give my musket and my knapsack, when I'm gone,
To my son-my son that's coming-for I know he is hurrying on!
Tell him that his old father blessed him—if he may not hear me bless—
Bid him carry that old musket . . . Hark! I know his footstep !—Yes!—
“Thank God !—Good-bye, my son! I'm on promotion-roll to-night!
'ROBERT BURTON! TO HEAD-QUARTERS !'-Ay!-The call!-the tower!-the
light! . . .
The light of life went with him, as the Old Sergeant passed
Through the gateway of the Death-Tower-in new uniform at last!
XLIX.—THE LAST MEETING OF EVANGELINE AND GABRIEL.
W. H. LONGFELLOW.
IN that delightful land, which is washed by the Delaware's waters,
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle,
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream, the city he founded,
Where all men are equal, and all brothers and sisters.
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile,
Finding, among the children of Penn, a home and a country.
Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image,
Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him,
Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence.
Into her thoughts of him, Time entered not, for it was not.
Over him years had no power; he was was not changed but transfigured :
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent:
Patience, and abnegation of self, and devotion to others--
This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her !
So was her love diffused; but, like to some odorous spices,
Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma.
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow
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