And I no longer to my heart am telling
    The weary weight of loneliness it bore;
  For thou, whose love makes heaven within our dwelling,
    Thou art returned, and all is joy once more.

* * * * *

To ——.  By Mrs. R.B.K.

  Oh how I loved thee! how I blessed the hour,
    When first thy lips, wak’ning my trusting heart,
  Like some soft southern gale upon a flower,
    Into a blooming hope, murmured “we ne’er will part.”

  Never to part! alas! the lingering sound
    Thro’ the sad echoes of pale Memory’s cave,
  Startles once more the hope my young soul found,
    Into bright hues, but, only for the grave ...

  Must we then part! ah, till this heavy hour,
    Fraught with the leaden weight of sorrowing years,
  I could have stemmed grief’s tide like some light shower,
    Where shows a rainbow hope to quell all idle fears.

  But the dim phantoms of o’er shadowed pleasures,
    Gleaming thro’ gathering mists that cloud my heart,
  Lend but a transient ray, those fragile treasures—­
    And heavier darkness falls to gloom the thought “We part!”

June 22, 1850.

* * * * *

Original correspondence.

Rambles in the Peninsula.

No.  II.

Grenada, May 26, 1850.

My Dear Friend—­My companion, Mr. Ronalds, left this morning in the diligence for Madrid, and I am, therefore, for the first time since I have been in Europe alone—­the only citizen of the United States at present in this ancient Moorish city:  alone, I may almost say, in the midst of paradise.  Yet the beauties of nature will not compensate for the solitude of the heart, which is continually yearning after sympathy; we wish for something beyond the pleasures of the eye, and I would that you were with me.  I would take you up to me Alhambra, and descant to you for hours upon its perfections and its romantic history.  To me this wondrous pile has become familiar; I have seen it at all hours of the day, and have visited it in the enchantment of moonlight; and never will pass from my memory the pleasant hours I have spent within its sacred precincts; I shall remember them and those who shared them with me—­forever.  A few days since we made up a party and rode out to the famous town of Santa Fe, in the delightful Vega, about eight miles away.  We were all dressed in the gay costume of Andalusia, and presented, as you may imagine, a picturesque appearance; my companions were lively fellows, and we had a great deal of sport on the way.  Santa Fe is now a dilapidated place, but its associations make it well deserving a visit.  It was built by Ferdinand, during the memorable siege of Grenada; it was here that Boabdil signed the capitulation