Into the whispering breeze, and where wild flowers

Bloom o'er forgotten graves!-But know'st thou aught
Of those, where sword from crossing sword strikes fire,

And leaders are borne down, and rushing steeds
Trample the life from out the mighty hearts

That rul'd the storm so late?-Speak not of death,
Till thou hast look'd on such.

ALPHONSO.

I was not born

A shepherd's son, to dwell with pipe and crook,
And peasant-men, amidst the lowly vales;
Instead of ringing clarions, and bright spears,
And crested knights!—I am of princely race,
And, if my father would have heard my suit,
I tell thee, infidel! that long ere now,

I should have seen how lances meet; and swords
Do the field's work.

ABDULLAH.

Boy! know'st thou there are sights

A thousand times more fearful?-Men may die
Full proudly, when the skies and mountains ring
To battle-horn and tecbir.*-But not all
So pass away in glory. There are those,

* Tecbir, the war-cry of the Moors and Arabs.

'Midst the dead silence of pale multitudes,
Led forth in fetters-dost thou mark me, boy?
To take their last look of th' all-gladdening sun,
And bow, perchance, the stately head of youth,
Unto the death of shame!-Hadst thou seen this-
ALPHONSO (to CARLOS).

Sweet brother, God is with us-fear thou not!
We have had heroes for our sires-this man

Should not behold us tremble.

ABDULLAH.

There are means

To tame the loftiest natures. Yet again,

I ask thee, wilt thou, from beneath the walls,
Sue to thy sire for life; or wouldst thou die,
With this, thy brother?

ALPHONSO.

Moslem! on the hills,

Around my fathers's castle, I have heard

The mountain-peasants, as they dress'd the vines, Or drove the goats, by rock and torrent, home, Singing their ancient songs; and these were all Of the Cid Campeador; and how his sword Tizona3 clear'd its way through turban'd hosts, And captured Afric's kings, and how he won

Valencia from the Moor. 4-I will not shame

The blood we draw from him!

[The Soldier goes out, and re-enters with ELMINA, disguised, and an Attendant.

CARLOS (springing forward to the Attendant). Oh! take me hence, Diego; take me hence

With thee, that I may see my mother's face
At morning, when I wake. Here dark-brow'd men
Frown strangely, with their cruel eyes, upon us.
Take me with thee, for thou art good and kind,
And well I know, thou lov'st me, my Diego!

ABDULLAH.

Peace, boy!-What tidings, Christian, from thy lord?
Is he grown humbler, doth he set the lives

Of these fair nurslings at a city's worth?

ALPHONSO (rushing forward impatiently).

Say not, he doth!-Yet wherefore art thou here?

For

If it be so I could weep burning tears
very shame!-If this can be, return!
Tell him, of all his wealth, his battle-spoils,
I will but ask a war-horse and a sword,
And that beside him in the mountain-chase,
And in his halls and at his stately feasts,
My place shall be no more!-but no!-I wrong,
I wrong my father!-Moor! believe it not!

He is a champion of the cross and Spain,

Sprung from the Cid ;—and I too, I can die
As a warrior's high-born child!

ELMINA.

Alas! Alas!

And wouldst thou die, thus early die, fair boy?

What hath life done to thee, that thou shouldst cast

Its flower away, in very scorn of heart,

Ere yet the blight be come?

ALPHONSO.

That voice doth sound

ABDULLAH.

Stranger, who art thou ?-this is mockery! speak!

ELMINA (throwing off a mantle and helmet, and embracing her sons).

My boys! whom I have rear'd through many hours

Of silent joys and sorrows, and deep thoughts
Untold and unimagined; let me die

With you, now I have held you to my heart,
And seen once more the faces, in whose light
My soul hath lived for years!

CARLOS.

Thou shalt not leave us more.

Sweet mother! now

ABDULLAH.

Enough of this!

Woman! what seek'st thou here?-How hast thou dared

To front the mighty thus amidst his hosts?

ELMINA.

Think'st thou there dwells no courage but in breasts
That set their mail against the ringing spears,
When helmets are struck down?-Thou little know'st
Of nature's marvels!-Chief! my heart is nerved
To make its way through things which warrior-men,
-Aye, they that master death by field or flood,
Would look on, ere they braved!-I have no thought,
No sense of fear!-Thou'rt mighty! but a soul
Wound up like mine is mightier, in the power

Of that one feeling, pour'd through all its depths,
Than monarchs with their hosts!-Am I not come
To die with these, my children?