III.

'Tis the fierce, triumphant voice of hate; Of blood the eager call;

'Tis the tiger's yell for his murdered mate, Ere he springs to 'avenge her fall!

And ten thousand hearts exult as one

When that welcome band draws near; And their shout, like the knell of mercy flown, Still rings on the doomed ear!

IV.

What precious offerings do they bring,
To feed a monarch's pride?—

A gift more grateful to their king
Than aught in the world beside!
Nor

gems-
s-nor gold-rich stores of art,-
Nor barbarous spoils of war,—

But a treasure to his panting heart
More prized-more precious far!

V.

The murderers of the martyred bride
Who should have shared his crown,

The felon slaves that had defied

So long his iron frown,

Are given to his red hand at last,

Stand fettered in his sight;

And his kindling glance is on them cast,

With a fierce and grim delight!

VI.

"Demons-nay, bend no fawning knee!
Your doom is fixed, your sentence said;
And such mercy shall ye gain from me
As ye vouchsafed the sinless dead ;-
The sainted dead-and but for you,

The partner of my kingly state;
The glorious dead—ye foully slew,
To glut a savage dotard's hate.

VII.

"There's blood upon your dastard brands
That blood can only clear again;
There's guilt on those remorseless hands,
And fire, perchance, may cleanse the stain!
The tortures ye have wrought for me,

With keenest tortures I'll repay;

And your dying groans shall the music be,
To grace my festal board to day.

VIII.

"Call me not cruel :-ye who turned
Your swords against a woman's breast;
Her pleading tears and beauty spurned,
And made her dying pangs your jest!
Call me not harsh, that thus I wreak
Late vengeance on your craven clay :
Help from a loftier Monarch seek;

44

For mercy here 'twere vain to pray!

IX.

"Sweet Inez! by thy guiltless blood,
Unheeded wail, and fruitless tears;

By the love, even death hath not subdued;
By the calm delights of our early years;
By my widowed couch and withered heart;
By my broken hopes and burning brain;
By the feeling, now of my life a part;
By the vow, I never breathed in vain ;-

X.

My vengeance shall not sleep!—and they
Who deem thy earthly reign is o'er,
Shall yet to thee their homage pay,
With awe they never felt before ;-
Shall see thee sitting by my side,
Uprisen from thy silent rest;

The sharer of my place of pride,'—
A queen-a saint by all confessed!

XI.

"But hark! the signal trumpet's peal;
The pile is laid-the banquet spread:
Why gleams so many a shining steel
Above each recreant traitor's head?
Put up your thirsting swords; 'twere vain
To give yon pyre a lifeless prey ;-
I will not 'bate a single pain

To guilt like theirs,-away! away!"

XII.

King Pedro sits at his festal board,

By his nobles compassed round;

And the sparkling wine is like water poured, As each golden cup is crowned.

The shrieks that late their mockeries stirred, At length resound no more;

And the thirst of vengeance, long deferred, Is sated now and o'er !

XIII.

Mid Alcobaça's storied gloom,
Two sculptured effigies recline;
A woman's one, in youth's first bloom;
A queen-a saint by many a sign!
There's a crown upon her placid brow,

And a regal robe around her thrown;
And charms that bid the gazer bow,
Are breathing from that simple stone.

XIV.

And a warrior king is sleeping near,

With his crown and sceptre by his side; With a knitted brow and a look severe, And a lip of cruel scorn and pride! His hand hath half unsheathed his sword, As if some mortal foe defied;

He breathes some wild, revengeful word ;'Twas thus King Pedro died!

I THINK OF THEE.

BY T. K. HERVEY, ESQ.

I.

I THINK of thee, in the night

When all beside is still,

And the moon comes out, with her pale, sad light,

To sit on the lonely hill :

When the stars are all like dreams,

And the breezes all like sighs,

And there comes a voice from the far-off streams, Like thy spirit's low replies!

And thy sweet, young smile I see, -My heart-my heart were all alone,

But for its thoughts of thee!