"Sometimes I would hear the faint sounds of castanets from some party of dancers lingering in the Alameda ;* at other times I have heard the dubious tones of a guitar and the notes of a single voice rising from some solitary street, and pictured to myself some youthful cavalier serenading his lady's window.

*

*

*

"As the sun declines, begins the bustle of enjoyment, when the citizens pour forth to breathe the evening air, and revel away the brief twilight in the walks and gardens of the Darro and the Xenil.

"Now break forth, from court and garden, and street and lane, the tinkling of innumerable guitars, and the clinking of castanets; blending, at this lofty height, in a faint but general concert."Washington Irving's Alhambra.

NOTE 6, Sect. II. p. 54.

"The bright Xenil."

The Xenil, the principal stream that waters the Vega.

NOTE 7, Sect. II. p. 54.

"The golden Darro's gentle tide."

"The Darro is a small stream running through Granada, and is the De Auro or Darra of the Romans, who procured gold from it by washing its sands. Particles of gold are still found in it; and when

* A public walk on the Vega.

Philip the Second came to Granada, the city presented him with a crown made from the gold of the Darro.-Bourgoanne's Travels in Spain.

NOTE 8, Sect. II. p. 54.

"Nor blood from noble Zegri's vein."

The Zegris, one of the tribes of the Moors of Granada.

NOTE 9, Sect. V. p. 57.

"Upon his lofty brow yet age

But lightly pressed its signet sage."

"On his bold visage middle age

Had slightly pressed its signet sage."

Scott.

MELPOMENE.

MELPOMENE.

In my meditations on the genius and poetry of Letitia Elizabeth Landon, I have always associated her with Melpomene, one of the nine Muses, the presiding goddess of sorrow; and hence I have placed the following stanzas to the memory of L. E. L. under that title.

He has outsoared the shadow of the night,
Envy, and calumny, and hate, and pain,
And that unrest which men miscall delight
Can touch him not, and torture not again.
From the contagion of the world's slow stain
He is secure, and now can never mourn

A heart grown cold

ADONAIS.

I.

THOU wert not made for happiness on earth,

Thy spirit nature had too finely strung
With feelings that were of ethereal birth,
To brook the woes that fate around thee flung;
Falsehood and scorn too bitterly had stung
Thy tender heart in its first vernal bloom;
The mists of sorrow like a mildew clung
Around its bud, o'ershadowing it in gloom,

And sad its moans as sighs that whisper from the tomb.