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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 Zarate, lib. iv. c. 9.

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