And held the fountains of her eyes till he was

out of sight.

Since the parting kiss was given, six weary months are fled,

And yet the foe is in the land, and blood must yet be shed.

A white hand parts the branches, a lovely face looks forth,

And bright dark eyes gaze steadfastly and sadly toward the north.

Thou look'st in vain, sweet maiden, the sharpest sight would fail

To spy a sign of human life abroad in all the

vale;

For the noon is coming on, and the sunbeams fiercely beat,

And the silent hills and forest-tops seem reeling in the heat.

That white hand is withdrawn, that fair sad face is gone,

But the music of that silver voice is flowing sweetly on,

Not as of late, in cheerful tones, but mournfully and low,

A ballad of a tender maid heart-broken long

ago,

Of him who died in battle, the youthful and the

brave,

And her who died of sorrow, upon his early

grave.

But see, along that mountain's slope, a fiery horseman ride;

Mark his torn plume, his tarnished belt, the sabre at his side.

His

spurs are buried rowel-deep, he rides with loosened rein,

There's blood upon his charger's flank, and foam upon the mane ;

He speeds him toward the olive-grove, along that shaded hill:

God shield the helpless maiden there, if he should mean her ill!

And suddenly that song has ceased, and suddenly I hear

A shriek sent up amid the shade, a shriek-but not of fear.

For tender accents follow, and tenderer pauses

speak

The overflow of gladness, when words are all too weak:

"I lay my good sword at thy feet, for now Peru

is free,

And I am come to dwell beside the olive-grove with thee."

THE AFRICAN CHIEF.

CHAINED in the market-place he stood, A man of giant frame,

Amid the gathering multitude

That shrunk to hear his name

All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground :-
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.

Vainly, but well, that chief had fought,

He was a captive now,

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,

Was written on his brow.

The scars his dark broad bosom wore,
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,

He could not be a slave.

Then to his conqueror he spake

"My brother is a king ;

Undo this necklace from my neck,

And take this bracelet ring,

And send me where my brother reigns,

And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold-dust from the sands."

Not for thy ivory nor thy gold

Will I unbind thy chain;

That bloody hand shall never hold

The battle-spear again.