From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing, And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly blowing;

And banners bright from lattice light are waving every

where,

And the tall tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly in the air :

Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down, Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the Town.

II.

Arise, arise, Xarifa, I see Andalla's face,

He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace; Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquiver, Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely,

never.

Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow of azure mix'd with white,

I guess 'twas wreath'd by Zara, whom he will wed to-night. Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down, Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the Town.

III.

"What aileth thee, Xarifa, what makes thine eyes look down?

Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the Town?

I've heard you say, on many a day, and sure you said the

truth,

Andalla rides without a peer, among all Granada's youth.

VOL. III.

D

Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow; Then rise, oh rise, Xarifa―lay the golden cushion down, Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the Town."

IV.

The Zegri Lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down,
Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the Town ;-
But tho' her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers

strove,

And tho' her needle press'd the silk, no flower Xarifa wove; One bonny rose-bud she had traced, before the noise drew

nigh

That bonny bud a tear effaced slow dropping from her eye. "No-no," she sighs-" bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down,

To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing Town."

V.

"Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down? Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing Town? Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people

cry,

He stops at Zara's palace-gate-why sit ye still-oh why ?" -"At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate; in him shall I discover

The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover?

I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing Town."

"ZARA'S EAR-RINGS.

I'

My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropt into the well, And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell ;'"Twas thus Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter;

'The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water

To me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell, And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell.

II.

My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set, That, when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him

forget;

That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on others'

tale,

But remember he my lips had kiss'd, pure as those earrings pale

When he comes back, and hears that I have dropp'd them in the well,

Oh what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot tell,

III.

My ear-rings! my ear-rings! he'll say they should have

been,

Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen, Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere

That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting

well

Thus will he think-and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.

IV.

He'll think when I to market went, I loiter'd by the wayHe'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say— He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses

noos'd,

From the ears where he had placed them, my rings of pearl unloos'd—

He'll think when I was sporting so beside this marble well, My pearls fell in-and what to say, alas! I cannot tell.

V.

He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same

He'll say I lov'd when he was here to whisper of his flameBut when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muça, aud cared not for his token. My ear-rings! my ear-rings! oh! luckless, luckless well, For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell.

VI.

I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe— That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at

eve

That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone,
His ear-
r-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone,
And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand

they fell,

And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the

well."

DEATH OF LORD BYRON.

THE following very affecting letter from one who was intimate with, and highly esteemed by, Lord Byron, cannot fail of interesting every reader. It is extracted from the Hon. Colonel Leycester Stanhope's Journal, entitled " Greece in 1823 and 1824;" the 2nd Edition of which, comprising the Colonel's reminiscences of Lord Byron, has just met the public eye.

"From Capt. Trelawny to Col. Stanhope.

“ Missolonghi, April 28th, 1824.

"MY DEAR COLONEL,

"With all my anxiety, I could not get here before the third day. It was the second, after having crossed the first great torrent, that I met some soldiers from Missolonghi. I had let them all pass me, ere I had resolution enough to inquire the news from Missolonghi. I then rode back, and demanded of a straggler the news. I heard nothing more than 'Lord Byron is dead,'—and I proceeded on in gloomy silence. With all his faults, I loved him truly; he is connected with every event of the most interesting years of my wandering life: his everyday companion,-we lived in ships, boats, and in houses together, we had no secrets-no re