THE TOURNAMENT. LADY, if you love to hear But there is a gentle sight, Twilight on the west was sleeping, When a silver trumpet sounded, In the plain, balconies proud, Hung with silk and flowery chain, Like a statued temple, showed, 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, At their sight arose the roar First they gallop where the screen Round the barrier then they wheel, Hark! the trumpet long and loud!— Light as roe-bucks bound the steeds; Noon has come,-the warriors rest, Then are shown the lordly form, As they wander round the plain, Till again the trumpets play, Closes then the tournament; And the noble squadrons four, 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, 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. EPITAPH. OPHELIA was the maiden's name, Only her beauty died; Envy has nothing to proclaim, THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. BY MRS. HEMANS. WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells? We ask not such from thee. Yet more, the Depths have more!-What wealth untold, Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main! 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! Give back the lost and lovely!-Those for whom -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 felt her dream of happiness was gone; Her bosom had been stained in passion's hour, It had been washed and purified at last. Those long dark lashes, beaded still with tears The warm rose blanched upon her sunken cheekThe 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. ! |