ANCIENT SPANISH BATTLE SONG. 33

Banners are in the field!

The chief must rise from his joyous board,

And turn from the feast e'er the wine be poured,

And take up his father's shield.

The Moor is on his way y!

Let the peasant leave his olive-ground,

And the goats roam wild through the pine-woods round

-There is nobler work to-day!

Send forth the trumpet's call !
Till the bridegroom cast the goblet down,
And the marriage-robe and the flowery crown,

And arm in the banquet-hall!

And stay the funeral-train !

Bid the chanted mass be hushed a while,
And the bier laid down in the holy aisle,

And the mourners girt for Spain !

D

Ere night must swords be red!

It is not an hour for knells and tears,

But for helmets braced, and serried spears!

To-morrow for the dead!

The Cid is in array!

His steed is barbed, his plume waves high, His banner is up in the sunny sky,

Now, joy for the Cross to-day!

THE DEATH SONG OF ALCESTIS.

SHE came forth in her bridal robes arrayed,

And midst the graceful statues, round the hall
Shedding the calm of their celestial mein,
Stood pale, yet proudly beautiful, as they :
Flowers in her bosom, and the star-like gleam
Of jewels trembling from her braided hair,
And death upon her brow!-but glorious death!
Her own heart's choice, the token and the seal

Of love, o'ermastering love; which, 'till that hour,
Almost an anguish in the brooding weight

Of its unutterable tenderness,

Had burdened her full soul. But now, oh! now,

Its time was come- -and from the spirit's depths,

The passion and the mighty melody

Of its immortal voice, in triumph broke,

Like a strong rushing wind!

The soft pure air,

Came floating through that hall;—the Grecian air,
Laden with music-flute-notes from the vales,
Echoes of song-the last sweet sounds of life;
And the glad sunshine of the golden clime
Stream'd, as a royal mantle, round her form,
The glorified of love! But she-she look'd
Only on him for whom 'twas joy to die,
Deep-deepest, holiest joy !—or if a thought
Of the warm sunlight, and the scented breeze,
And the sweet Dorian songs, o'erswept the tide
Of her unswerving soul-'twas but a thought
That owned the summer-loveliness of life
For him a worthy offering!-So she stood,
Wrapt in bright silence, as entranced awhile,

DEATH SONG OF ALCESTIS.

Till her eye kindled, and her quivering frame
With the swift breeze of inspiration shook,

As the pale priestess trembles to the breath
Of inborn oracles !-then flush'd her cheek,
And all the triumph, all the agony,

Borne on the battling waves of love and death,
All from her woman's heart, in sudden song,
Burst like a fount of fire.

"I go, I go!

Thou Sun, thou golden Sun, I go,

Far from thy light to dwell;

Thou shalt not find my place below,

Dim is that world-bright Sun of Greece, farewell!"

The Laurel and the glorious Rose

Thy glad beam yet may see,

But where no purple summer glows,

O'er the dark wave I haste from them and thee.

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