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No fruits, no flowers for sacrifice, of all
Which on her sunny lap unheeded fall?
No fair young firstling of the flock to die,

As when before their God the patriarchs stood?-Look down! man brings thee, Heaven! his brother's guiltless blood!

XLVIII.

Hear its voice, hear!-a cry goes up to thee, From the stain'd sod; make thou thy judgment known

On him, the shedder!-let his portion be

The fear that walks at midnight-give the moan In the wind haunting him, a power to say, "Where is thy brother?"-and the stars a ray To search and shake his spirit, when alone, With the dread splendour of their burning eyes! -So shall earth own thy will-mercy, not sacrifice!

XLIX.

Sounds of triumphant praise !-the mass was sungVoices that die not might have pour'd such strains! Through Salem's towers might that proud chant

have rung

When the Most High, on Syria's palmy plains, Had quell'd her foes!-so full it swept, a sea Of loud waves jubilant, and rolling free!

-Oft when the wind, as through resounding fanes, Hath fill'd the choral forests with its power,

Some deep tone brings me back the music of that

hour.

L.

It died away;-the incense-cloud was driven
Before the breeze-the words of doom were said;
And the sun faded mournfully from heaven:
-He faded mournfully! and dimly red,

Parting in clouds from those that look'd their last, And sigh'd—“Farewell, thou sun!"-Eve glow'd and pass'd

Night-midnight and the moon-came forth and shed

Sleep, even as dew, on glen, wood, peopled spotSave one-a place of death-and there men slumber'd not.

LI.

'Twas not within the city-(7) but in sight Of the snow-crown'd sierras, freely sweeping, With many an eagle's eyrie on the height, And hunter's cabin, by the torrent peeping Far off and vales between, and vineyards lay, With sound and gleam of waters on their way, And chestnut woods, that girt the happy sleeping In many a peasant-home!-the midnight sky Brought softly that rich world round those who came to die.

LII.

The darkly-glorious midnight sky of Spain,
Burning with stars! What had the torches' glare
To do beneath that temple, and profane
Its holy radiance? - By their wavering flare,
I saw beside the pyres-I see thee now,

O bright Theresa! with thy lifted brow,

And thy clasp'd hands, and dark eyes fill'd with

prayer!

And thee, sad Inez! bowing thy fair head,

And mantling up thy face, all colourless with dread!

LIII.

And Alvar, Alvar!-I beheld thee too,

Pale, steadfast, kingly; till thy clear glance fell On that young sister; then perturb'd it grew, And all thy labouring bosom seem'd to swell With painful tenderness. Why came I there, That troubled image of my friend to bear Thence, for my after-years?—a thing to dwell In my heart's core, and on the darkness rise, Disquieting my dreams with its bright mournful eyes?

LIV.

Why came I oh! the heart's deep mystery!-
Why

In man's last hour doth vain affection's gaze
Fix itself down on struggling agony,

To the dimm'd eye-balls freezing as they glaze?
It might be-yet the power to will seem'd o'er-
That my soul yearn'd to hear his voice once more!
But mine was fetter'd;-mute in strong amaze,
I watch'd his features as the night-wind blew,
And torch-light or the moon's pass'd o'er their marble

hue.

LV.

The trampling of a steed!—a tall white steed, Rending his fiery way the crowds among

A storm's way through a forest—came at speed, And a wild voice cried "Inez!" Swift she flung The mantle from her face, and gazed around, With a faint shriek at that familiar sound; And from his seat a breathless rider sprung, And dash'd off fiercely those who came to part, And rush'd to that pale girl, and clasp'd her to his heart.

LVI.

And for a moment all around gave way
To that full burst of passion!-on his breast,
Like a bird panting yet from fear, she lay,
But blest-in misery's very lap-yet blest!-
Oh love, love strong as death!-from such an hour
Pressing out joy by thine immortal power;
Holy and fervent love! had earth but rest

For thee and thine, this world were all too fair! How could we thence be wean'd to die without despair?

LVII.

But she as falls a willow from the storm,
O'er its own river streaming—thus reclined
On the youth's bosom hung her fragile form,
And clasping arms, so passionately twined.
Around his neck—with such a trusting fold,
A full deep sense of safety in their hold,
As if nought earthly might th' embrace unbind!
Alas! a child's fond faith, believing still

Its mother's breast beyond the lightning's reach to kill!

LVIII.

Brief rest! upon the turning billow's height, A strange, sweet moment of some heavenly strain, Floating between the savage gusts of night, That sweep the seas to foam! Soon dark again The hour-the scene-th' intensely present, rush'd Back on her spirit, and her large tears gush'd Like blood-drops from a victim; with swift rain Bathing the bosom where she lean'd that hour, As if her life would melt into th' o'erswelling shower.

LIX.

But he whose arm sustain'd her!-oh! I knew 'Twas vain, and yet he hoped!-he fondly strove Back from her faith her sinking soul to woo, As life might yet be hers!-A dream of love Which could not look upon so fair a thing, Remembering how like hope, like joy, like spring, Her smile was wont to glance, her step to move, And deem that men indeed, in very truth, Could mean the sting of death for her soft flowering youth!

LX.

He woo'd her back to life.-"Sweet Inez, live!
My blessed Inez!-visions have beguiled
Thy heart; abjure them! thou wert form'd to give,
And to find, joy; and hath not sunshine smiled
Around thee ever? Leave me not, mine own!
Or earth will grow too dark!-for thee alone,
Thee have I loved, thou gentlest! from a child,

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