Some fiend accursed, a thick black cloud

Like a gloomy veil, doth roll

All, all around my luckless head,
Around my branded soul!

Lost, gasping, tired, I trembling float

"Twixt hope and grim despair,

"Twixt light from heaven, and shades of hell
"Twixt blasphemy and prayer;
And mourning cry, as to earth fall I,
Back, back to my native clay,
Alas! alas! that cloud-veil black!
My pinions, where are they?'

CHORUS.

Alas! alas! that cloud-veil black!
My pinions, where are they?

CASTELLAN.

Sit down, sit down, noble singer; thou hast conquered us.

DIEGO.

He has not sung the song of our country; not a single verse of it.

LA HERMOSA.

He has sung better than any of us. Stranger, take this branch of red sage; dip it in thy cup, and sing for me.

STRANGER.

I sing for no one, but only to please myself, when the whim takes me. Maiden, I accept thy gift. The spectre waits for me, in the forest. Adieu, credulous host! Adieu, all ye vulgar bacchanals, who ask the poet for sour wine, when he brings you the nectar of heaven. Sing your song of the country by yourselves! For my own part, the country makes me sick, and the wine of the country sicker.

Come, come with me, my poor black dog!

I have no friend but you;

"Tis time, my dog, for us to go:

Ye maidens fair, adieu!

(Exit.)

DIEGO.

A bandit, I'll wager! Let us arrest him, and throw him into prison.

LA HERMOSA.

The walls would fall before his song; the spirits of heaven would descend to loose his chains.

ΒΟΥ.

My lord, you promised to own him for your friend and countryman, if he sang the song of our country. Hear him now, on the summit of the hill:

STRANGER. (from the hill.)

'I who a contrabandist am,

A noble life I lead;

I scour the mountains night and day,
Or down to the hamlet's speed,
To sport with the lovely maidens there,
And when the guard comes by,

I clap the spur to my good black steed,
And back to the mountains fly:
Huzza! huzza! my good black steed!
The guard is just in view,

Huzza! huzza! my good black steed!
Ye maidens fair, adieu!

DIEGO.

By heavens, I know him now; for he dons his red mantle; he mounts his horse; he tears off his false beard, and no longer disguises his voice! "Tis José, the famous Contrabandist; the accursed bandit; and I captain of the guards, who was charged with his arest! After him, my friends! after him!

CASTELLAN.

No, indeed; he is a noble child of the mountains, who was a scholar, a lover, and a poet, and who, it is said, became a bandit chief in consequence of his political sentiments.

DIEGO.

Or in consequence of a murder.

LA HERMOSA.

Or in consequence of a love affair.

CASTELLAN.

No matter; he has tricked you most gloriously, Diego; and while imposing upon us, he has both excited and charmed us. God speed him! and may nothing more trouble this festal day, this day devoted to joy!

CHORUS.

Let nothing more our mirth alloy,
Drain we the brimming cups of joy!

(They sing in full chorus the song of the Contrabandist.)

FINAL CHORUS.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Let us strike the full goblets again and again,
Till their roseate lips shall be shattered in twain.
Come wind of the evening from balm-breathing bowers,
And strew on our foreheads the sweet orange flowers.
Fill, fill up the cups! Let us drink and be gay,
And celebrate duly this festival day:

Let one and all rejoice!

STRANGER, (in the distance.)

Amen!

OMNES.

Amen!

WALTER OF ACQUITAINE'S

DEATH-SONG.*

A free translation from the French of L. Picket.

Horse Journal 1853.

COME! I invite you, men of arms, that love the battle's strife,

To hear a mournful history, the last song of my life. Then listen warrior, listen clerk, before my days are sped: My name is Walter of Acquitaine; from Attila's camp I fled. I fled from the camp of Attila, I, Walter of Acquitaines.

* It must not be for otten that the modern poet has changed the catastrophe of the old Monkish epic according to which Walter and Hildegund escaped the pursuit of their evening.

Along with me fair Hildegund was flying o'er the fields;
Her sire was king of Burgundy and lord of many shields.
The girl is dead, I weep for her, both wept and ven-

ged is she; And I am going soon to die, in death I shall be free. My dying hour brings liberty to Walter of Acquitaine.

We took across the country, much treasure in our flight:
We had goodly store of diamonds, and cups of jewels bright;
We fled that camp of savages, like lovers true and brave,
For neither she nor I was born to be the foemans slave.
Neither Hildegund of Burgundy, nor Walter of Acquitaine.

I had a coat of tempered steel, a sword of trenchant blade;
My chargers step was firm and proud, and she the darling

maid

Her little heart, with charming fear, on mine beat lovingly.
To think it was but yesterday all this belonged to me!
All this belonged but yesterday to Walter of Acquitaine.

We rested on a mountain with many a steep ascent;
She slept upon my knees when the day was fairly spent,
All round us utter silence and darkning shades of night,
As if both earth and heaven were watching o'er our flight.
But weary with our flight that day was Walter of Acquitaine.

The leaves were bright in full monlight, when she awoke
from sleep.

"To morrow we will go," said I; the watch till morning keep.
Yes watch and pray the while I lay my Yead upon thy breast;
ん
Be not too lightly terrified; all nature is at rest.
Though an army come, call quietly on Walter of Acquitaine.

Alas! that night was very short, our foes were very near,
My paradise was but a dream; they chased and found us here.
I felt her soft lip quivering on mine before she spoke,
"Walter the foe!" her words were slow, but quickly I awoke.
It was a gloomy wedding night for Walter of Acquitaine.
When first I saw their lances scale the summit of the hill,
It grieved me to have rested there, and brought her to such ill.
"They shall not have thee, Hildegund; so God be but our aid!
Fear nothing, we can die. but once," no other word I said.
No other word to Hildegund said Walter of Acquitaine.

I saw her lip just tremble with a sad and fevrish smile; A quick and chilling shudder ran through all her limbs the while;

And her eye was ever following the spears in dark array, That mounted up from bush to bush their sure and sullen way, That mounted through the thicket dense to Walter of Acquitaine.

On one side rolled the mountain stream, on one side came the foe,

Her bridal gifts were hanging at my charger's saddle bow; My eager hands unloosed the bands of the ample chests he bore,

I emptied down the precipice her gems and golden store. There was nothing left to Hildegund but Walter of Acquitaine.

"There, let the torrent take thy wealth!" all mad with rage I cried;

Let courser go, and palfrey too! what need we more to ride?
We cannot be too light to die; my love what thinkest thou?
So we but die together. Wo to the foremost now!
Wo to the first that meet the steel of Walter of Acquitaine."

Then, like a scythe whose spreading sweep lays low the meadows pride,

My falchion bright fell left and right, and a Hun dropped on each side.

My Hildegund was on her knees, close, close behind me

there

I had struck down ten of their boldest men before she

said one prayer;

The ten best men of Attila, I, Walter of Acquitaine.

But their swarming train poured in like rain, and she was all their aim;

I fought and hewed their multitude, still on and on they

came,

Till the press of the throng became so strong, they tore the girl away;

I howled for spite, they mocked my plight, but I cleft their thick array,

And came to the side of Hildegund, I Walter of Acquitaine.