How heavenly o'er my frame steals the life-breath Of beautiful Spring! who with her amorous gales Kissing the violets, each stray sweet exhales Of May-thorn, and the wild flower on the heath. I love thee, virgin daughter of the year! Yet, ah! not cups,--dyed like the dawn, impart Their elves' dew-nectar to a fainting heart!-- Ye birds! whose liquid warblings far and near Make music to the green turf-board of swains; To me, your light lays tell of April joy,-- Of pleasures--idle, as a long-loved toy; And while my heart in unison complains, Tears like of balm-tree flow in trickling wave, And white forms strew with flowers a maid's untimely grave! _New Monthly Mag._ * * * * * THE KING OF ARRAGON'S LAMENT FOR HIS BROTHER.[1] "If I could see him, it were well with me!" _Coleridge's Wallenstein._ There were lights and sounds of revelling in the vanquished city's halls, As by night the feast of victory was held within its walls; And the conquerors filled the wine-cup high, after years of bright blood shed: But their Lord, the King of Arragon, 'midst the triumph, wailed the dead. He looked down from the fortress won, on the tents and towers below, The moon-lit sea, the torch-lit streets--and a gloom came o'er his brow: The voice of thousands floated up, with the horn and cymbals' tone; But his heart, 'midst that proud music, felt more utterly alone. And he cried, "Thou art mine, fair city! thou city of the sea! But, oh! what portion of delight is mine at last in thee? --I am lonely 'midst thy palaces, while the glad waves past them roll, And the soft breath of thine orange-bowers is mournful to my soul. "My brother! oh! my brother! thou art gone, the true and brave, And the haughty joy of victory hath died upon thy grave: There are many round my throne to stand, and to march where I lead on; There was _one_ to love me in the world--my brother! thou art gone! "In the desert, in the battle, in the ocean-tempest's wrath, We stood together, side by side; one hope was our's--one path: Thou hast wrapt me in thy soldier's cloak, thou hast fenced me with thy breast; Thou hast watched beside my couch of pain--oh! bravest heart, and best! "I see the festive lights around--o'er a dull sad world they shine; I hear the voice of victory--my Pedro where is _thine?_ The only voice in whose kind tone my spirit found reply-- Oh! brother! I have bought too dear this hollow pageantry! "I have hosts, and gallant fleets, to spread my glory and my sway, And chiefs to lead them fearlessly--my _friend_ hath passed away! For the kindly look, the word of cheer, my heart may thirst in vain, And the face that was as light to mine--it cannot come again! "I have made thy blood, thy faithful blood, the offering for a crown; With love, which earth bestows not twice, I have purchased cold renown: How often will my weary heart 'midst the sounds of triumph die, When I think of thee, my brother! thou flower of chivalry!