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Behind him his four sisters, each wrapt in sable veil, Between the tambour's dismal strokes take up their doleful tale;
When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brotherless bewailing,
And all the people, far and near, cry," Alas! alas, for Celin!"
O, lovely lies he on the bier above the purple pall, The flower of all Granada's youth, the loveliest of them all;
His dark, dark eyes are closed, and 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 weep
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-"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
"Let me kiss my Celin ere I die-Alas! alas, for Celin!"
O MELANCHOLY Moon,
Queen of the midnight, though thou palest away Far in the dusky west, to vanish soon Under the hills that catch thy waning ray, Still art thou beautiful beyond all spheres, The friend of grief, and confidant of tears.
Mine earliest friend wert thou:
My boyhood's passion was to stretch me under The locust tree, and, through the chequer'd bough,
Watch thy far pathway in the clouds, and wonder At thy strange loveliness, and wish to be The nearest star to roam the heavens with thee.
Youth grew; but as it came,
And sadness with it, still, with joy, I stole
To gaze, and dream, and breathe perchance the
That was the early music of my soul,And seem'd upon thy pictured disk to trace Remember'd features of a radiant face.
And manhood, though it bring
Mine eyes from thy lone loveliness; still spring
Would it were so; for earth
Grows shadowy, and her fairest planets fail;
And her sweet chimes, that once were woke to mirth,
Turn to a moody melody of wail,
And through her stony throngs I go alone,
Would it were so; for still
Thou art my only counsellor, with whom
Mine eyes can have no bitter shame to fill,
A boyish thought, and weak:—
And in the land of palms, and on the peak
Let it be so indeed
Earth hath her peace beneath the trampled stone: And let me perish where no heart shall bleed, And naught, save passing winds, shall make my
No tears, save night's, to wash my humble shrine, And watching o'er me, no pale face but thine.
THE CORAL INSECT.
TOIL on! toil on! ye ephemeral train,
Who build in the tossing and treacherous main;
With your sand-based structures and domes of rock; Your columns the fathomless fountains lave,
And your arches spring up to the crested wave;
Ye bind the deep with your secret zone,
But why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark
With mouldering bones the deeps are white,
Ye build-ye build-but ye enter not in,
Next time he put in Alexander the Great,
A long row of alms-houses, amply endow'd
By further experiments (no matter how)
He found that ten chariots weigh'd less than one plough.
A sword, with gilt trappings, rose up in the scale,
A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt,
At last the whole world was bowl'd in at the grate With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight;When the former sprung up with so strong a rebuff, That it made a vast rent, and escaped at the roofWhile the scale with the soul in 't so mightily fell, That it jerk'd the philosopher out of his cell.
MISS J. TAYLOR.