Are mingling with shadows,

Are lost to me ever.

The sunlight is fading,

Small birds seek their nest;

While happy hearts, flower-like,

Sink sinless to rest,

Kiss,

kiss, thou hast won me,

Bright, beautiful Sin!

ZARA.

'A SILVERY Veil of pure moonlight Is glancing o'er the quiet water, And O! 't is beautiful and bright

As the soft smile of Selim's daughter.

Sleep, moonlight! sleep upon the wave,

And hush to rest each rising billow,

Then dwell within the mountain cave,

Where this fond breast is Zara's pillow.

Shine on, thou blessed moon! brighter still,

O, shine thus ever night and morrow;
For day-break mantling o'er the hill,
But wakes my love to fear and sorrow.'

'T was thus the Spanish youth beguiled
The rising fears of Selim's daughter;
And on their loves the pale moon smiled,
Unweeting of the morrow's slaughter.

Alas! too early rose that morn,

On harnessed knight and fierce soldada, -
Alas! too soon the Moorish horn

And tambour rang in Old Grenada.

The dew yet bathes the dreaming flower,
The mist yet lingers in the valley,
When Selim and his Zegris' power

From port and postern sternly sally.

Marry! it was a gallant sight

To see the plain with armour glancing,
As on to Alpuxara's height

Proud Selim's chivalry were prancing.

The knights dismount; on foot they climb
The rugged steeps of Alpuxara;

In fateful and unhappy time,

Proud Selim found his long-lost Zara.

They sleep, in sleep they smile and dream

--

Of happy days they ne'er shall number;

Their lips breathe sounds, their spirits seem

To hold communion while they slumber.

A moment gazed the stern old Moor,

A scant tear in his eye did gather,
For as he gazed, she muttered o'er
A blessing on her cruel father.

The hand that grasped the crooked blade,
Relaxed its gripe, then clutched it stronger;
The tear that that dark eye hath shed
On the swart cheek, is seen no longer.

'Tis past!-the bloody deed is done, A father's hand hath sealed the slaughter! Yet in Grenada many a one

Bewails the fate of Selim's daughter.

And many a Moorish damsel hath

Made pilgrimage to Alpuxara;

And breathed her vows, where Selim's wrath

O'ertook the Spanish youth and Zara.

OUGLOU'S ONSLAUGHT.

A Turkish Battle-Song.

TCHASSAN Ouglou is on!

Tchassan Ouglou is on!

And with him to battle

The Faithful are gone.

Allah, il allah!

The tambour is rung;

Into his war-saddle

Each Spahi hath swung:

Now the blast of the desert

Sweeps over the land,

And the pale fires of heaven

Gleam in each Damask brand.

Allah, il allah!

Tchassan Ouglou is on!

Tchassah Ouglou is on!

Abroad on the winds, all

His Horse-tails are thrown.