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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.

manners.

XC.-TOO LATE. I STAYED.

Too late I stayed-forgive the crime;
Unheeded flew the hours ;-
How noiseless falls the foot of Time
That only treads on flowers!

What eye with clear account remarks
The ebbing of his glass,
When all its sands are diamond sparks,
That dazzle as they pass!

Ah! who to sober measurement

Time's happy swiftness brings,
When birds of Paradise have lent
Their plumage for his wings'

W. R. SPENCER.

XCI.-BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

GAGE, n., a challenge to combat.
YEARN (yern), v. i., to long.
SWERVE, v. i., to deviate.
CON'DE, n., a Spanish earl.
GRAN-DEE', n., a man of rank.
CAITIFF (kā-), n., a base fellow.
PALTER-ING (pawl-), ppr., shifting.

Pronounce Sancho, Sank'ko; Castile, Kas-teel'. Do not say baird for beard.

| FAL'CHION (fawl'chun), n., a sword.
LORD'LING, n., a petty nobleman.
CHAM'PI-ON, n., the leading com'bat-
ant in a cause.

DUNGEON, n., a close dark prison.
LOY'AL, a., faithful; true.
VASSAL, n., a subject; a serf.

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.

1. Linedit
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THE warrior bowed his crested head,

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And tamed his heart of fire, tém

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And sued the haughty 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!-
O break my father's chain!"

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"Rise, rise! even 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 'mid 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 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,-
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 horror and amaze :

They might have chained him, as before
That stōny form he stood;

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

Then, starting suddenly, he rushed
And seized the monarch's rein,
Amid the pale and wildered 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!"

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With some good ten of his chosen men,
Bernardo hath appeared,

Before them all, in the palace hall,

The lying king to beard;

With cap in hand and eye on ground,
He came in reverend guise;
But ever and anon he frowned,

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,-
Perchance our champion brave
May think it were a pious part

To share Don Sancho's grave."

"Whoever told this tale the king,
Will he the tale repeat?"
Cries Bernard; "here my gage I fling
Before the liar's feet.

No treason was in Sancho's blood,—
No stain in mine doth lie :

Below the throne, what knight will own
The coward calumny?

"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
By the father's bloody fate.

"You swore upon your kingly faith
To set Don Sancho free;

But (out upon your paltering breath!)
The light he ne'er did see :

He died in dungeon cold and dim,
By Alfonzo's base decree;
And visage blind, and mangled limb,
Were all you gave to me.

"The king that swerveth from his word
Hath stained his purple black,-
No Spanish lord will draw the sword
Behind a liar's back;

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But noble vengeance shall be mine,-
An open hate I'll show ;-

The king hath injured Carpio's line,
And Bernard is his foe!"

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