Albeit too of Moorish line,

Yet Christian blood and faith are mine.
Even from earliest infancy

I have been taught to bend the knee
Before the sweet Madonna's face,
To pray from her a Saviour's grace!
My mother's youthful heart was given
To one an infidel to heaven;
Alas! that ever earthly love
Could turn her hope from that above;
Yet surely 'tis for tears, not blame,
To be upon that mother's name.

Well can I deem my father all
That holds a woman's heart in thrall,—
In truth his was as proud a form
As ever stemm'd a battle-storm,
As ever moved first in the hall
Of crowds and courtly festival.
Upon each temple the black hair
Was mix'd with gray, as early care
Had been to him like age,-his eye,
And lip, and brow, were dark and high;
And yet there was a look that seem'd
As if at other times he dream'd
Of gentle thoughts he strove to press
Back to their unsunn'd loneliness.
Your first gaze cower'd beneath his glance,
Keen like the flashing of a lance,
As forced a homage to allow

To that tall form, that stately brow;
But the next dwelt upon the trace
That time may bring, but not efface,
Of cares that wasted life's best years,
Of griefs seared, more than sooth'd
tears,

"Twas when first

My spirit from its childhood burst,
That to our roof a maiden came,
My mother's sister, and the same
In form, in face, in smiles, in tears,
In step, in voice, in all but years,
Save that there was upon her brow
A calm my mother's wanted now;
And that ELVIRA's loveliness
Seem'd scarce of earth, so passionless,
So pale, all that the heart could paint
Of the pure beauty of a saint.
Yes, I have seen ELVIRA kneel,
And seen the rays of evening steal,
Lighting the blue depths of her eye
With so much of divinity

As if her every thought was raised
To the bright heaven on which she gazed!
Then often I have deem'd her form
Rather with light than with life warm.

And homage changed to a sad feeling
For a proud heart its grief concealing.
If such his brow, when griefs that wear,
And hopes that waste, were written there,
What must it have been, at the hour
When in my mother's moonlit bower,
If any step moved, 'twas to take
The life he ventured for her sake?
He urged his love; to such a suit
Could woman's eye or heart be mute?
She fled with him,-it matters not,
To dwell at length upon their lot.
But that my mother's frequent sighs
Swell'd at the thoughts of former ties,
First loved, then fear'd she loved
well,

Then fear'd to love an Infidel;
A struggle all, she had the will

too

But scarce the strength to love him still:-
But for this weakness of the heart
Which could not from its love depart,
Rebell'd, but quickly clung again,
Which broke and then renew'd its chain:-
Without the power to love, and be
Repaid by love's fidelity:-
Without this contest of the mind,
Though yet its early fetters bind,
Which still pants to be unconfined,
They had been happy.

It was as the souls weal were sure When prayer rose from lips so pure.

She left us; the same evening came Tidings of woe, and death, and shame. Her guard had been attack'd by one Whose love it had been hers to shun. Fierce was the struggle, and her flight Meanwhile had gain'd a neighbouring height, Which dark above the river stood, And look'd upon the rushing flood; "Twas compass'd round, she was bereft Of the vague hope that flight had left, One moment, and they saw her kneel, And then, as Heaven heard her appeal, She flung her downwards from the rock : Her heart was nerved by death to mock What that heart never might endure, The slavery of a godless Moor.

And madness in its burning pain Seized on my mother's heart and brain : She died that night, and the next day Beheld my father far away.

But wherefore should I dwell on all
Of sorrow memory can recall,
Enough to know that I must roam
An orphan to a stranger home.—

My father's death in battle-field
Forced me a father's rights to yield
To his stern brother; how my heart'
Was forced with one by one to part
Of its best hopes, till life became
Existence only in its name;

Left but a single wish,-to share
The cold home where my parents were.

At last I heard, I may not say
How my soul brighten'd into day,
ELVIRA lived; a miracle

Had surely saved her as she fell!
A fisherman who saw her float,
Bore her in silence to his boat.
She lived! how often had I said
To mine own heart she is not dead;
And she remember'd me, and when
They bade us never meet again,
She sent to me an Ethiop slave,
The same who guides us o'er the wave,
Whom she had led to that pure faith
Which sains and saves in life and death,
And plann'd escape.

Led by their dark guide on they press Through many a green and lone recess : The morning-air, the bright sunshine, TO RAYMOND were like the red wine,Each leaf, each flower seem'd to be With his own joy in sympathy, So fresh, so glad; but the fair Moor, From peril and pursuit secure, Though hidden by her close-drawn veil, Yet seem'd more tremulous, more pale; The hour of dread and danger past, Fear's timid thoughts came thronging fast; Her cold hand trembled in his own, Her strength seem'd with its trial gone, And downcast eye, and faltering word, But dimly seen, but faintly heard,

Seem'd scarcely hers that just had been
His dauntless guide through the wild scene.

At length a stately avenue

Of ancient chesnuts met their view,

And they could see the time-worn walls
Of her they sought, ELVIRA's halls.
A small path led a nearer way

Through flower-beds in their spring-array.
They reach'd the steps, and stood below
A high and marble portico;

They enter'd, and saw kneeling there

A creature even more than fair.

On each white temple the dusk braid
Of parted hair made twilight-shade,
That brow whose blue veins shone to show
It was more beautiful than snow.
Her large dark eyes were almost hid
By the nightfall of the fringed lid;
And tears which fill'd their orbs with light,
Like summer-showers blent soft with bright.
Her cheek was saintly pale, as nought;
Were there to flush with earthly thought;
As the heart which in youth had given
Its feelings and its hopes to Heaven,
Knew no emotions that could spread
A maiden's cheek with sudden red,—
Made for an atmosphere above,
Too much to bend to mortal love.

And RAYMOND watch'd as if his eye Were on a young divinity,As her bright presence made him feel Awe that could only gaze and kneel: And LEILA paused, as if afraid To break upon the recluse maid, As if her heart took its rebuke From that cold, calm, and placid look.

ELVIRA!-though the name was said Low as she fear'd to wake the dead, Yet it was heard, and, all revealing, Of her most treasured mortal feeling, Fondly the Moorish maid was prest To her she sought, ELVIRA's breast. I pray'd for thee, my hope, my fear, My LEILA! and now thou art near. Nay, weep not, welcome as thou art To my faith, friends, and home and heart!

And RAYMOND almost deem'd that earth To such had never given birth As the fair creatures, who, like light, Floated upon his dazzled sight:One with her bright and burning cheek, All passion, tremulous and weak, A woman in her woman's sphere Of joy and grief, of hope and fear. The other, whose mild tenderness Seem'd as less made to share than bless; One to whom human joy was such That her heart fear'd to trust too much,

While her wan brow seem'd as it meant
To soften rapture to content ;-
To whom all earth's delight was food
For high and holy gratitude.

Gazed RAYMOND till his burning brain Grew dizzy with excess of pain; For unheal'd wounds his strength had worn, And all the toil his flight had borne; His lip, and cheek, and brow were flame; And when ELVIRA's welcome came, It fell on a regardless ear, As bow'd beside a column near He leant, insensible to all

Of good or ill that could befall.

CANTO IV.

Ir was a wild and untrain'd bower,
Enough to screen from April-shower,
Or shelter from June's hotter hour,
Tapestried with starry jessamines,
The summer's gold and silver mines ;
With a moss-seat, and its turf set
With crowds of the white violet.
And close beside a fountain play'd,
Dim, cool, from its encircling shade;
And lemon-trees grew round, as pale
As never yet to them the gale
Had brought a message from the sun
To say their summer-task was done.
It was a very solitude

For love in its despairing mood,
With just enough of breath and bloom,
With just enough of calm and gloom,
To suit a heart where love has wrought
His wasting work, with saddest thought;
Where all its sickly fantasies
May call up suiting images:
With flowers like hopes that spring and fade
As only for a mockery made,
And shadows of the boughs that fall
Like sorrow drooping over all.

And LEILA, loveliest! can it be
Such destiny is made for thee?
Yes, it is written on thy brow
The all thy lip may not avow,
All that in woman's heart can dwell,
Save by a blush unutterable.
Alas! that ever RAYMOND came

To light thy cheek and heart to flame,—
A hidden fire, but not the less
Consuming in its dark recess.

She had leant by his couch of pain, When throbbing pulse and bursting vein Fierce spoke the fever, when fate near Rode on the tainted atmosphere;

And though that parch'd lip spoke alone
Of other love, in fondest tone,
And though the maiden knew that death
Might be upon his lightest breath,
Yet never by her lover's side
More fondly watch'd affianced bride,—
With pain or fear more anxious strove,
Than LEILA watch'd another's love.

But he was safe!-that very day Farewell, it had been hers to say; And he was gone to his own land, To seek another maiden's hand.

Who that had look'd on her that morn, Could dream of all her heart had borne? Her cheek was red, but who could know 'Twas flushing with the strife below;— Her eye was bright, but who could tell It shone with tears she strove to quell;— Her voice was gay, her step was light; And, beaming, beautiful, and bright, It was as if life could confer Nothing but happiness on her. Ah! who could think that all so fair Was semblance, and but misery there?

'Tis strange with how much power and pride

The softness is of love allied;
How much of power to force the breast
To be in outward show at rest,-
How much of pride that never eye
May look upon its agony!
Ah, little will the lip reveal
Of all the burning heart can feel.
But this was past, and she was now
With clasped hands prest to her brow,
And head bow'd down upon her knee,
And heart-pulse throbbing audibly,
And tears that gush'd like autumn-rain,
The more for that they gush'd in vain.
Oh! why should woman ever love,
Trusting to one false star above;
And fling her little chance away
Of sunshine for its treacherous ray.

At first ELVIRA had not sought To break upon her lonely thought. But it was now the vesper-time, And she return'd not at the chime Of holy bells,-she knew the hour:At last they search'd her favourite bower; Beside the fount they found the maid On head bow'd down, as if she pray'd; Her long black hair fell like a veil, Making her pale brow yet more pale. 'Twas strange to look upon her face, Then turn and see its shadowy trace Within the fountain; one like stone, So cold, so colourless, so lone,

A statue-nymph, placed there to show
How far the sculptor's art could go;
The other, and that too the shade,
In light and crimson warmth array'd;
For the red glow of day declining,
Was now upon the fountain shining,
And the shape in its mirror bright

Of sparkling waves caught warmth and light.
ELVIRA spoke not, though so near,
Her words lay mute in their own fear:
At last she whisper'd LEILA's name,—
No answer from the maiden came.
She took one cold hand in her own,
Started, and it dropp'd lifeless down!
She gazed upon the fixed eye,
And read in it mortality.

And lingers yet that maiden's tale A legend of the lemon-vale: They say that never from that hour Has flourish'd there a single flower,The jasmine droop'd, the violets died, Nothing grew by that fountain-side, Save the pale pining lemon-trees, And the dark weeping cypresses.— And now when to the twilight-star The lover wakes his lone guitar, Or maiden bids a song impart All that is veil'd in her own heart, The wild and mournful tale they tell Of her who loved, alas! too well.

And where was RAYMOND, where was he?
Borne homeward o'er the rapid sca,
While sunny days and favouring gales
Brought welcome speed to the white sails,-
With bended knee, and upraised hand,
He stood upon his native land,
With all that happiness can be
When resting on futurity.

On, on he went, and o'er the plain
He rode an armed knight again;
He urged his steed with hand and heel,
It bounded conscious of the steel,
And never yet to RAYMOND's eye
Spread such an earth, shone such a sky,
Blew such sweet breezes o'er his brow,
As those his native land had now.

He thought upon young Eva's name, And felt that she was still the same; He thought on AMIRALD, his child Had surely his dark cares beguiled; He thought upon the welcome sweet It would be his so soon to meet: And never had the star of hope Shone on a lovelier horoscope.

And evening-shades were on the hour When RAYMOND rode beneath the tower Remember'd well, for ADELINE

Could this be it?-he knew the heath
Which, lake-like, spread its walls beneath,-
He saw the dark old chesnut-wood
Which had for ages by it stood;
And but for these the place had been
As one that he had never seen.
The walls were rent, the gates were gone,
No red light from the watch-tower shone.
He enter'd, and the hall was bare,
It show'd the spoiler had been there;
Even upon the very hearth

The green grass found a place of birth.
Oh, vanity! that the stone-wall
May sooner than a blossom fall;
The tower in its strength may be
Laid low before the willow-tree.
There stood the wood, subject to all
The autumn-wind, the winter-fall,-
There stood the castle which the rain
And wind had buffeted in vain,-
But one in ruins stood beside
The other green in its spring-pride.

And RAYMOND paced the lonely hall
As if he fear'd his own footfall.
It is the very worst, the gloom
Of a deserted banquet-room,
To see the spider's web outvie
The torn and faded tapestry,—
To shudder at the cold damp air,
Then think how once were burning there
The incense-vase with odour glowing,
The silver lamp its softness throwing
O'er cheeks as beautiful and bright
As roses bathed in summer-light,-
How through the portals sweeping came
Proud cavalier and high-born dame,
With gems like stars 'mid raven-curls,
And snow white plumes and wreathed
pearls-

Gold cups, whose lighted flames made dim
The sparkling stones around the brim;-
Soft voices answering to the lute,
The swelling harp, the sigh-waked flute,-
The glancing lightness of the dance,—
Then, starting sudden from thy trance,
Gaze round the lonely place and see
Its silence and obscurity:

Then commune with thine heart, and say
These are the foot-prints of decay,—
And I even thus shall pass away.

And RAYMOND turn'd him to depart, With darken'd brow and heavy heart. Can outrage or can time remove The sting, the scar of slighted love? He could not look upon the scene And not remember ADELINE, Fair queen of gone festivity,Oh, where was it, and where was she!

And in its hostel shelter found,
While the dark night was closing round.
It was a cheerful scene, the hearth
Was bright with wood-fire and with mirth,
And in the midst a harper bent
O'er his companion instrument:
'Twas an old man, his hair was gray,-
For winter tracks in snow its way,
But yet his dark, keen eye was bright,
With somewhat of its youthful light;
Like one whose path of life had made
Its course through mingled sheen and shade,
But one whose buoyant spirit still
Pass'd lightly on through good or ill,—
One reckless if borne o'er the sea
In storm or in tranquillity;
The same to him, as if content
Were his peculiar element.

'Tis strange how the heart can create
Or colour from itself its fate;
We make ourselves our own distress,
We are ourselves our happiness.

At last there came a youthful knight,
From a strange and far countrie,
The steed that he rode was white as the foam
Upon a stormy sea.

And she who had scorn'd the name of love, Now bow'd before its might,

And the ladye grew meek as if disdain
Were not made for that stranger knight.

She sought at first to steal his soul
By dance, by song, and festival;
At length on bended knee she pray'd
He would not ride the wall.

But gaily the young knight laugh'd at her fears,

And flung him on his steed,— There was not a Saint in the calendar

That she pray'd not to in her need.

She dared not raise her eyes to see

If Heaven had granted her prayer, Till she heard a light step bound to her side,The gallant knight stood there!

And took the ladye ADELINE

From her hair a jewell'd band, But the knight repell'd the offer'd gift, And turn'd from the offer'd hand.

And deemest thou that I dared this deed, Ladye, for love of thee;

The honour that guides the soldier's lance Is mistress enough for me.

Enough for me to ride the ring,

The victor's crown to wear; But not in honour of the eyes Of any ladye there.

I had a brother whom I lost Through thy proud crueltie, And far more was to me his love,

Than woman's love can be.

I came to triumph o'er the pride

Through which that brother fell, I laugh to scorn thy love and thee, And now, proud dame, farewell!

And from that hour the ladye pined,
For love was in her heart,
And on her slumber there came dreams
She could not bid depart.

Her eye lost all its starry light,

Till she hid her faded loveliness Her cheek grew wan and pale,

Beneath the sacred veil.

And she cut off her long dark hair,
And bade the world farewell,
And she now dwells a veiled nun
In Saint Marie's cell.