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CASABIANCA. — Mrs. Hemans.

The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him 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 childlike, 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.

"Speak, father i" 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.

96 LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF CELIN.

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild,
They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound;

The boy, — O, 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.

LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OP CELIN.—

Lockhart.

At the gate of old Grenada, when all its bolts are

barred, At twilight, at the Vega-gate, there is a trampling heard; There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow, And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound of woe. "What tower is fallen ? what star is set ? what chief

come these bewailing?" "A tower is fallen! A star is set! — Alas J alas for

Celin!"

Three times they knock, three times they cry, the doors wide open throw;Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go!In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch,

Each horseman holding in his hand a black and flaming torch.

Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing,

For all have heard the misery,—" Alas! alas for Celin!"

Him yesterday a Moor did slay, of Bencerrage's blood; 'T was at the solemn jousting; around the nobles stood; The nobles of the land were there, and the ladies

bright and fair
Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share;
But now the nobles all lament, the ladies are bewailing,
For he was Grenada's darling knight, —" Alas ! alas for Celin!"

Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two,
With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to view;
Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in sable veil,
Between the tambour's dismal strokes take up their doleful tale;
When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brother- less wailing,
And all the people, far and near, cry, — " Alas ! alas forCelin!"

The Moorish maid at her lattice stands, the Moor stands at his door;
One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore;

.98 FLOWERS.

Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes

black they strew Upon their broidered garments, of crimson, green,

and blue; Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the

loud bewailing, From door and lattice, high and low, —" Alas! alas

for Celin!"

An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the

people cry, Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazed eye; It's she who nursed him at her breast, who nursed him long ago; She knows not whom they all lament, but ah! she

soon shall know. With one loud shriek, she forward breaks, when her

ears receive their wailing, — "Let me kiss my Celin ere I die! — Alas! alas for

Celin!'3

FLOWERS. Leigh Hunt

We are the sweet flowers,

Born of sunny showers, (Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith;) Utterance mute and bright, Of some unknown delight, We fill the air with pleasure by our simple breath;All who see us love us, — We befit all places; Unto sorrow we give smiles, and unto graces, graces.

All, and sweetly voiceless, Though the March-winds pipe, to make our passage clear;

Not a whisper tells

Where our small seed dwells, Nor is known the moment green when our tips appear.

We thread the earth in silence,

In silence build our bowers,— And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh a-top, sweet flowers.

GLENARA.— Campbell.

O, Heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
'T is the chief of Glenara laments for his dear;
And her sire and her people are called to the bier.

Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud;
Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud;
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;
They marched all in silence, — they looked on the
ground.

In silence they reached, over mountain and moor,
To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;
"Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn; —
Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern.

"And tell me, I charge ye, ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?"
So spake the rude chieftain; no answer is made,
But each mantle, unfolding,, a dagger displayed.

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