One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife Between freemen and tyrants had spread through the world,

That then-oh! disgrace upon manhood-even then You should falter, should cling to your pitiful breath;

Cower down into beasts, when you might have stood

men,

And prefer the slave's life of prostration to death.

It is strange, it is dreadful! shout, Tyranny, shout Through your dungeons and palaces, "Freedom is o'er!"

If there lingers one spark of her life, tread it out, And return to your empire of darkness once more.

SWEDISH BATTLE-SONG.

ALTENBURG.

FEAR not, O little flock, the foe,
Who madly seeks your overthrow,
Dread not his rage and power;

What though your courage sometimes faints,
His seeming triumph o'er God's saints
Lasts but a little hour.

Be of good cheer, your cause belongs
To Him who can avenge your wrongs,
Leave it to Him, our Lord.

Though hidden yet from all our eyes,
He sees the Gideon who shall rise
To save us, and His Word.

As true as God's own Word is true,
Nor earth, nor hell, with all their crew,
Against us shall prevail,—

A jest and byword are they grown;
"God is with us," we are His own,
Our victory cannot fail.

Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer!
Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare;

Fight for us once again!

So shall thy saints and martyrs raise

A mighty chorus to Thy praise,

World without end. Amen.

THE LORD OF BUTRAGO.

SPANISH BAllad.

TRANSLATION OF JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.

"YOUR horse is faint, my King, my lord! your gallant horse is sick,

His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick;

Mount, mount on mine, oh, mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly!

Or in my arms I'll lift Your Grace. Their trampling hoofs are nigh!

'My King, my King! you're wounded sore, -the blood runs from your feet;

But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your

seat;

Mount, Juan, for they gather fast! I hear their coming cry,

Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy, -I'll save you, though I die!

"Stand, noble steed! this hour of need; be gentle as a

lamb ;

I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth, thy master dear I am.

Mount, Juan, mount; whate'er betide, away the bridle fling,

And plunge the rowels in his side.- -My horse shall save my King!

"Nay, never speak; my sires, Lord King, received their land from yours,

And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine se

cures;

If I should fly, and thou, my King, be found among the

dead,

How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head?

"Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain,

And say there's one that ran away when our good lords were slain!

I leave Diego in your care; you'll fill his father's place; Strike, strike the spur, and never spare! God's blessing on Your Grace!"

So spake the brave Montanez, Butrago's lord was he; And turned him to the coming host in steadfastness and glee;

He flung himself among them, as they came down the

He died, God wot! but not before his sword had drunk its fill.

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

FELICIA HEMANS.

THE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,

And sued the haughty King to free his long-imprisoned

sire:

"I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive

train,

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord! Oh, break my father's chain!"

"Rise! rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day!

Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on the steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy

speed.

And, lo, from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band,

With one that midst them stately rode, as a leader in

the land:

"Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth,

is he,

The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went;

He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent;

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he

took,

What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold, -a frozen thing, it dropped from his like lead!

He looked up to the face above, the face was of the

dead!

A plume waved o'er the noble brow, the brow was fixed and white;

He met at last his father's eyes, but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed; but who could paint that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts that saw its horror and

amaze;