Lehke the ravens Willy, dia ti

And, and beautiful beyond compere

Canto P 9"

ZENEL.*

A TALE OF GRANADA.

CANTO I.

I.

SHE was a peasant's daughter blithe and fair, With cheeks fresh as the rose of Paradise, Locks like the raven's wing, dark languid eyes, And young and beautiful beyond compare ;An airy flitting bird, aye soft and meek,

Modest and gentle as the timid fawn,

When first it ventures forth upon the lawnSought and beloved was young ZENEL: but like The radiant sunbeam prisoned in a cloud

Ere it has traversed all its missioned way From the metropolis of light and day— A meteor seen, then lost in night's dim shroud

*Pronounced Thanail.

The rainbow's bright but evanescent glow Was the pure maiden's brief career below.

II.

The summer moon is shining bright
Far o'er the dark Sierra's height,'

And crag, and peak, and snowy crest,
Where the wild eagle builds her nest;

2

The myrtle groves, and palms, and flowers,
Are smiling through their leafy bowers,
And sloping hills and green-wood aisles

Are gleaming in her quivering smiles;

Above the azure canopy

Spreads its celestial drapery,

Bespangled with ten thousand stars,

While by their sheen

Afar are seen

Angels careering in their cars,

Making the weary spirit long
To doff its frail mortality,
And join the bright seraphic throng
That sweeps along the starry sky,

The dew begems the verdant trees,
The air with balmy odor breathes;
Along the spicy-scented vale

Sings low and sweet the nightingale,3

Where lovers stroll beside the streams,
Lost in their first Elysian dreams,

Or there have stolen an hour to rove
And plight anew the vows of love,
And secretly lament the woe

That bids them happiness forego;
To tread earth's chequered paths apart,
Weary, and lone, and sick at heart.

Along Alhambra's dreary halls
Full many a hollow footstep falls
Of victim closely prisoned there
To pine out life in lone despair;
While sounds of wild festivity,

And royal mirth, and music's swell
Descend into his dismal cell

In mockery of his misery;

And on the Vega's' moonlit green,

While lingers yet the evening star
Amidst the balmy air serene,

Trip small feet to the light guitar
And the low tinkling castanet,
Which ever glad the Spanish fête;
And musically wends the rill
Along the olive-shaded hill

To mingle with the bright Xenil,"

153719

And golden Darro's gentle tide,

That onward pensively doth glide

A scene so bright-divinely fair,

That one might deem crime lurked not there,

Nor battle ever shook that plain,

Nor blood from noble Zegri's vein
Sprinkled the sod like heavy rain,
Nor helm nor shield had strown it o'er,
And many a brave and ghastly Moor.
But by yon dark and pine-clad hill
Hark! to the pirate's whistle shrill—
See by that rock-embattled shore,

His gliding skiff and muffled oar!

III.

Alas! there is no land on earth

Where sin and crime have not had birth,

A people who no sorrow know,

A spot which hath no tale of woe:

The bard, from wrecks of empires flown,
The records of the mighty gone,
Weaves his immortal wreath of woes,
And gives to death a calm repose;
The mermaid chants her song

Of those who far beneath the waves