Thou should'st have echoes For grief's deepest tone- Softly flow on! IV.-SEEK BY THE SILVERY DARRO. SEEK by the silvery Darro, Where jasmine flowers have blown; There hath she left no footsteps? -Weep, weep, the maid is gone! Seek where our lady's image Seek in the porch where vine-leaves V.-SPANISH EVENING HYMN. AVE! now let prayer and music From the wide and restless waters Hear the sailor's hymn arise! From his watch-fire 'midst the mountains, Lo! to thee the shepherd cries! Yet, when thus full hearts find voices, Touch them, every fount unsealing, Aid, oh! aid to pray and weep! VI.-BIRD, THAT ART SINGING ON EBRO'S SIDE. BIRD, that art singing on Ebro's side! Where myrtle shadows make dim the tide, Doth sorrow dwell 'midst the leaves with thee? Doth song avail thy full heart to free? Bird of the midnight's purple sky! Teach me the spell of thy melody. Bird is it blighted affection's pain, Whence the sad sweetness flows through thy strain? And is the wound of that arrow still'd, When thy lone music the leaves hath fill'd? -Bird of the midnight's purple sky! Teach me the spell of thy melody. VII.-MOORISH GATHERING SONG. ZORZICO.1 CHAINS on the cities! gloom in the air! Come from the Darro!-changed is its tone; Come from Alhambra! garden and grove Blood on the waters, death 'midst the flowers! VIII. THE SONG OF MINA'S SOLDIERS. We heard thy name, O Mina ! A sound more strong than tempests, The peasant left his vintage, The shepherd grasp'd the spear 1 The Zorzico is an extremely wild and singular antique Moor. ish melody. We heard thy name, O Mina! The mountain bands are here. As eagles to the day-spring, So rush'd our hearts to thee. Thy spirit is our banner, Thine eye our beacon-sign, Thy name our trumpet, Mina! — The mountain bands are thine. IX.-MOTHER, OH! SING ME TO REST. A CANICON. MOTHER! oh, sing me to rest As in my bright days departed: Sing to thy child, the sick-hearted, Songs for a spirit oppress'd. Lay this tired head on thy breast! Flowers from the night-dew are closing, Pilgrims and mourners reposing - Mother, oh, sing me to rest! Take back thy bird to its nest! Weary is young life when blighted, -Mother, oh! sing me to rest! X. THERE ARE SOUNDS IN THE DARK RONCESVALLES. THERE are sounds in the dark Roncesvalles, Nor the wind, nor the pine-forest's roar. 'Tis a day of the spear and the banner, There are streams of unconquer'd Asturias, Oh! leave on the graves of the mighty, Proud marks where their children have stood! THE CURFEW-SONG OF ENGLAND. HARK! from the dim church tower, Sadly 't was heard by him who came From the fields of his toil at night, And who might not see his own hearth-flame In his children's eyes make light. |