THE DEATH OF ALMANZOR.

Almanzor was the Campeador of the Moors in Spain, the guardian of the fainéant King Hixem ;-it is thought he aspired to the crown.

Two and fifty times Almanzor had the Christian host o'erthrown;

Still again the Christians gathered, by despair the stronger

grown.

Cityless and mountain-refuged they approached the Douro's shores,

Falling, as a storm in summer, on the unsuspecting Moors.

Valiantly the Moslem rallied, all unordered as they stood, Till the Evening, in her shadow, bore them safe across the flood.

Then they cried, "The stream's between us; now can we their schemes defy ;"

But the great Almanzor spoke,—“I have retreated, and I-die."

"Allah, keep us from such evil!" prayed the faithful, crowding round,

While the wise Arabian leech his wounds examined, staunched, and bound.

Lightly has the Christian touched thee,-much for thee is yet in store;

Many are thy years, but Allah gives his conquerors many

more.

"Do not the huge bells, that summoned pilgrims to Iago's shrine,

Hang within our prophet's temple, and confess thy work

divine ?

"What is it that one small moment thou and thine did

seem to yield,

Wielders of Mohammed's sword and guarded by Mohammed's shield?

"Few shall be their boastful hours,-thou in wrath wilt rise again;

Thou shalt cleanse the mountains of them, like the cities and the plain."

So consoled the duteous servant, but he could not still

the cry

Bursting from Almanzor's lips," I have retreated, and

I die."

Once he rose and feebly spoke,-" My friends, I perish of self-scorn;

Shame is come on my white hairs," and thus he died the

morrow-morn.

Fiercest hands in sorrow trembled, as they deeply dug the

grave,

On the spot where Azrael's lance had struck the Captain of the brave.

There his spirit's dearest brethren, closest comrades of his glory,

Laid him as a Moslem martyr, in his garments torn and

gory.

There too, from his side unsevered, lay his old familiar

brand,

Never to be touched and tarnished by a less victorious hand.

From a chest that in his marches ever had been borne before him,

Holy dust from two and fifty battle-fields was sprinkled o'er him

;

While arose the imprecation, "Utter Death to Christian

Spain !"

Praise to Jesus and his mother, that the vow was vowed

in vain!

H

A LEGEND OF CORFU.

THERE's much of earth that Nature dowers For others' glory than its own, Surrounded by contending powers

That would possess its beauty's throne.

Who shall be lord of fair Corfu ?
Who shall repel the Genoese
Now outcast, but in strength anew
Returning vengeful o'er the seas?

Who shall protect this lovely land
From such vile factions as of old

By freedom seem'd to understand

Mere thirst of blood and lust of gold?

Upon the fratricidal brink

The nation stood in senseless rage; Well might the reverend Patriarch shrink From such a storm at such an age!

But in the midst his form he cast,

And, to each other deaf, the crowd Trembled before him, and the blast

Of passion ceased, and pride was bow'd.

Feeling how near was right to wrong,

They will'd their country's fate to trust To Him whose justice could be strong, As is his strength for ever just.

The bravest galley soon was mann'd,
And on the deck an altar raised,

Blest by the Prelate's holy hand,
While music rose and tapers blazed.

And to the Blessed Sacrament

Nobles and priests and people vow'd That they would take this chance, content As if God's self should speak aloud.

Then all pronounced themselves accursed, Unless to him whose sign should wave Above the ship they met the first,

Their Island and their truth they gave.

Past Vido, past St. Salvador,

The galley sail'd with numerous train : No stranger craft approached the shore, Until they sought the open main.