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was marked with a blood-red cross. A large plume of black feathers streamed above his helmet.
All was in readiness. The followers of the Saracen seemed dismayed, whilst those of Alzavar gazed on the scene with confident anticipations. The warriors started on their course, and the earth absolutely quaked beneath the rapid beat of their chargers' feet. The red-cross knight descended like a thunderbolt on his adversary; the violence of his attack was irresistible, and the Saracen, hurled headlong from his seat, lay senseless and motionless on the earth.
To talk of the joy which inspired Alzavar and his daughter would be idle. To the acknowledgments which were heaped upon their deliverer, he answered only by his gestures. He spoke not, and when pressed to remove his helmet, declined, by a wave of his hand, compliance with the request. To Estafina, his appearance and demeanour were a subject of fearful interest, for in him she well recognized her warrior ancestor of the picture. To her expressions of gratitude he replied with a courteous inclination of his head, but not even to her could he be prevailed upon to speak. All were astonished, but too deeply indebted to the stranger to question him on the peculiarities of his demeanour.
When pressed to partake of their evening meal, he assented, and sat down with the rest of the company to the banquet. It was richly and variously heaped,
and luscious spiced wines mantled in golden goblets upon the table. Alzavar pledged his guest, who lifted in return the cup, and seemed about to raise his vizor to drink, when at that moment the priest arose and pronounced the customary blessing. The stranger knight replaced the cup, and folding his arms on the board, reclined his head upon them. After he had continued a short time in that posture, his host intimated his apprehensions that his guest was wounded, and desired some one near him to remove his helmet. This request was no sooner complied with than the guests sprang from the board with a start of horror; beneath the helmet all was void. Dismay and confusion filled every breast, whilst, amid the perturbation that ensued, the empty armour fell rattling to the ground.
THE LAST ADIEU.
OH! Fare thee well, the bitter hour is past,
And the dread conflict of my fate is o’er ;Of thy loved voice mine ear liath heard its last, - And thy bright form I ne'er may gaze on more!
Yet shalt thou sigh for days for ever gone,
When hope was young, and mutual faith secure; And thy pale cheek that inward smart shall own
Which thy false bosoin must, perforce, endure.
The frown of friends estranged, Hate's pointed
sneer,Untempted Wisdom's Pharisaic scorn,All that an erring heart could feel or fear,
Hath mine, almost without a murmur, borne.
For thou wert all my lonely hope and pride,
My polar star when fickle Fortune frowned; On thy loved breast, life's darkest ills defied,
I nestled safe from storms that raged around.
The lonely shepherd by his natal stream,
Sees a young wave along its surface gliding, Now sparkling in the summer's genial beam,
And now amid the shady willows hiding:
Till sudden, down the cataract's headlong steep
Hurled 'mid the mass of waters' deafening roar, It bounds to the vast chasm gloomy and deep,
Sparkles to spray-shines—and is seen no more!
I am that wave,--and thus it fares with me,
Ruined and lost, what more have I to tell ? What but to offer from my heart to thee
Its warmest prayer in one wild word-FAREWELL!
THE SWALLOW AND THE RED-BREAST.
BY THE Rev. W. LISLE 'BOWLES.
The swallows at the close of day,