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ON the two last leaves, and written in another hand, are some stanzas in the romance or ballad measure of the Spaniards. The subject is an adventure soon related.

M M

Thy lonely watch-tower, Larenille,
Had lost the western sun;

And loud and long from hill to hill
Echoed the evening-gun,

When Hernan, rising on his oar,

Shot like an arrow from the shore.
"Those lights are on St. Mary's Isle;
They glimmer from the sacred pile."
The waves were rough; the hour was late.
But soon across the Tinto borne,
Thrice he blew the signal-horn,
He blew and would not wait.

Home by his dangerous path he went;
Leaving, in rich habiliment,

Two Strangers at the Convent-gate.

They ascended by steps hewn out in the rock; and, having asked for admittance, were lodged there.

Brothers in arms the Guests appeared;

The Youngest with a Princely grace!
Short and sable was his beard,
Thoughtful and wan his face.

His velvet cap a medal bore,

And ermine fringed his broidered vest;

*The Convent of La Rábida.

And, ever sparkling on his breast,
An image of St. John he wore.

*

The Eldest had a rougher aspect, and there was craft in his eye. He stood a little behind in a long black mantle, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword; and his white hat and white shoes glittered in the moon-shine. +

"Not here unwelcome, tho' unknown.
Enter and rest!" the Friar said.

The moon, that thro' the portal shone,
Shone on his reverend head.

Thro' many a court and gallery dim
Slowly he led, the burial-hymn
Swelling from the distant choir.
But now the holy men retire;
The arched cloisters issuing thro',
In long long order, two and two.

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When other sounds had died away,
And the waves were heard alone,

They entered, tho' unused to pray,

*See Bernal Diaz, c. 203; and also a well-known portrait of Cortes, ascribed to Titian. Cortes was now in the 43rd, Pizarro in the 60th year of his age.

+ Augustin Zaratè, lib. iv. c. 9.

Where God was worshipped, night and day,
And the dead knelt round in stone;
They entered, and from aisle to aisle
Wandered with folded arms awhile,
Where on his altar-tomb reclined
The crosiered Abbot; and the Knight
In harness for the Christian fight,
His hands in supplication joined ;-
Then said as in a solemn mood,

"Now stand we where COLUMBUS stood!"

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"PEREZ, + thou good old man," they cried,
"And art thou in thy place of rest?—
Tho' in the western world His grave,
That other world, the gift He gave,
#
Would ye were sleeping side by side!
Of all his friends He loved thee best."

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The supper in the chamber done,

Much of a Southern Sea they spake,

And of that glorious City § won

Near the setting of the Sun,

Throned in a silver lake;

Late Superior of the House.

* In the chancel of the cathedral of St. Domingo.

The words of the epitaph. "A Castilia y a Leon nuevo Mundo

dio Colon."

$ Mexico.

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