XXII.

There came a softer hour, a lovelier moon,

And lit me to my home of youth again,

Through the dim chesnut shade, where oft at noon,
By the fount's flashing burst, my head had lain,
In gentle sleep but now I pass'd as one

That may not pause where wood-streams whispering run,
Or light sprays tremble to a bird's wild strain,
Because th' avenger's voice is in the wind,

The foe's quick rustling step close on the leaves behind.

XXIII.

My home of youth!-oh! if indeed to part
With the soul's loved ones be a mournful thing,
When we go forth in buoyancy of heart,
And bearing all the glories of our spring

For life to breathe on,-is it less to meet,

When these are faded?-who shall call it sweet? -Even though love's mingling tears may haply bring Balm as they fall, too well their heavy showers

Teach us how much is lost of all that once was ours!

XXIV.

Not by the sunshine, with its golden glow,

Nor the green earth, nor yet the laughing sky,
Nor the faint flower-scents, 15 as they come and go
In the soft air, like music wandering by;

-Oh! not by these, th' unfailing, are we taught
How time and sorrow on our frames have wrought,
But by the sadden'd eye, the darken'd brow,
Of kindred aspects, and the long dim gaze,

Which tells us we are changed,-how changed from other days!

XXV.

Before my father-in my place of birth,
I stood an alien. On the very floor

Which oft had trembled to my boyish mirth,
The love that rear'd me, knew my face no more!
There hung the antique armour, helm and crest,
Whose every stain woke childhood in my breast,
There droop'd the banner, with the marks it bore
Of Paynim spears; and I, the worn in frame

And heart, what there was I?-another and the same!

XXVI.

Then bounded in a boy, with clear dark eye— -How should he know his father?-when we parted, From the soft cloud which mantles infancy,

His soul, just wakening into wonder, darted

Its first looks round. Him follow'd one, the bride
Of my young days, the wife how loved and tried!
Her glance met mine-I could not speak-she started
With a bewilder'd gaze ;—until there came

Tears to my burning eyes, and from my lips her name.

XXVII.

She knew me then !-1 murmur'd "Leonor!"

And her heart answer'd!-oh! the voice is known

First from all else, and swiftest to restore

Love's buried images with one low tone,

That strikes like lightning, when the cheek is faded,
And the brow heavily with thought o'ershaded,
And all the brightness from the aspect gone!

-Upon my breast she sunk, when doubt was fled, Weeping as those may weep, that meet in woe and dread.

XXVIII.

For there we might not rest. Alas! to leave
Those native towers, and know that they must fall
By slow decay, and none remain to grieve
When the weeds cluster'd on the lonely wall!
We were the last-my boy and I—the last

Of a long line which brightly thence had pass'd!
My father bless'd me as I left his hall-

-With his deep tones and sweet, though full of years,

He bless'd me there, and bathed my child's young head

with tears.

XXIX.

I had brought sorrow on

his

grey hairs down,

And cast the darkness of my branded name
(For so he deem'd it) on the clear renown,
My own ancestral heritage of fame.

And yet he bless'd me !-Father! if the dust
Lie on those lips benign, my spirit's trust

Is to behold thee yet, where grief and shame

Dim the bright day no more; and thou wilt know

That not through guilt thy son thus bow'd thine age with

woe!

XXX.

And thou, my Leonor! that unrepining,
If sad in soul, didst quit all else for me,
When stars-the stars that earliest rise-are shining,
How their soft glance unseals each thought of thee!
For on our flight they smiled;—their dewy rays,
Through the last olives, lit thy tearful gaze
Back to the home we never more might see;

So pass'd we on, like earth's first exiles, turning
Fond looks where hung the sword above their Eden burning.

XXXI.

It was a woe to say-" Farewell, my Spain!
The sunny and the vintage land, farewell!"
-I could have died upon the battle plain
For thee, my country! but I might not dwell
In thy sweet vales, at peace.-The voice of song
Breathes, with the myrtle scent, thy hills along;
The citron's glow is caught from shade and dell;
But what are these ?-upon thy flowery sod

I might not kneel, and pour my free thoughts out to God!