XX.

"I lost a damsel in that hour,

Of all the land the loveliest flower;
Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
And think her ransom cheap that day."
Woe is me, Alhama!

XXI.

And as these things the old Moor said,
They sever'd from the trunk his head;
And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
'Twas carried, as the King decreed.

Woe is me, Alhama !

XXII.

And men and infants therein weep
Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
Granada's ladies, all she rears
Within her walls, burst into tears.

Woe is me, Alhama!

XXIII.

And from the windows o'er the walls
The sable web of mourning falls;
The King weeps as a woman o'er
His loss, for it is much and sore.

Woe is me, Alhama!

SONETTO DI VITTORELLI.

PER MONACA.

Sonetto composto in nome di un genitore, a cui era morta poco innanzi una figlia appena maritata; è diretto al genitore della sacra sposa.

Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte
Lieti e miseri padri il ciel ne feo,
Il ciel, che degne di più nobil sorte
L'una e l' altra veggendo, ambo chiedeo.
La mia fu tolta da veloce morte

A le fumanti tede d' imeneo :
La tua, Francesco, in sugellate porte
Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo.
Ma tu almeno potrai de la gelosa
Irremeabil soglia, ove s' asconde,
La sua tenera udir voce pietosa.
Io verso un fiume d' amarissim' onde,
Corro a quel marmo, in cui la figlia or posa,
Batto, e ribatto, ma nessun risponde.

TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELLI.

ON A NUN.

Sonnet composed in the name of a father, whose daughter had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had > lately taken the veil.

Or two fair virgins, modest, though admired,

Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sires, Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires, And gazing upon either, both required. Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired Becomes extinguish'd, soon-too soon- -expires; But thine, within the closing grate retired, Eternal captive, to her God aspires. But thou at least from out the jealous door,

Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes, May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more : I to the marble, where my daughter lies,

Rush, the swoln flood of bitterness I pour, And knock, and knock, and knock-but none replies.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

["BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL!"]

I.

BRIGHT be the place of thy soul !
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with thee.

II.

Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be!
There should not be the shadow of gloom,
In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest:

But nor cypress nor yew let us see;

For why should we mourn for the blest?

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

["THEY SAY THAT HOPE IS HAPPINESS."]

I.

They say that Hope is happiness;

But genuine Love must prize the past, And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose the first — they set the last;

II.

And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.

III.

Alas! it is delusion all:

The future cheats us from afar,

Nor can we be what we recall,

Nor dare we think on what we are.

TO THOMAS MOORE.

I.

My boat is on the shore,

And my bark is on the sea;

But, before I go, Tom Moore,

Here's a double health to thee!

II.

Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate;
And, whatever sky's above me,
Here's a heart for every fate.

III.

Though the ocean roar around me,
Yet it still shall bear me on;

Though a desert should surround me,
It hath springs that may be won.