At last, when blind and seeming dumb,

He scolded, laughed, and spoke no more,

A Spanish stranger chanced to come

To Mulla's shore.

He hailed the bird in Spanish speech,
The bird in Spanish speech replied,

Flapped round his cage with joyful screech,

Dropt down, and died.

CAMPBELL.

iamque oculorum acie modo non et voce perempta,

iurgiaque abiecit dedidicitque sales;

cum forte Hispanus Mullae venit hospes in oram, Hispanaque loquens voce salutat avem.

protinus amissam vox nota resuscitat artem,

psittacus Hispano reddidit ore sonos:

sat potuisse loqui; caveae tum moenia laeto cum fremitu plangens corpus inane iacet.

CASABIANCA.

The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;

The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead:
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud though child-like form.

The flames rolled on-He would not go Without his father's word:

That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud-'Say, father, say,

If yet my task is done?'

He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.

CONSTANTIS IUVENEM FIDE.

Stabat in ardentis strata puer abiete puppis; exierat pavida cetera turba fuga :

et iam, Volcano ratis illustrante ruinas,

per stragem accendit lux puerile caput. ille tamen constans claraque in luce decorus, natus uti tumidis rex dare iura fretis, rettulit heroum prisco de sanguine cretos, se puerum ostendens corpore, corde virum. latius interea volvit se flamma, paterni

stat memor hic monitus, nec nisi iussus abit; torpuit ille tamen pater exanimatus in ima

puppe, nec orantis percipit aure preces. 'fare age, fare, pater'-pueri vox illa relicti

'satne tibi factum est? mene manere iubes?' inscius, heu, rerum, quem nec miserabilis audit, nec sibi praereptus scit superesse parens.

'Speak, father!'-once again he cried, If I may yet be gone?'

'And,'-but the booming shots replied

And fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair;

And looked from that lone post of death,

In still yet brave despair.

He shouted yet once more aloud,

'My father! must I stay?'

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapped the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.

Then came a burst of thunder sound-
The boy-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around
With fragments strewed the sea.
With mast and helm and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part-

But the noblest thing that perished there

Was that young, faithful heart.

FELICIA HEMANS.