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Down, down with the rocks
On the hell-hounds below,
And clear let the horn
Of the Tyrolese blow.

Cut-cut away,

With the stones and the trees,
And let France long remember
The brave Tyrolese!

And woe be to him,

'Mid the thousands beneath,
Whom the Tyrolese marks
From his mountainous heath.

There's a spell in his eye,
There's a spell in his breath,
And the sound of his gun
Is the watchword of death.

Now, now is the time,

While our standard still waves,

To show there are some yet

Who will not be slaves.

ΑΝΟΝ.

THE CHARACTER.

AN easy mien, engaging in address,

Looks which at once each winning grace express, A life where love and truth are ever join'd,

A nature ever great and ever kind;

A wisdom solid, and a judgment clear,
The smile indulgent, and a soul sincere ;
Meek without meanness, gentle and humane;
Fond of improving, but yet never vain;
So justly good, so faithful to his friend,
Ever obliging, cautious to offend;

A mind where gen'rous pity stands confess'd
Ready to ease and succour the distress'd:

If these respect and admiration raise,

They surely must demand our greatest praise;
In one bright view th' accomplish'd youth we see,
These virtues all are thine- and thou art he.

ANON.

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

[The celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, having made many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the Count Saldana, who had been imprisoned by King Alfonso of Asturias, almost from the time of Bernardo's birth, at last took up arms in despair. The war which he maintained proved so destructive, that the men of the land gathered round the king, and united in demanding Saldana's liberty. Alfonso accordingly offered Bernardo immediate possession of his father's person, in exchange for his castle of Carpio. Bernardo, without hesitation, gave up his strong hold with all his captives, and being assured that his father was then on his way from prison, rode forth with the king to meet him. And when he saw his father approaching, he exclaimed,' says the ancient chronicle, "Oh! God, is the Count Saldana indeed coming ?" "Look where he is," replied the cruel king, "and now go and greet him, whom you have so long desired to see."-The remainder of the story will be found related in the ballad. The chronicles and romances leave us nearly in the dark, as to Bernardo's future history after this event.]

THE warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,

And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire;

"I pledge thee here my fortress-keys, Ibring my captive

train,

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!-oh! break my father's chain!"

"Rise, rise! e'en now thy father comes, a ransom'd man this day;

Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on his way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed,

And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

And lo! from far, as on they press'd, there came a glittering band,

With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land;

-"Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he,

The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearn'd so long to see."

His dark eye flash'd,-his proud breast heaved,-his cheek's hue came and went,—

He reach'd that gray-hair'd chieftain's side, and there dismounting bent,

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took

What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold-a frozen thing-it dropp'd from his like lead

He look'd up to the face above,-the face was of the dead

A plume waved o'er the noble brow-the brow was fix'd and white

He met at last his father's eyes-but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed-but who could paint that gaze?

They hush'd their very hearts that saw its horror and amaze

They might have chain'd him, as before that stony

form he stood,

For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood.

"Father!" at length he murmur'd low, and wept like childhood then

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of war

like men!

He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his

renown

young He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,

"No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now

My king is false. my hope betray'd, my father-oh! the worth,

The glory, and the loveliness are pass'd away from

earth.

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet

I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met

Thou wouldst have known my spirit then-for thee my fields were won,

And thou hast perish'd in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!"

Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein,

Amidst the pale and wither'd looks of all the courtier train;

And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp the rearing war-horse led,

And sternly set them face to face-the king before the dead

Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?

-Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this?

The voice, the glance, the heart I sought-give answer, where are they?

-If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay.

"Into these glassy eyes put light-be still! keep down thine ire

Bid these white lips a blessing speak-this earth is not my sire

Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed

Thou canst not?-and a king!-his dust be mountains on thy head!"

He loosed the steed,-his slack hand fell-upon the silent face

He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turn'd from that sad place

His hope was crush'd, his after-fate untold in martial

strain

His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of

Spain.

MRS. HEMANS.

SONG.

STILL to be neat, still to be dress'd
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powder'd, still perfumed;
Lady, it is to be presumed,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face

That makes simplicity a grace;

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