n fondly sinks to rest,
Sighing through the wooded mountains
By its balmy waves caressed;
Where among the pleasure-bowers,
Hidden by the fruits and flowers,
Thousand motley songsters nest.

Wide those youthful dreams are scattered!
Fatherland lies far away!
Long ago those trees were shattered,
And consumed the castle gray.
Came a savage band in motion
Fearful like the waves of ocean,
And Elysium wasted lay.

Terribly the flames were gushing
Through the air with sullen roar,
And a brutal throng came rushing
Fiercely mounted to the door.
Sabres rang, and father, brother,
Ne'er again beheld each other,--
Us away they rudely tore.

Though my eyes with tears are thronging,
Still, thou distant motherland,
They are turned, how full of longing,
Full of love, toward thy strand!
Thou, O child, alone dost save me
From the thought that anguish gave me,
Life to quench with hardy hand.

Henry heard the sobbing of a child and a soothing voice. He descended
deeper through the shrubbery, and discovered a pale, languishing girl
sitting beneath an old oak tree. A beautiful child hung crying on her
neck, and she herself was weeping; a lute lay at her side upon the
turf. She seemed a little alarmed when she saw the young stranger, who
was drawing near with a saddened countenance.

"You have probably heard my song," said she kindly. "Your face seems
familiar to me; let me think. My memory fails me, but the sight of you
awakens in me a strange recollection of joyous days. O! it appears as
if you resembled my brother, who before our disasters was separated
from us and travelled to Persia, to visit a renowned poet there.
Perhaps he yet lives and sadly sings the misfortunes of his sisters.
Would that I yet remembered some of the beautiful songs he left us! He
was noble and kind-hearted, and found his chief happiness in his lute."

The child, who was ten or twelve years old, looked at the strange youth
attentively, and clung fast to the bosom of the unhappy Zulima. Henry's
heart was penetrated with sympathy. He consoled the songstress with
friendly words, and prayed her to relate to him her history
circumstantially. She seemed not unwilling to do so. Henry seated
himself before her, and listened to her tale, interrupted as it was by
frequent tears. She dwelt principally upon the praises of her
countrymen and fatherland. She portrayed their loftiness of