Oh, lovely lies he on the bier, above the When they had crown'd his head with purple pall, The flower of all Granada's youth, the loveliest of them all; His dark, dark eyes are closed, his rosy lip is pale, The crust of blood lies black and dim upon his burnish'd mail; And evermore the hoarse tambour breaks in upon their wailing,— Its sound is like no earthly sound,—“ Alas! alas for Celin!" The Moorish maid at the lattice stands,the Moor stands at his door; One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore; Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they strew Upon their broider'd 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,66 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; 'Twas she that nursed him at her breast,that nursed him long ago: She knows not whom they all lament, but soon she well shall know! With one deep shriek, she through doth break, when her ears receive their wailing, thornes, And scourged him to disgrace, In scornfull sort they led him forthe Where thousand thousands in the streete Yet not one gentle heart was there, Both old and young revilèd him, And naught he found but churlish tauntes, His owne deare crosse he bore himselfe, Being weary thus, he sought for rest, Did churlishly controule; Thou seest nowe draweth neare. And thereupon he thrust him thence; I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, For offering Christ this wrong, Where after he had seene the bloude Of Jesus Christ thus shed, "Let me kiss my Celin, ere I die!-Alas! And to the crosse his bodye nail'd, alas for Celin !" (From the Spanish.) JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. THE WANDERING JEW. WHEN as in faire Jerusalem His own deare life did give; The wicked Jewes with scoffes and scornes Did dailye him molest, That never till he left his life, Our Saviour could not rest. Awaye with speed he fled, Without returning backe againe Unto his dwelling-place, And wandred up and downe the worlde, A runnagate most base. No resting could he finde at all, No ease, nor hearts content; No house, nor home, nor biding-place: But wandring forth he went From towne to towne in foreigne landes, With grievèd conscience still, Repenting for the heinous guilt Of his fore-passèd ill. Thus after some fewe ages past In wandring up and downe ; He much again desired to see Jerusalems renowne, But finding it all quite destroyd, He wandred thence with woe, If people give this Jew an almes, Is not above a groat a time: Our Saviours wordes, which he had spoke, Affirming still that Jesus Christ To verifie and showe. "I'll rest, sayd hee, but thou shalt walke." So doth this wandring Jew For seeing countries newe; The world he hath still compast round To whom he hath told wondrous thinges Desiring still to be dissolved, And yeild his mortal breath; He shall not yet see death. When Christ did suffer on the crosse Of him hath dailye care. "TWAS in the prime of summer-time, An evening calm and cool, He hath past through many a foreigne There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome minds, To a level mead they came, and there Like sportive deer they coursed about, "My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, A dozen times I groan'd; the dead "And now, from forth the frowning sky, Of the blood-avenging Sprite :'Thou guilty man! take up thy dead And hide it from my sight!' "I took the dreary body up, And cast it in a stream,— A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime! "One stern, tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave; Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave,Still urging me to go and see The dead man in his grave! "Heavily I rose up, as soon "Merrily rose the lark, and shook But I never mark'd its morning flight, I never heard it sing: "Down went the corse with a hollow For I was stooping once again Under the horrid thing. "With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran ; There was no time to dig a grave Before the day began: "Oh, Heaven! to think of their white In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, souls, And mine so black and grim! I could not share in childish prayer, "And peace went with them, one and all, And drew my midnight curtains round, "All night I lay in agony, In anguish dark and deep; All night I lay in agony, I hid the murder'd man! "And all that day I read in school, But my thought was other where; As soon as the midday task was done, In secret I was there: And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corse was bare! "Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep : Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep. "So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, Till blood for blood atones! Ay, though he's buried in a cave, "O God! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake! Again-again, with dizzy brain, The human life I take; And my right red hand grows raging hot, Like Cranmer's at the stake. "And still no peace for the restless clay, It stands before me now!" That very night, while gentle sleep THOMAS HOOD, THE INCHCAPE ROCK. No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, He felt the cheering power of spring, His eye was on the Inchcape float; The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row, Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound, Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away, Without either sign or sound of their So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, shock The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock; The Abbot of Aberbrothok They cannot see the sun on high; The wind hath blown a gale all day, At evening it hath died away. On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is they see no land. Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon, Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the rock was hid by the surges' swell, The mariners heard the warning bell, The sun in heaven was shining gay, And there was joyaunce in their sound. The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen For there is the dawn of the rising moon." "Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore." They hear no sound, the swell is strong, Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock, "O Death! it is the Inchcape Rock." Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, |