Of Spain, as from the dead; and to lift up
The cross, her sign of victory, on the hills,
Gathering her sons to battle!-And my voice
Must be as freedom's trumpet on the winds,
From Roncesvalles to the blue sea-waves
Where Calpe looks on Afric; till the land
Have fill'd her cup of vengeance!—Ask me now
To yield the Christian city, that its fanes
May rear the minaret in the face of Heaven!
-But death shall have a bloodier vintage-feast
Ere that day come!

ELMINA.

I ask thee this no more,

For I am hopeless now. But yet one boon-
Hear me, by all thy woes !-Thy voice hath power

Through the wide city-here I cannot rest :—

Aid me to pass the gates!

HERNANDEZ.

And wherefore?

ELMINA.

Thou,

That wert a father, and art now-alone!

6

Canst thou ask wherefore?'-Ask the wretch whose sands

Have not an hour to run, whose failing limbs

Have but one earthly journey to perform,
Why, on his pathway to the place of death,
Aye, when the very axe is glistening cold
Upon his dizzy sight, his pale, parch'd lip
Implores a cup of water?-Why, the stroke
Which trembles o'er him in itself shall bring
Oblivion of all wants, yet who denies

Nature's last prayer?—I tell thee that the thirst
Which burns my spirit up is agony

To be endured no more!—And I must look
Upon my children's faces, I must hear

Their voices, ere they perish!-But hath Heaven
Decreed that they must perish ?-Who shall say
If in yon Moslem camp there beats no heart

Which prayers and tears may melt?

HERNANDEZ.

There!-with the Moor!

th' array

Let him fill up the measure of his guilt!

-Tis madness all!-How wouldst thou

pass

Of armed foes?

ELMINA.

Oh! free doth sorrow pass,

Free and unquestion'd, through a suffering world! 2

This must not be.

HERNANDEZ.

Enough of woe is laid

E'en now, upon thy lord's heroic soul,

For man to bear, unsinking. Press thou not

Too heavily th' o'erburthen'd heart.-Away!

Bow down the knee, and send thy prayers for strength
Up to Heaven's gate.-Farewell!

[Exit HERNANDez.

ELMINA.

Are all men thus?

-Why, wer't not better they should fall e’en now
Than live to shut their hearts, in haughty scorn,
Against the sufferer's pleadings?-But no, no!
Who can be like this man, that slew his son,

Yet wears his life still proudly, and a soul
Untamed upon his brow?

(After a pause.)

There's one, whose arms

Have borne my children in their infancy,

And on whose knees they sported, and whose hand

Hath led them oft―a vassal of their sire's;

And I will seek him: he may lend me aid,

When all beside pass on.

DIRGE HEARD WITHOUT.

Thou to thy rest art gone,

High heart! and what are we,

While o'er our heads the storm sweeps on, That we should mourn for thee?

Free grave and peaceful bier
To the buried son of Spain!

To those that live, the lance and spear,
And well if not the chain !

Be theirs to weep the dead
As they sit beneath their vines,
Whose flowery land hath borne no tread
Of spoilers o'er its shrines!

Thou hast thrown off the load

Which we must yet sustain,

And pour our blood where thine hath flow'd,

Too blest if not in vain!

We give thee holy rite,

Slow knell, and chaunted strain!

-For those that fall to-morrow night,
May be left no funeral-train.

Again, when trumpets wake,

We must brace our armour on;
But a deeper note thy sleep must break—
-Thou to thy rest art gone!

Happier in this than all,

That, now thy race is run,

Upon thy name no stain may fall,

Thy work hath well been done!

ELMINA.

66

Thy work hath well been done!"—so thou mayst rest!

-There is a solemn lesson in those words

But now

I may not pause.

[Exit ELMINA.