THE TOURNAMENT.

LADY, if you love to hear
Tales of lofty chivalry,
Stealing Beauty's sigh or tear;
List not, lady sweet, to me.

But there is a gentle sight,

Roselike, always born with May, Full of arms and glances bright, "Tis GRANADA's holyday!

Twilight on the west was sleeping,
Stars were sliding down the sky,
Morn upon the hills was peeping
With a blue, half-opening eye.

When a silver trumpet sounded,
And, beside the castle wall,
Many a ribboned jennet bounded,—
Sparkled many a lance-head tall.

In the plain, balconies proud,

Hung with silk and flowery chain,

Like a statued temple, shewed,

Rank o'er rank, the dames of Spain.

Soon the tapestried kettle-drums

Through the distant square were pealing;

Soon was seen the toss of plumes
By the Viceroy's palace wheeling.

Then, before the portal arch,
Every horseman checked the rein,
Till the rocket for their march,
Flaming up the sky was seen.

Like a wave of steel and gold,
Swept the lovely pageant on;
Many a champion young and bold
Bearing lance and gonfalon.

At their sight arose the roar

From the people gazing round ;— Proudly came the squadrons four, Prancing up the tilting ground.

First they gallop where the screen
With its silken tissue hides
Fair Valencia's jewelled Queen,—
Helmless every horseman rides!

Round the barrier then they wheel,
Troop by troop, and pair by pair;
Bending low the lance of steel
To the bowing ladies there.

Hark! the trumpet long and loud !—
'Tis the signal for the charge!-
Now with hoofs the earth is ploughed,-
Now are clashed the lance and targe.

Light as roe-bucks bound the steeds; Sunny bright the armour gleams; Gallant charge to charge succeeds, Like the rush of mountain streams!

Noon has come, the warriors rest,

Each dismounting from his barb; Loosening each his feathery crest, Weighty sword, and steely garb.

Then are shown the lordly form,
Chesnut locks and eagle eyes,
Cheeks with tilting crimson warm,
Lips for lover's perjuries !

As they wander round the plain,
Sparkle cross and collar gemmed,
Sparkle knightly star and chain,
On their tunics golden-seamed.

Till again the trumpets play,
And the mail again is worn;
And the ring is born away,—

And the Moorman's turban torn.

Closes then the tournament ;

And the noble squadrons four, Proudly to the banquet-tent, March by Turia's flowery shore.

Lovely as the evening sky,

Ere the golden sun is down,

March Granada's chivalry,

Champions of the Church and Crown!

One still lingered, pale and last,

By the lonely gallery's stair,

As if there his soul had past,
Vanished with some stately fair.

Who the knight ?-To few was known. Who his love?-He ne'er would tell. But her eyes were-like thine own,And his heart was,-Oh, Farewell! Blackwood's Magazine.

ЕРІТАРН.

OPHELIA was the maiden's name,

Only her beauty died;

Envy has nothing to proclaim,

Nor Flattery to hide.

I

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious Main!
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow coloured shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

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!
Earth claims not these again!

Yet more, the Depths have more !-Thy waves have rolled

Above the cities of a world gone by!

Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry!

Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play,

Man yields them to decay!

Yet more! the Billows and the Depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar,-
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!—
Give back the true and brave!

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 flowery crown!
Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the Dead!
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!-
Restore the Dead, thou Sea!

New Monthly Magazine.

MAGDALENA.

SILENT and lone, beneath the cypress bough,
She sat and watched the circlets of the night,
As, imaged on the waveless stream below,
They beamed again to heaven serenely bright!

She felt her dream of happiness was gone;

But Hope, still lingering, shed its heavenly ray,
Like the fair star that in those waters shone-
Still bright, though they were gliding fast away.

Her bosom had been stained in passion's hour,
But she had wept on it her frailties past,
And, like the sullied lily by the shower,

It had been washed and purified at last.

Those long dark lashes, beaded still with tears—
The warm rose blanched upon her sunken cheek—
The lip, which pallid as that rose appears,
Seemed well her silent penitence to speak.

Her's was the heart's still prayer :-her lips were sealed. Those meek eyes, glancing to their kindred heaven,

In dewy orisons her soul revealed:

She asked not—but she looked to be forgiven. Literary Gazette.

H. A. D.