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I.-BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.
HE warrior bowed his crested head and tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire:
Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed!
II.-BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO.
PART SECOND.-JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. WV ith ¡TH some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo hath appeared
Before them all, in the palace hall, the lying kind to beard ; With
сар in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverent guise, But ever and anon he frown'd, and flame broke from his eyes. “A curse upon thee,'' cries the king, “who com'st unbid to me; But what from traitor's blood should spring save traitor like to thee! His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart; perchance our champion brave May think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho's grave.” “Whoever told this tale, the king hath rashness to repeat, Cries Bernard, where my gage I Aling before the Liar's feet ! No treason was in Sancho's blood, no stain in mine doth lieBelow the throne what knight will own the coward calumny? The blood that I like water shed, when Roland did advance, By secret traitors hired and led, to make us slaves of FranceThe life of King Alphonso, I saved at RoncesvalYour words, lord king, are recompense abundant for it all ! Your horse was down your hope was flown—I saw the falchion shine That soon had drunk your royal blood, had I not ventured mine; But memory soon of service done deserteth the ingrate, And you've thank'd the son for life and crown by the father's bloody fate. You swore upon your kingly faith to set Don Sancho free, But, curse upon your paltering breath! the light he ne'er did see ; He died in dungeon cold and dim, by Alphonso's base decree, And visage blind and stiffen'd limb were all they gave to me. The king that swerveth from his word hath stain'd his purple blackNo Spanish lord will draw the sword behind a liar's back ; But noble vengeance shall be mine ; an open hate I'll showThe king hath injured Carpio's line, and Bernard is his foe.” “Seize—seize him!”'_loud the king doth scream ; "there are a thousand hereLet his foul blood this instant stream—what! caitiffs, do you fear? Seize--seize the traitor !!! But not one to move a finger darethBernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth : He drew the falchion from the sheath and held it up on high, And all the hall was still as death ; cries Bernard, “Here am I ; And here's the sword that owns no lord excepting Heaven and me: Fain would I know who dares its point-King, Conde, or Grandee?" Then to his mouth the horn he drew—(it hung below his cloak)His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke; With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake ; And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king to quake. - Ha ! Bernard," quoth Alphonso, “what means this warlike guise ? You know full well I jested—you know your worth I prize.”' But Bernard turned upon his heel, and smiling passed away ; Long rued Alphonso and Castile the jesting of that day.
HAT tents gleam on the green hill-side, like snow in the sunny beam ?
What gloomy warriors gather there, like a surly mountain stream? These, for Bernardo's vengeance, have come like a stormy blast, The rage of their long cherished hate on a cruel king to cast. “Smiters of tyranny !" cries their chief. “ste yonder slavish host, We shall drench the field with their craven blood, or freedom's hopes are lost. You know I come for a father's death, my filial vow to pay, Then let the “Murdered Sancho !' be your battle-cry to-day. On, on! for the death of the tyrant king!” “Hurrah !" was the answering cry ; “We follow thee to victory, or follow thee to die!”' The battle-field-the charge—the shock--the quivering struggle nowThe rout—the shout !—while lightnings flash from Bernardo's angry brow. The chieftain's arm has need of rest, his brand drips red with gore, But one last sacrifice remains ere his work of toil is o'er. The king, who looked for victory, from his large and well-trained host, Now flies for safety from the field, where all his hopes are lost ; But full in front, with blood-red sword, a warrior appears, And the war-cry, “Murdered Sancho!" rings in the tyrant's ears. “Ha! noble king, have we met at last ?" with scornful lip he cries ; “Don Sancho's son would speak with you once more before he dies ; Your kindness to my sainted sire is graven on my heart, And I would show my gratitude once more before we part. Draw! for the last of Sancho's race is ready for your sword ;Bernardo's blood should flow by him by whom his sire's was poured! What wait you for, vile, craven wretch ? it was not thus you stood When laying out your fiendish plans to spill my father's blood. Draw! for I will not learn from thee the assassin's coward trade, I scorn the lesson you have taught—unshead your murderous blade !'' Roused by Bernardo's fiery taunts, the king at length engaged : He fought for life, but all in vain ; unequal strife he waged ! Bernardo's sword has pierced his side—the tyrant's reign is o'er, “Father, I have fulfilled my vow, I thirst for blood no more.”'
GEORGE L. CATLIN.
OWN in a street by the river's side,
Where ebbs and flows the hurrying tide
Never complaining, never sad.
of grief from the pier hard by ;
PHILO H. CHILD.
LONE, in the dreary, pitiless street,
With my torn old dress and bare, cold feet, All day I've wandered to and fro, Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go; The night's coming on in darkness and dread, And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head; Oh! why does the wind blow upon me so wild? Is it because l'm nobody's child ? Just over the way there's a flood of light, And warmth and beauty, and all things bright; Beautiful children, in robes so fair, Are carolling songs in rapture there. I wonder if they, in their blissful glee, Would pity a poor little beggar like me Wandering alone in the merciless street, Naked and shivering and nothing to eat? Oh, what shall I do when the night comes down In its terrible blackness all over the town! Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky, On the cold hard pavement alone to die? When the beautiful children their prayers have said, And mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed. No dear mother ever upon me smiledWhy is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's child ! No father, no mother, no sister, not one In all the world loves me; e'en the little dogs run When I wander too near them ; 'tis wondrous to see How everything shrinks from a beggar like me! Perhaps 'tis a dream ; but sometimes when I lie, Gazing far up in the dark blue sky, Watching for hours some large bright star, I fancy the beautiful gates ajar. And a host of white-robed, nameless things, Come fluttering o'er me in gilded wings; A hand that is strangely soft and fair Caresses gently my tangled hair, And a voice like the carol of some wild birdThe sweetest voice that ever was heardCalls me many a dear pet name, Till my heart and spirits are all aflame; And tells me of such unbounded love, And bids me come up to their home above, And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise, They look at me with their sweet blue eyes, And it seems to me out of the dreary night I'm going up to the world of light, And
away from the hunger and storms so wildI am sure I shall then be somebody's child.