The everlasting hills: but who hath dared

To dream that heaven's most awful attribute

Invested bis mortality, and to boast

That through its inmost folds his glance could read

One heart, one human heart? Why, then, to love

And trust is but to lend a traitor arms

Of keenest temper and unerring aim,

Wherewith to pierce our souls. But thou, beware!

Sebastian lives!

Sylv. If it be so, and thou

Art of his followers still, then bid him seek
Far in the wilds, which gave one sepulchre
To his proud hosts, a kingdom and a home,
For none is left him iiere.

Seb. This is to live

An age of wisdom in an hour! The man
Whose empire, as in scorn, o'erpass'd the bounds
E'en of the infinite deep; whose orient realms
Lay bright beneath the morning, while the clouds
Were brooding in their sunset mantle still,
O'er his majestic regions of the west;
This heir of far dominion shall return,
And, in the very city of his birth,
Shall find no home! Ay, I will tell him this,
And he will answer that the tale is false,
False as a traitor's hollow words of love;
And that the stately dwelling, in whose halls
We commune now—a friend's, a monarch's gift,
Unto the chosen of his heart, Sylveira,
Should yield him still a welcome.

Sylv. Fare thee well!

I may not pause to hear thee, for thy words

Are full of danger, and of snares, perchance
Laid by some treach'rous foe. But all in vain.
I mock thy wiles to scorn.

Seb. Ha! ha! The snake

Doth pride himself in his distorted cunning,
Deeming it wisdom. Nay, thou go'st not thus.
My heart is bursting, and I will be heard.
What! know'st thou not my spirit was born to hold
Dominion over thine? Thou shalt not cast
Those bonds thus lightly from thee. Stand thou
there,

And tremble in the presence of thy lord!

Sylv. This is all madness.

Seb. Madness! no—I say

'Tis Reason starting from her sleep, to feel,
And see, and know, in all their cold distinctness;
Things which come o'er her, as a sense of pain
O* th' sudden wakes the dreamer. Stay thee yet:
Be still. Thou 'rt used to smile and to obey;
Ay, and to weep, I have seen thy tears flow fast,
As from the fullness of a heart o'ercharged
With loyal love. Oh! never, never more
Let tears or smiles be trusted! When thy king
Went forth on his disastrous enterprise,
Upon thy bed of sickness thou wast laid,
And he stood o'er thee with the look of one
Who leaves a dying brother, and his eyes
Were fill'd with tears like thine. No! not like thine:
His bosom knew no falsehood, and he deem'd
Thine clear and stainless as a warrior's shield,
Wherein high deeds and noble forms alone
Are brightly imaged forth.

Sylv. What now avail

These recollections?

Seb. What? I have seen thee shrink,

As a murd'rer from the eye of light, before me:'
I have earnd (how dearly and how bitterly
It matters not, but I have earn'd at last)
Deep knowledge, fearful wisdom. Now, begone!
Hence to thy guests, and fear not, though arraign'd
E'en of Sebastian's friendship. Make his scorn
(For he will scorn thee, as a crouching slave
By all high hearts is scorn'd) thy right, thy charter
Unto vile safety. Let the secret voice,
Whose low upbraidings will not sleep within thee,
Be as a sign, a token of thy claim
To all such guerdons as are shower'd on traitors,
When noble men are crush'd. And fear thou not:—
'Tis but the kingly cedar which the storm
Hurls from his mountain throne :—th' ignoble shrub,
Groveling beneath, may live.

Sylv. It is thy part

To tremble for thy life.

Seb. They that have look'd

Upon a heart like thine, should know too well
The worth of life to tremble. Such things make
Brave men, and reckless. Ay, and they whom fate

Would trample should be thus. It is enough

Thou may'st depart.

Sylv. And thou, if thou dost prize

Thy safety, speed thee hence. [Exit SriiVEiRA.

Seb. (alone.) And this is he

Who was as mine own soul: whose image rose, Shadowing my dreams of glory with the thought

That on the sick man's weary couch he lay*
Pining to share my battles!

CHORUS.
Ye winds that sweep

The conquer'd billows of the western deep,

Or wander where the morn

'Midst the resplendent Indian heavens is born,

Waft o'er bright isles, and glorious worlds the fame

Of the crown'd Spaniards name:

Till in each glowing zone

Its might the nations own,

And bow to him the vassal knee

Whose sceptre shadows realms from sea to sea.

Seb. Away—away! this is no place for him Whose name hath thus resounded, but is now A word of desolation. [j

ODE ON THE DEFEAT OF KING SEBASTIAN OF PORTUGAL, AND HIS ARMY, IN AFRICA.

TRANSLATED FBOM THE SPANISH OF HEBREBA.

Ferdinand De Herrera, surnamed the Divine, was a Spanish poet, who lived in the reign of Charles V., and is still considered by the Castilians as one of their classic writers. He aimed at the introduction of a new style into Spanish poetry, and his lyrics are distinguished by the sustained majesty of their language, the frequent recurrence of expressions and images, derived apparently from a fervent study of the prophetic books of Scripture, and the lofty tone of national pride maintained throughout, and justified indeed by the nature of the subjects to which some of these productions are devoted. This last characteristic is blended with a deep and enthusiastic feeling of religion, which rather exalts than tempers the haughty confidence of the poet in the high destinies of his country. Spain is to him what Judea was to the bards who sung beneath the shadow of her palm-trees—the chosen and favoured land, whose people, severed from all others by the purity and devotedness of their faith, are peculiarly called to wreak the vengeance of Heaven upon the infidel.