On each tomb a statue lying,
Almost seems like life;
And, above, the banner flying
Seems to dare the strife-

Which again it may not dare.
Can the carved statues there
Suffice the Zegri Ladye-
The Ladye weeping there.

While the others fled around them,
Did the seven die.-

In the front of war she found them
With none others nigh:-

Noble was the blood they shed.

Sacred in her grief and beauty

Did the Ladye go?

Asking life's last sacred duty

Of the Christian foe.

Those white feet were stain'd with red,
When the King bestow'd her dead
On the lovely Zegri Ladye—

The Ladye weeping there.

Never since the hour she brought them

To that ancient hall:

Since with her sad hands she wrought them

Their embroider'd pall,

Hath the daylight seen her face.

Rosy o'er the Guadalquiver

Doth the morning gleam;

Pale the silver moonbeams shiver

O'er the haunted stream.

Nothing knows she of their grace—
Nothing cheers the funeral place
Of the lonely Zegri Ladye-
The Ladye weeping there.

Those six tombs contain a brother-
All her house's pride:-

Six contain her line; one other
Riseth at her side.

Who is in that seventh tomb?

One far dearer than the others
Shares their place of rest:

Well she loved her noble brothers-
But she loved him best-

He who shared the warrior's doom
With the favour at his plume
Of the lovely Zegri Ladye-
The Ladye weeping there.

Never more when first appearing
Will he watch her eye,

In the mounted lists careering,
When his steed went by

Rapid as the lance he flung.

Never more when night is lonely
Will the warrior glide

To the citron shade, where only

He was at her side,

While the very wild wind hung
On the music of the tongue
Of the lovely Zegri Ladye-
The Ladye weeping there.

Not with daylight to discover
How the wretched weep,

Will the maiden wail her lover
Or her brothers keep

In remembrance with her tears.

Grief hath stern and silent powers,
And her house is proud,

Not to-day's cold guarded hours
Is despair allow'd;

But, shut out with haughty fears,
Pride with daylight disappears,
From the lonely Zegri Ladye-
The Ladye weeping there.

But her slight frame has been shaken
By the sudden blight,

And her dark eyes are forsaken

By their former light;

Heavy is their settled gloom.

And her wan cheek beareth token

Of young life's decline;

You may see the heart is broken

By each outward sign.

Soon the heart can life consume,
Fast approaching is the tomb,
Of the lonely Zegri Ladye-
Of the Ladye weeping there.

II.

ARIADNE WATCHING THE SEA AFTER THE Departure of THESEUS.

Lonely-lonely on the shore

Where the mighty waters roar,

Would that she could pass them o'er !
Doth the maiden stand.

Those small ivory feet are bare,

Rosy as the small shells are,

They are, than the feet, less fair

On that sea-beat strand!
Wherefore doth the girl complain?
Wind and wave will hear in vain.
Dark as is the raven's breast
Wand'ring wild in its unrest-
Like a human thought in quest
Of a future hour.

Do her raven tresses flow
Over neck and arm below,
White as is the silent snow,
Or the early flower!
Coming ere the summer sun
Colours what it shines upon.

Vainly does the west wind seek
To recall upon her cheek
How the red rose used to break
In her native isle-
Breaking with a lovely flush;
But her cheek has lost its blush
And her lip its smile:
Once how fair they used to spring
For the young Athenian King!

Desolate-how desolate-
Does the Cretan lady wait
On the beach forlorn, who late
In a palace dwelt.

They will not-the coming waves-
Watch her pleasure like the slaves
Who before her knelt;

And the least sign was command
From her slight but royal hand.

Lovely was the native bower
Where she dwelt a guarded flower,
In her other happier hour,

Ere love grew to pain. Mid these grey rocks may she roam, For the maiden hath no homeNone will have again.

Never more her eyes will meet
Welcome from her native Crete.

Little did that Princess fear,

When a thousand swords were near,

Where no other was her peer,

That an hour was nigh,

When her hands would stretch in vain Helpless to the unpitying main,

To the unpitying sky

Earth below and heaven above
Witness to the wrongs of Love.

On the white and sounding surge,
In the dark horizon's verge,

Does a vessel seem to urge

Fast her onward way.

And the swelling canvass spread,

Glitters in the early red

Of the coming day ;

'Tis as if that vessel bore

All the sunshine from the shore.

Hath the young King left her side

She but yesterday his bride

Who for his sake cross'd the tide, Gave him love and life?

He hath left her far behind

To the warring wave and wind.
But what is their strife,

To the war within the heart,
Which beholdeth him depart?

She hath perill'd life and fame
Upon an all desperate game;
What availeth now her claim

On the false and fled?

Not him only hath she lost-
All the spirit treasured most
Has its lustre shed.
Let the false one cross the main,
If she could believe again.

After hours may yet restore
To the cheek the rose it wore,
And, as it has smiled before,

So the lip will smile.
Let them be however bright,
Never will they wear the light
Of their native isle.

Trusting, happy were they then—
Such they cannot be again.

Strange the heart's emotions are,
How from out of its despair
Will it summon strength to hear

Desperate wrong and woe!
But such strength is as the light
Seen upon the grave by night-
There is death below:

And the very gleam that flashes

Kindles from the heart's sweet ashes.

Maiden! gazing o'er the sea,

Wistfully, how wistfully!

Thine such weary doom must be-
Thine the weary heart.

Woe for confidence misplaced,

For affections run to waste,

And for hopes that part―

Leaving us their farewell word,

One for ever-jarring chord.

There the Cretan maiden stands,

Wringing her despairing hands,
Lonely on the lonely sands-

'Tis a woman's lot:

Only let her heart be won,'

And her summer hour is done

Soon she is forgot;

Sad she strays by life's bleak shore,
Loving, but beloved no more!

May.-VOL. LIII. NO, CCIX.

L. E. L.

ANCIENT DAYS.-NO. I.

BY MICHAEL J. QUIN, AUTHOR OF

NOURMAHAL," &c.

No trains of thought are more interesting than those which lead the mind back to the patriarchal ages. It is delightful to catch the vistas that open here and there occasionally through the shadowy courses of history-to behold the fathers of mankind seated beneath the spreading tree, or inhaling at the doors of their tents the spicy breezes of the morning--attended by their families-dispensing the lessons of wisdom which they learned from tradition, or collected from their own expeOne always associates with such scenes a halcyon tranquillity that knew no interruption from day to day-the pure fountains from which the maidens drew supplies of the element so essential to all domestic purposes-the boundless pasturages in which herds and flocks roved at will-the fruitage and fragrance of Arabia-the milk and honey of Canaan-the cedars of Lebanon-the palms bordering the Jordan-the comprehensive affections of an Abraham, and the beauty of a Rebecca.

Glancing from these woodland and pastoral scenes to the nations even then employed in the production of objects that indicate progress in all the arts of civilised life-their agriculture carried to a high degree of perfection-their commerce conducted over distant seas-their wars waged by vast armies - their weapons, chariots, armour, helmets, shields, and costume manufactured with a degree of skill, and embellished with a multitude of ornaments, not excelled in elegance even at the present day-we lapse into reveries from which it is painful to be disturbed by the calculations of chronology. India-China-Egyptwhat store-houses of the ancient of days! In which did Civilisation commence her career? Where did the spider first teach man to spin the thread, and to weave the net? The fall of the Tower of Babel, did it give rise to the Pyramids? What "desolate cities were those-where were those "desert houses reduced into heaps," of which Job speaks? Who were the accumulators of the "treasures hidden" in the earth long before his time, to which he alludes? "Desolate cities -" ruined -deserted houses," "treasures hidden" in places no longer remembered at an epoch full fifteen hundred years at least before the commencement of the Christian era?

How many ages did it require to produce the population that built and decorated the cities which had then become desolate? Whence did they derive experience in the cultivation of those arts of manufacture by which only large cities can be supported? Even now the notion of treasure being buried in the earth by opulent people who flourished in ancient times is so prevalent in the East, that travellers are constantly suspected by the natives as having no other object for their researches than the discovery and appropriation of such deposits. Only imagine riches that had rusted in their unknown sepulchres long before Job took counsel of the Themanite! He moreover speaks familiarly of a state of commerce in which gold and silver were exchanged for dyed cloths, conveyed to his country from India, and for precious stones from Ethiopia. Luxuries such as these prove a condition of society then existing in Ethiopia, Syria, and India, which must