Sylv. Away! he died not there! He should have died there, with the chivalry And strength and honour of his kingdom, lost By his impetuous rashness. This from thee? Seb. Who hath given power to falsehood, that one gaze At its unmask'd and withering mien, should blight High souls at once? I wake. And this from thee? There are, whose eyes discern the secret springs Which lie beneath the desert, and the gold And gems within earth's caverns, far below The everlasting hills: but who hath dared To dream that heaven's most awful attribute Invested his mortality, and to boast That through its inmost folds his glance could read One heart, one human heart? Why, then, to love And trust is but to lend a traitor arms Of keenest temper and unerring aim, Wherewith to pierce our souls. But thou, beware! Sebastian lives! Sylv. If it be so, and thou Art of his followers still, then bid him seek This is to live Seb. An age of wisdom in an hour! The man Whose empire, as in scorn, o'erpass'd the bounds E'en of the infinite deep; whose orient realms Lay bright beneath the morning, while the clouds Were brooding in their sunset mantle still, O'er his majestic regions of the west: This heir of fair dominion shall return, Shall find no home! Ay, I will tell him this, Should yield him still a welcome. Sylv. Fare thee well! I may not pause to hear thee, for thy words Are full of danger, and of snares, perchance Laid by some treach'rous foe. But all in vain. I mock thy wiles to scorn. Seb. Ha ha! The snake Doth pride himself in his distorted cunning, Deeming it wisdom. Nay, thou go'st not thus. My heart is bursting, and I will be heard. What! know'st thou not my spirit was born to hold Dominion over thine? Thou shalt not cast Those bonds thus lightly from thee. Stand thou there, Sylv. This is all madness. Madness! no-I say With loyal love. Oh! never, never more Let tears or smiles be trusted! When thy king And he stood o'er thee with the look of one Were fill'd with tears like thine. No! not like thine: Sylv. These recollections? Seb. What now avail What! I have seen thee shrink, As a murderer from the eye of light, before me: I have earn'd (how dearly and how bitterly It matters not, but I have earn'd at last) Deep knowledge, fearful wisdom. Now, begone! Hence to thy guests, and fear not, though arraign'd E'en of Sebastian's friendship. Make his scorn (For he will scorn thee, as a crouching slave By all high hearts is scorn'd) thy right, thy charter Unto vile safety. Let the secret voice, Whose low upbraidings will not sleep within thee, Be as a sign, a token of thy claim To all such guerdons as are shower'd on traitors, When noble men are crush'd. And fear thou not: 'Tis but the kingly cedar which the storm Hurls from his mountain throne:-th' ignoble shrub, Grovelling beneath, may live. It is thy part They that have look'd Upon a heart like thine, should know too well Sylv. And thou, if thou dost prize Thy safety, speed thee hence. [Exit SYLVEIRA. Seb. (alone.) And this is he Who was as mine own soul; whose image rose, Shadowing my dreams of glory with the thought That on the sick man's weary couch he lay, Pining to share my battles! Ye winds that sweep CHORUS. The conquer'd billows of the western deep, 'Midst the resplendent Indian heavens is born, Waft o'er bright isles, and glorious worlds, the fame Of the crown'd Spaniard's name : Till in each glowing zone Its might the nations own, And bow to him the vassal knee Whose sceptre shadows realms from sea to sea. Seb. Away-away! this is no place for him Whose name hath thus resounded, but is now A word of desolation. [Exit. ODE ON THE DEFEAT OF KING SEBASTIAN OF PORTUGAL, AND HIS ARMY, IN AFRICA. TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH OF HERRERA. FERDINAND DE HERRERA, surnamed the Divine, was a Spanish poet, who lived in the reign of Charles V., and is still considered by the Castilians as one of their classic writers. He aimed at the introduction of a new style into Spanish poetry, and his lyrics are distinguished by the sustained majesty of their language, the frequent recurrence of expressions and images, derived apparently from a fervent study of the prophetic books of Scripture, and the lofty tone of national pride maintained throughout, and justified indeed by the nature of the subjects to which some of these productions are devoted. This last characteristic is blended with a deep and enthusiastic feeling of religion, which rather exalts than tempers the haughty confidence of the poet in the high destinies of his country. Spain is to him what Judea was to the bards who sang beneath the shadow of her palm-trees-the chosen and favoured land, whose people, severed from all others by the purity and devotedness of their faith, are peculiarly called to wreak the vengeance of Heaven upon the infidel. This triumphant conviction is |