BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

Mrs Hemans.

[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 ap proaching, he exclaimed,' says the ancient chronicle, "Oh! God, is the count of 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 warriour bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,

And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned

sire;

'I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring 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 ransomed 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 pressed, 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 yearned so long

to see.'

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

He reached that grey-haired 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 dropped from his like lead

He looked up to the face above,-the face was of the

dead

A plume waved o'er the noble brow-the brow was fixed 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 hushed their very hearts that saw its horrour and

amaze

They might have chained 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 murmured low-and wept like childhood then

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!

He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young

renown

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

'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 perished 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 wildered looks of all the courtier

train;

And with a fierce o'ermastering grasp the rearing warhorse 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- 1

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, than turned from that sad place

His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial

strain

His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of

Spain.

CLARENCE'S DREAM.- -Shakspeare.

CLARENCE AND BRAKENBURY.

Brak. WHY looks your grace so heavily to-day?
Clar. O, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,
That as I am a Christian, faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me.
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tower,
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy,-

And in my company my brother Glo'ster;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times,

During the wars of York and Lancaster,

That had befallen us. As we passed along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Glo'ster stumbled, and, in falling,
Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard,

Into the tumbling billows of the main.

Oh! Heaven! methought what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
I thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon :
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels;

Some lay in dead men's sculls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death,

Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony ?
Clar. No, no; my dream was lengthened after life;
O then began the tempest of my soul:

I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger-soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cried aloud- -'What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'
And so he vanished. Then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel; with bright hair
Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud-
'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury:
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!'-
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environed me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
I, trembling, waked; and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell:
Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. I pr'ythee, Brakenbury, stay by me:
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

THE HIGHLANDER TO HIS SON.

Scott.

KENNETH, said the old outlaw, hear the last words of the sire of thy father. A Saxon soldier, and Allan of the Red-hand, left this camp within these few hours, to travel to the country of Caber-foe. Pursue them as the bloodhound pursues the hurt deer-swim the lake-climb the mountain-thread the forest-tarry not until you join them.

They will ask thee news from the camp-say to them that Annot Lyle of the Harp is discovered to be the daughter of Duncan of Ardenvohr; that the thane of Menteith is to wed her before the priest; and that you are sent to bid guests to the bridal. Tarry not their answer, but vanish like the lightning when the black cloud swallows it. And now depart, beloved son of my best beloved! I shall never more see thy face, nor hear the light sound of thy footstep

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