Hope, Fortune, Love, smiled brightly on thy birth, Thine hour of death is all Affliction's own!

It is our task to suffer-and our fate

To learn that mighty lesson, soon or late.

The season's glory fades-the vintage-lay
Through joyous Italy resounds no more;
But mortal loveliness hath passed away,
Fairer than aught in summer's glowing store.
Beauty and youth are gone-behold them such

As Death hath made them with his blighting touch!

The summer's breath came o'er them-and they died! Softly it came, to give luxuriance birth,

Called forth young Nature in her festal pride,

But bore to them their summons from the earth!
Again shall blow that mild, delicious breeze,
And wake to life and light all flowers-but these.

No sculptured urn, nor verse thy virtues telling,
O lost and loveliest one! adorns thy grave,

But o'er that humble cypress-shaded dwelling

The dew-drops glisten, and the wild-flowers wave— Emblems more meet, in transient light and bloom,

For thee, who thus didst pass in brightness to the tomb!

Sebast. With what young life and fragrance in its

breath

My native air salutes me! from the groves
Of citron, and the mountains of the vine,

And thy majestic tide thus foaming on
In power and freedom o'er its golden sands,

Fair stream, my Tajo! youth with all its glow

And pride of feeling through my soul and frame
Again seems rushing, as these noble waves

Past their bright shores flow joyously. Sweet land,
My own, my Fathers' land, of sunny skies
And orange bowers!-Oh! is it not a dream
That thus I tread thy soil? Or do I wake
From a dark dream but now? Gonzalez, say,
Doth it not bring the flush of early life
Back on th' awakening spirit, thus to gaze
On the far-sweeping river, and the shades
Which in their undulating motion speak
Of gentle winds amidst bright waters born,
After the fiery skies and dark red sands

Of the lone desert? Time and toil must needs

Have changed our mien; but this, our blessed land,

Wears, amidst all its quiet loveliness,

A hue of desolation, and the calm,

The solitude and silence which pervade

Earth, air, and ocean, seem belonging less
To peace than sadness! We have proudly stood
Even on this shore, beside the Atlantic wave,

When it hath looked not thus.

Sebast.

Aye, now thy soul

Is in the past! Oh no, it looked not thus

When the morn smiled upon our thousand sails,
And the winds blew for Afric! How that hour,

With all its hues of glory, seems to burst
Again upon my vision! I behold

The stately barks, the arming, the array,
The crests, the banners of my chivalry

Swayed by the sea-breeze till their motion shewed
Like joyous life! How the proud billows foamed!
And the oars flashed, like lightnings of the deep,
And the tall spears went glancing to the sun,
And scattering round quick rays, as if to guide