O dowered with a searching glance to see

Quite through the hollow masks, wherewith the bare

And worthless shows of greatness vizored are,

This lore thou hast, because all things to thee

Are proven by the absolute decree

Of duty, and whatever will not square

With that “prime wisdom,” though of seeming fair

Or stately, thou rejectest faithfully.

Till chidden in thy strength, each random aim

Of good, whose aspect heavenward does not turn,

Shrinks self-rebuked—thou looking kindliest blame

From the calm region of thine eyes, that burn

With tempered but continuous flashes bright,

Like the mild lightnings of a tropic night.

{33}

{33}

A LEGEND OF ALHAMBRA.

The tradition on which the following Ballad is founded is an existing one, and exactly as it is here recounted was narrated to the author during his stay at Granada.

O hymned in many a poet’s strain,

Alhambra, by enchanter’s hand

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