Because th' avenger's voice is in the wind,

The foe's quick, rustling step close on the leaves behind.

XXIII.

My home of youth!-oh! if indeed to part
With the soul's loved ones be a mournful thing,
When we go forth in buoyancy of heart,
And bearing all the glories of our spring
For life to breathe on,-is it less to meet,

When these are faded?who shall call it sweet? -Even though love's mingling tears may haply bring

Balm as they fall, too well their heavy showers Teach us how much is lost of all that once was ours !

XXIV.

Not by the sunshine, with its golden glow,
Nor the green earth, nor yet the laughing sky,
Nor the fair flower scents,15 as they come and go
In the soft air, like music wandering by ;
-Oh! not by these, th' unfailing, are we taught
How time and sorrow on our frames have
wrought;

But by the sadden'd eye, the darken'd brow
Of kindred aspect, and the long dim gaze,
Which tells us we are changed-how changed from
other days!

XXV.

Before my father-in my place of birth,

I stood an alien. On the very floor

Which oft had trembled to my boyish mirth,

The love that rear'd me, knew my face no more!

There hung the antique armour, helm and crest, Whose every stain woke childhood in my breast; There droop'd the banner, with the marks it bore Of Paynim spears; and I, the worn in frame And heart, what there was I?-another and the

same!

XXVI.

Then bounded in a boy, with clear, dark eye-
How should he know his father?-when we parted,
From the soft cloud which mantles infancy,
His soul, just wakening into wonder, darted
Its first looks round. Him follow'd one, the bride
Of my young days, the wife how loved and tried!
Her glance met mine-I could not speak-she
started

With a bewilder'd gaze ;—until there came Tears to my burning eyes, and from my lips her

name.

XXVII.

She knew me then!-I murmur'd "Leonor!"
And her heart answer'd!-oh! the voice is known
First from all else, and swiftest to restore
Love's buried images, with one low tone

That strikes like lightning, when the cheek is faded,

And the brow heavily with thought o'ershaded, And all the brightness from the aspect gone! -Upon my breast she sunk, when doubt was fled, Weeping as those may weep, that meet in woe and dread.

XXVIII.

For there we might not rest. Alas! to leave
Those native towers, and know that they must fall
By slow decay, and none remain to grieve
When the weeds cluster'd on the lonely wall!
We were the last-my boy and I—the last
Of a long line which brightly thence had pass'd!
My father bless'd me as I left his hall-

With his deep tones and sweet, though full of

years,

He bless'd me there, and bathed my child's young head with tears.

XXIX.

I had brought sorrow on his grey hairs down, And cast the darkness of my branded name (For so he deem'd it) on the clear renown, My own ancestral heritage of fame. And yet he bless'd me!-Father! if the dust Lie on those lips benign, my spirit's trust Is to behold thee yet, where grief and shame Dim the bright day no more; and thou will know That not through guilt thy son thus bow'd thine age with woe!

XXX.

And thou, my Leonor! that unrepining,
If sad in soul, didst quit all else for me,

When stars the stars that earliest rise-are

shining,

How their soft glance unseals each thought of thee!

For on our flight they smiled; their dewy rays, Through the last olives, lit thy tearful gaze Back to the home we never more might see; So pass'd we on, like earth's first exiles, turning Fond looks where hung the sword above their Eden burning.

XXXI.

It was a woe to say, "Farewell, my Spain! The sunny and the vintage land, farewell!” -I could have died upon the battle-plain For thee, my country! but I might not dwell In thy sweet vales, at peace. The voice of song Breathes, with the myrtle scent, thy hills along; The citron's glow is caught from shade and dell; But what are these?-upon thy flowery sod I might not kneel, and pour my free thoughts out to God!

XXXII.

O'er the blue deep I fled, the chainless deep!— Strange heart of man! that e'en 'midst woe swells high,

When through the foam he sees his proud bark sweep,

Flinging out joyous gleams to wave and sky! Yes! it swells high, whate'er he leaves behind, His spirit rises with the rising wind;

For, wedded to the far futurity,

On, on, it bears him ever, and the main

Seems rushing, like his hope, some happier shore to

XXXIII.

Not thus is woman. Closely her still heart
Doth twine itself with even each lifeless thing,
Which, long remember'd, seem'd to bear its part
In her calm joys. For ever would she cling,
A brooding dove, to that sole spot of earth
Where she hath loved, and given her children

birth,

And heard their first sweet voices.

Spring

There may

Array no path, renew no flower, no leaf,

But hath its breath of home, its claim to farewell grief.

XXXIV.

I look'd on Leonor,-and if there seem'd
A cloud of more than pensiveness to rise
In the faint smiles that o'er her features gleam'd,
And the soft darkness of her serious eyes,
Misty with tender gloom, I call'd it nought
But the fond exile's pang, a lingering thought
Of her own vale, with all it melodies

And living light of streams.

rest

Her soul would

Beneath your shades, I said, bowers of the gorgeous

west!

XXXV.

Oh! could we live in visions! could we hold
Delusion faster, longer, to our breast,
When it shuts from us, with its mantle's fold,

That which we see not, and are therefore blest!