s,
For their hearts are overflowing.

What a melting bridal carol
Sings the nightingale, the pure one.
How the fire-flies in the grasses
Trip their sparkling torchlight dances!

In the grove the silence deepens,
Naught is heard save furtive rustling
Of the swaying myrtle branches,
And the breathing of the flowers.

But the sound of drum and trumpet
Burst forth sudden from the castle.
Rudely they awaken Clara,
Pillowed on her lover's bosom.

"Hark! they summon me, my darling!
But before we part, oh tell me,
Tell me what thy precious name is,
Which so closely thou hast hidden."

Then the knight with gentle laughter,
Kissed the fingers of his Donna,
Kissed her lips and kissed her forehead,
And at last these words he uttered:

"I, Senora, your beloved,
Am the son of the respected,
Worthy, erudite Grand Rabbi,
Israel of Saragossa."

"The ensemble of the romance is a scene of my own life--only the Park of
Berlin has become the Alcalde's garden, the Baroness a Senora, and
myself a St. George, or even an Apollo. This was only to be the first
part of a trilogy, the second of which shows the hero jeered at by his
own child, who does not know him, whilst the third discovers this child,
who has become a Dominican, and is torturing to the death his Jewish
brethren. The refrain of these two pieces corresponds with that of the
first. Indeed this little poem was not intended to excite laughter,
still less to denote a mocking spirit. I merely wished, without any
definite purpose, to render with epic impartiality in this poem an
individual circumstance, and, at the same time, something general and
universal--a moment in the world's history which was distinctly
reflected in my experience, and I had conceived the whole idea in a
spirit which was anything rather than smiling but serious and painful,
so much so, that it was to form the first part of a tragic trilogy."--
Heine's Correspondence.

Guided by these hints, I have endeavored to carry out in the two
following original Ballads the Poet's first conception.

Emma Lazarus.

II.

DON PEDRILLO.

Not a lad in Saragossa
Nobler-featured, haughtier-tempered,
Than the Alcalde's youthful grandson,
Donna Clara's boy Pedrillo.

Handsome as the Prin