And yieldeth too upon the throne To love and song a Father's breast; With sweet constraint he changes soon To ceaseless joy the deep unrest. With rich requital love returns The peace it lately would destroy, And mid atoning kisses burns And blossoms an Elysian joy. Spirit of Song! oh, hither come, And league with love again to bring The exiled daughter to her home, To find a father in the king! To willing bosom may he press The mother and her pleading one, And yielding all to tenderness, Embrace the minstrel as his son. The young man, on uttering these words, which softly swelled through the dark paths, raised with trembling hand the veil. The princess, her eyes streaming with tears, fell at the feet of the king, and reached to him the beauteous child. The minstrel knelt with bowed head at her side. An anxious silence seemed to hold the breath of every one suspended. For a few moments the king remained grave and speechless; then he took the princess to his bosom, pressed her to himself with a warm embrace, and wept aloud. He also raised the young man, and embraced him with heart-felt tenderness. Exulting joy flew through the assembly, which began to crowd eagerly around them. Taking the child, the king raised it towards Heaven with touching devotion; and then kindly greeted the old man. Countless tears of joy were shed. The poets burst forth in song, and the night became a sacred festive eve of promise to the whole land, where life henceforth was but one delightful jubilee. No one can tell whither that land has fled. Tradition only whispers us that mighty floods have snatched Atlantis from our eyes. CHAPTER IV.