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And the voice answer'd, "Be thou still,
Clouds, winds, and stars, their task fulfil,
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more, the Depths have more! What wealth untold Far down, and shining through their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies,
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main!
Yet more, the Depths have more! Thy waves have roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by!
Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful playMan yields them to decay!
Yet more, the Billows and the Depths have more!
The battle thunders will not break their rest:
Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long, The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning 'woke 'midst festal song! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,— But all is not thine own!
To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, O'er youth's bright locks and beauty's flow'ry crown; Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the Dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from theeRestore the Dead, thou Sea!
THE SPANISH CHAMPION.
THE warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprison'd sire: "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train ;
I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord-oh! break my father's chain."
"Rise! rise! even now thy father comes, a ransom❜d man this day;
Mount thy good steed, and thou and I will meet him on his way."
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed; And urged, as if with lance in hand, his charger's foaming speed.
And lo! from far, as on they press’d, there came a glitter
ing band, With one that ʼmid them stately rode, as a leader in the land: “Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father-whom thy grateful heart hath yearn'd so long
His dark eye flash’d, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's
hue came and went; He reach'd that gray-hair'd chieftain's side, and there, dis
mounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took ;What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?
That hand was cold-a frozen thing-it dropp'd from his
like lead, He look'd up to the face above—the face was of the dead; A plume waved o'er that noble brow—the brow was fix'd
and white; He met at length his father's eyes, but in them was no sight!
Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed; but who can
paint that gaze? It hush'd their very hearts who saw its horror and amaze; They night have chain'd him, as before that stony form
he stoodFor the power was stricken from his arm, and from his
cheek tbe blood.
“ Father !” at length he murmur'd low, and wept like
childhood then (Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike
He thought on all his glorious hopes, on all his high re
nown ; Then flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat
And, covering with his steel-gloved hand his darkly mourn
ful brow, “No more, there is no more," he said, “to lift the sword
My king is false ! my hope betray'd! my father-oh, the
worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are pass'd away from earth !”
Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the
Monarch's rein, Amid the pale and wilder'd looks of all the courtier train ; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war
horse led, And sternly set them face to face, the King before the dead.
“Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to
kiss ? Be still! and gaze thou on, false King ! and tell me what
is this? The look, the voice, the heart I sought — give answer,
where are they? If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through
this cold clay!
“Into these glassy eyes put light—be still, keep down
thine ireBid these white lips a blessing speak-this earth is not my
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my
blood was shed; Thou canst not—and a King !his dust be mountains on
thy head !”
He loosed the rein—his slack hand fell ;-upon the silent
face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turn'd from
that sad place! His hope was crush'd_his after-fate untold in martial
strain His banner led the spears no more among the hills of Spain!
MRS MACLEAN, (L. E. L.)
THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL.
That soldier had stood on the battle-plain,
'Twas hard to come to that native land,
But 'twas something to see its cliffs once more,