Three times they knock, three times they cry, the doors wide open throw; Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go! In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch, Each horseman holding in his hand a black and flaming torch. Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing, For all have heard the misery,—"Alas! alas for Celin!" Him yesterday a Moor did slay, of Bencerrage's blood; 'T was at the solemn jousting; around the nobles stood; The nobles of the land were there, and the ladies bright and fair Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share; But now the nobles all lament, the ladies are bewailing, For he was Grenada's darling knight, - "Alas! alas for Celin!" Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two, With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to view; Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in sable veil, Between the tambour's dismal strokes take up their doleful tale; When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brotherless wailing, And all the people, far and near, cry, "Alas! alas for Celin!" The Moorish maid at her lattice stands, the Moor stands at his door; One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore. Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they strew Upon their broidered garments, of crimson, green, and blue; Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the loud bewailing, From door and lattice, high and low,- "Alas! alas for Celin!" An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the people cry, Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazed eye; It's she who nursed him at her breast, who nursed him long ago; She knows not whom they all lament, but ah! she soon shall know. With one loud shriek, she forward breaks, when her ears receive their wailing, "Let me kiss my Celin ere I die! - Alas! alas for Celin!" FLOWERS. — Leigh Hunt. WE are the sweet flowers, (Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith ;) Utterance mute and bright, Of some unknown delight, We fill the air with pleasure by our simple breath; All who see us love us, We befit all places; Unto sorrow we give smiles, and unto graces, graces. Mark our ways, how noiseless Though the March-winds pipe, to make our passage clear; Not a whisper tells Where our small seed dwells, Nor is known the moment green when our tips appear. We thread the earth in silence, In silence build our bowers, And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh a-top, sweet flowers. O, HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud; Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around; They marched all in silence,—they looked on the ground. In silence they reached, over mountain and moor, "And tell me, I charge ye, ye clan of my spouse, H "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,” Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; "And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" O, pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn, "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, dream! In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.- Hunt. GREEN little vaulter in the sunny grass, O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth, Both have your sunshine, both, though small, are strong LORD ULLEN'S DAUGHTER. Campbell. A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound "Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, "And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together; My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen fast behind us ride, Outspoke the hardy Highland wight, It is not for your silver bright, |