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these forests, their beloved forefathers once, in careless gayety, pursued their sports and hunted their game; that every returning day found them the sole, the peaceful and happy proprietors of this extensive and beautiful domain. Go, administer the cup of ob livion to recollections like these; and then you wil cease to complain that the Indian refuses to be civilized.
4. But, until then, surely it is nothing wonderful that a nation, even yet bleeding afresh from the mem ory of ancient wrongs, perpetually agonized by new outrages, and goaded into desperation and madness at the prospect of the. certain ruin which awaits their descendants, should hate the authors of their miseries, of their desolation, their destruction,— should hate their manners, hate their color, hate their language, hate their name, hate every thing that belongs to them! No; never, until time` shall wear out the history of their sorrows and their sufferings, will the Indian be brought to love the white man, and to imitate his WILLIAM WIRT. (1772-1835.
XC.-TOO LATE. I STAYED.
Too late I stayed-forgive the crime;
What eye with clear account remarks
Ah! who to sober measurement
Time's happy swiftness brings,
W. R. SPENCER.
XCI.-BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.
GAGE, n., a challenge to combat.
Pronounce Sancho, Sank'ko; Castile, Kas-teel'. Do not say baird for beard.
| FAL'CHION (fawl'chun), n., a sword.
DUNGEON, n., a close dark prison.
King Alfonzo, of Spain, according to the old chronicle, had offered Bernardo del Carpio immediate possession of the person of his father, the king's prisoner, in exchange for the castle of Carpio, held by Bernardo. The latter gave up the stronghold; whereupon the mocking king caused the father to be put to death, and his corpse placed on horseback, in which state it was led out to the son, the trusting Bernardo. In Mrs. Hemans's ballad, Bernardo is represented as letting the false king go free. In Lockhart's ballad, which is far the superior in spirit, Bernardo lets the king hear from him again. By a combination of parts of the two ballads (placing that by Mrs. Hemans first), with slight alterations, we get a clear story; though chroniclers leave us in the dark as to Beraardo's history after the murder of his father.
And tamed his heart of fire, tém
And sued the haughty free
His long-imprisoned sire
I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!-
"Rise, rise! even now thy father comes,
Mount thy good horse; and thou and I
Then lightly rose that loyal son,
And lo! from far, as on they pressed,
"Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there,
The father whom thy faithful heart
His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, His cheek's hue came and went;
He reached that gray-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,-
He looked up to the face above,—
A plume waved o'er the noble brow,-
He met, at last, his father's eyes,-
Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed;
They hushed their very hearts that saw
They might have chained him, as before
For the power was stricken from his arm,
Then, starting suddenly, he rushed
And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp,
And sternly set them face to face,-
"Came I not forth upon thy pledge, My father's hand to kiss?
Be still, and gaze thou on, false king!
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought,—
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul,
"Into these glassy eyes put light,
Be still! keep down thine ire,—
Give me back him for whom I strove,
His dust be mountains on thy head!"
With some good ten of his chosen men,
Before them all, in the palace hall,
The lying king to beard;
With cap in hand and eye on ground,
And flame broke from his eyes.
"And dar'st thou, caitiff," cries the king, "Thus come unbid to me?
But what from traitor's blood should spring, Save traitor like to thee?
His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart,-
To share Don Sancho's grave."
"Whoever told this tale the king,
No treason was in Sancho's blood,—
Below the throne, what knight will own
"Your horse was down,—your hope was flown,~ I saw the falchion shine,
That soon had drunk your royal blood,
Had I not ventured mine;
But memory soon of service done
Deserteth the in-grate';
You've thanked the son for life and crown
"You swore upon your kingly faith
But (out upon your paltering breath!)
He died in dungeon cold and dim,
"The king that swerveth from his word
But noble vengeance shall be mine,-
The king hath injured Carpio's line,