LESSON 127.

TELL ON HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS.

NCE more I breathe the mountain air; once more I tread my own free hills! My lofty soul Throws all its fetters off in its proud flight. "T is like the new-fledged eaglet, whose strong wing Soars to the sun it long has gazed upon With eye undazzled. O ye mighty race, That stand like frowning giants fixed to guard My own proud land, why did ye not hurl down The thundering avalanche when at your feet The base usurper stood?

2.

A touch, a breath,

Nay, even the breath of prayer,-ere now has brought Destruction on the hunter's head; and yet

The tyrant passed in safety. God of heaven!

Where slept thy thunderbolts? O liberty!

Thou choicest gift of heaven, and wanting which

Life is as nothing, hast thou then forgot

Thy native home? Must the feet of slaves
Pollute this glorious scene?

3.

It cannot be !

Even as the smile of heaven can pierce the depths
Of these dark caves, and bid the wild flowers bloom
In spots where man has never dared to tread,
So thy sweet influence still is seen amid

These beetling cliffs. Some hearts still beat for thee,
And bow alive to heaven; thy spirit lives,-
Ay, and shall live when even the very name
Of tyrant is forgot.

4.

Lo! while I gaze

Upon the mist that wreathes yon mountain's brow,
The sunbeam touches it, and it becomes

A crown of glory on his hoary head;
Oh! is not this a presage of the dawn

Of freedom o'er the world? While kneeling thus, I vow To live for freedom, or with her to die!

5.

Oh, with what pride I used

To walk these hills, and look up to my God
And bless him that it was so! It was free;
From end to end, from cliff to lake, 't was FREE;
FREE as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plow our valleys without asking leave;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow
In very presence of the regal sun!
How happy was I in it then! I loved
Its very storms! Yes; I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master save his own!

6.

Ye know the jutting cliff, round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one, with scanty room
For two abreast to pass? O'ertaken there
By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along,
And, while gust follow'd gust more furiously,
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,
And I have thought of other lands, where storms

Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there, the thought that mine was free

Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head,
And cried in thraldom to that furious wind,

"BLOW ON! this is the land of LIBERTY!"

Sheridan Knowles.

LESSON 128,

SURRENDER OF GRENADA.

AY dawned upon Grenada, and the beams of the win.

DAY

ter sun, smiling away the clouds of the past night, played cheerily upon the murmuring waves of the Xenil and the Darro. Alone, upon a balcony, commanding a view of the beautiful landscape, stood Boabdil, the last of the Moorish kings. He had sought to bring to his aid all the lessons of the philosophy he had so ardently cultivated.

2. "What are we," said the musing prince, “that we should fill the earth with ourselves-we kings? Earth resounds with the crash of my falling throne; on the ear of races unborn the echo will live prolonged. But what have I lost? Nothing that was necessary to my happiness, my repose: nothing save the source of all my wretchedness, the Marah of my life! Shall I less enjoy heaven and earth, or thought and action, or man's more material luxuries of food and sleep- the common and cheap desires of all? At the worst, I sink but to a level with chiefs and princes: I am but leveled with those whom the multitude admire and envy. But it is

time to depart." So saying, he descended to the court, flung himself on his barb, and, with a small and saddened train, passed through the gate which we yet survey, by a blackened and crumbling tower, overgrown with vines and ivy; thence, amid gardens, now appertaining to the convent of the victor faith, he took his mournful and unnoticed way.

3. When he came to the middle of the hill that rises above those gardens, the steel of the Spanish armor gleamed upon him, as the detachment sent to occupy the palace marched over the summit in steady order and profound silence. At the head of the vanguard rode, upon a snow-white palfrey, the Bishop of Avila, followed by a long train of barefooted monks. They halted as Boabdil approached, and the grave bishop saluted him with the air of one who addressed an infidel and inferior. With the quick sense of dignity common to the great, and yet more to the fallen, Boabdil felt, but resented not, the pride of the ecclesiastic. "Go, Christian," said he mildly; "the gates of the Alhambra are open, and Allah has bestowed the palace and the city upon your king; may his virtues atone the faults of Boabdil!" So saying, and waiting no answer, he rode on, without looking to the right or the left. The Spaniards also pursued their way.

4. The sun had fairly risen above the mountains, when Boabdil and his train beheld, from the eminence on which they were, the whole armament of Spain; and, at the same moment, louder than the tramp of horse or the clash of arms, was heard distinctly the solemn chant of the Te Deum, which preceded the blaze of the unfurled and lofty standards. Boabdil, himself still silent, heard the groans and acclamations of his train; he turned to cheer or chide them, and then saw, from his own watchtower, with the sun shining full upon its pure and dazzling surface, the silver cross of Spain. His Alhambra was already in the hands of the foe; while beside that badge of the holy war waved the gay and flaunting flag of St. Jago, the canonized Mars of the chivalry of Spain. At that sight, the king's voice died within him; he gave the rein to his barb, impatient to close the fatal ceremonial, and slacked not his speed till almost within bowshot of the first rank of the army.

5. Never had Christian war assumed a more splendid

and imposing aspect. Far as the eye could reach extended the glittering and gorgeous lines of that goodly power, bristling with sunlighted spears and blazoned banners; while beside murmured and glowed and danced the silver and laughing Xenil, careless what lord should possess, for his little day, the banks that bloomed by its everlasting course. By a small mosque halted the flower of the army. Surrounded by the arch-priests of that mighty hierarchy, the peers and princes of a court that rivaled the Roland of Charlemagne, was seen the kingly form of Ferdinand himself, with Isabel at his right hand, and the high-born dames of Spain, relieving, with their gay colors and sparkling gems, the sterner splendor of the crested helmet and polished mail. Within sight of the royal group, Boabdil halted, composed his aspect so as best to conceal his soul, and a little in advance of his scanty train, but never in mien and majesty more a king, the son of Abdallah met his haughty

conqueror.

6. At the sight of his princely countenance and golden hair, his comely and commanding beauty, made more touching by youth, a thrill of compassionate admiration ran through that assembly of the brave and fair. Ferdinand and Isabel slowly advanced to meet their late rival, their new subject; and as Boabdil would have dismounted, the Spanish king placed his hand upon his shoulder. "Brother and prince," said he, "forget thy sorrows; and may our friendship hereafter console thee for reverses against which thou hast contended as a hero and a king; resisting man, but resigned at length to God."

7. Boabdil did not affect to return this bitter, but unintentional mockery of compliment. He bowed his head, and remained a moment silent; then, motioning to his train, four of his officers approached, and kneeling beside Ferdinand, proffered to him, upon a silver buckler, the