IIOSCOE'S SPANISH NOVELISTS. 101 



ery, crying out that there was some mistake, for that that was not the Day 

 of Judgment, as Saturn had not yet completed his course, nor he out of sheer 

 fear his own. But a devil turned round on him, and seeing him loaded with 

 wooden instruments and maps, exclaimed, " Well done, friend, you have 

 brought fire-wood along with you ; though it is a hard thing, methinks, af- 

 ter making so many heavens as are here, you should be sent to the wrong 

 place at last for the want of a single one," " I will not go, not I," said the 

 astrologer ; " Then carry him," said the devil, and away he went. 



" The whole court after this broke up: the shadows and clouds withdrew; 

 the air grew refreshing, flowers scented once more the breezes, the sunny sky 

 re-appeared, while I me'thought remained in the valley ; and wandering about, 

 heard a good deal of noise and voices of lamentation, as if rising out of the 

 ground. I pressed forward to inquire what it could be, and I saw in a hol- 

 low cavern, (a fit mouth to hell), a number of persons in pain. Among 

 these was a Letrado, but busied not so much with dead laws as with live 

 coals, and an Escrivano, devouring only letters. A miser was there, count- 

 ing more pangs than pieces ; a physician contemplating a dead patient; and 

 an apothecary steeped in his own mixtures. 



" I laughed so outright at this, that I started wide awake ; and was withal 

 more merry than sad to find myself on my bed. 



" The foregoing indeed are dreams ; but such as if your excellency will 

 sleep upon them, it will come to pass, that in order to see the things as I see 

 them, you will pray for them to turn out as I say they are/' 



THE WARRIOR BARD. 



Tnfc bugle's voice had set the watch of niglit, 

 And silence walk'd the carnage-cover'd plain, 



When sad, beside the dying embers' light, 



The warrior bard watch'd o'er th' unburied slain, 

 Ere war's soul-stirring blast had rung, 

 His harp the charms of beauty sung. 



But when his country's voice was heard, 



And freedom was the rallying word, 



The minstrel's soul through all its depths was stirr'd. 



He sought the field the battle led 



And soothed the pains of those who bled 



While thus he sung the fame that crown'd the dead :- 



Ye glorious spirits of the mighty dead, 



Whose cold remains on victory's bosom rest, 



When hist'ry tells the cause for which ye bled, 

 Your names shall be by freedom's children blest. 

 To you the ruling hand of heaven, 

 The noblest, proudest fate hath given. 



Your sons shall dash the tear aside, 



And show the field with manly pride, 



On which, in freedom's cause, their fathers died ; 



Then should oppression break her chain ; 



In them your souls shall breathe again ; 



And tame their pride, or life's last current drain. 



