the Emperor, and left Yuste, bearing letters of condolence to all the royal family of Portugal. He proceeded to Lisbon to execute the orders, not of Donna Juanna, but of Charles the Fifth, who addressed Queen Catherine as his sister with all the tender affection of a brother, as the widow of John the Third, with the lofty consolations of a Christian who has retired from the world, and feels himself more near to death than his fellows, and as the Regent of Portugal, with the prudent insinuations of a consummate negotiator. His intervention between the grandmother and mother of Dom Sebastian was very opportune, for it prevented the pretensions of the one from coming into collision with the powers of the other. Queen Catherine retained both the regency of Portugal and the guardianship of the young King, and resigned neither charge until more than four years after the death of Charles the Fifth. As the temporary mission of Don Fadrique Henriquez had produced no result, the Emperor himself accredited to the Court of Lisbon, as his ambassador, Don Juan de Mendoza de Ribera, in order that he might hold the first place, and that the ambassador of the King of France might not be tempted to dispute with him for precedence. Mendoza urged vigorously the return, so long delayed and so impatiently expected, of the Infanta Donna Maria to her mother Queen Eleanor; who, accompanied by her inseparable companion, the Queen of Hungary, came into Estre

madura to meet her.

The two sisters, united by destiny and affection, were rejoiced to find this opportunity of visiting their brother, the Emperor, whom they loved extremely, and who had always treated them with as much confidence as tenderness. Eleanor, then fifty-nine years of age, was his senior by fifteen months, kind, gentle, and submissive, void of ambition, and, almost without a will of her own, she had been the flexible instrument of the policy of her grandfather and of her brother, who had placed her successively on the thrones of Portugal and France. The widow of two kings-of Emmanuel the Fortunate, whom Ferdinand the Catholic had given her as her first husband, and of the brilliant but unfaithful Francis I., whom Charles the Fifth had caused her to espouse after the battle of Pavia, and at the conclusion of the treaty of Madrid,— she had now joined her sister with the resolution never to leave her, declaring that she would follow her whithersoever she might go, and would associate her in all the resolutions she might adopt.

The same devotedness which Queen Eleanor felt towards the Queen of Hungary was felt by the Queen of Hungary for the Emperor Charles the Fifth. She had consecrated herself for a quarter of a century to the service of that brother, whom she called "her all in this world after God," and whose vigour of mind and loftiness of character she shared in no small degree. Clearsighted, resolute, high-spirited, indefatigable, skilled in government, and experienced even in war, prudent in business, full of resources in difficulties, acting firmly and with manly courage in danger, never allowing herself to be surprised or cast down by circumstances, she had ruled the Netherlands with rare ability.

At his abdication, Charles the Fifth was anxious to secure to his son the assistance of such great experience; but Queen Mary had persistently refused to retain her post, saying that she was desirous of repose and that "she did not care, in her old age, to recommence governing under a young king; for a woman of fifty, after twenty-four years of service, ought to be satisfied, for the rest of her life, with one God and one master." She therefore besought her brother to allow her the gratification of accompanying him into Spain, in order to bring her sister nearer to her daughter, and to be able to reside in greater proximity to himself.

The two Queens, who had accompanied the Emperor on his journey from the Netherlands as far as Valladolid, left that city on the 18th of September to rejoin their brother, from whom they had been separated for ten months. They travelled by short stages to Estremadura, where the country-house of the Count of Oropesa had been prepared to receive them; and they arrived at Yuste on the 28th. The Emperor was extremely delighted at seeing them again. They found him fully occupied by the great events which were occurring in France, and seeking amusement in the arrangement of his house and the cultivation of his garden. A letter written the evening after their arrival contains this passage: "Her Majesty is anxious to know what has happened, and what course her son has taken after having finished his enterprise. He thinks that the weather alone can have prevented his receiving this news. The Emperor delights in taking pastime in the construction of a covered garden on the high terrace, in the midst of which he has had a fountain placed; and he has planted its sides and all around with many orange-trees and flowers. He projects doing the same thing on the lower terrace, where he is also preparing an oratory."

Charles the Fifth was also busy with the plan of another building in which he intended to lodge his son when Philip II. should return to Spain, and visit him at Yuste. The Queens, his sisters, to whom he did not offer accommodation in his own house, remained for two months at Xarandilla. They frequently went to the monastery to enjoy the society and conversation of their brother; and, in order to be near him, lodged frequently at Quacos. During all this autumn the Emperor's health was excellent, his heart was satisfied, and his temper joyful. But the cold of the ensuing winter and the political mistakes of Philip II. and the Duke of Alba in France and Italy, brought back his infirmities with increased violence and permanence, and left him, as we shall see, as discontented in mind as enfeebled in body.

261

THE WEIRD MAN.

THERE sat an aged man,
And by him a fair youth;
Their eager glances ran
Over the book of truth,

Which in the old stained window lay,

Whilst on it streamed the light, in many a coloured ray.

The old man's hair was white

As snow on mountains high;
The young man's hair was bright,
And hung luxuriantly,

Clustering around an open forehead, where

The proudly-swelling veins his mounting life-blood bare.

And he was like his son,

As evening is to morn,
When his bright circuit run,

And of his fierceness shorn,

The summer's sun sets in the purpled skies,

And steeps the grey mist's veil with soft and fading dyes. The old man's ashen brow

Glowed brightly, and his eye,

So still and sunk, but now

Was flashing eagerly.

He turned upon the youth a gaze which fathers know; He read him burning words; his voice was calm and low. "A thing was brought in secret to my ear,

In thoughts from visions of the silent night,
When deep sleep falleth upon men—a fear
And trembling came upon me; at the sight
My bones all shook and my hair stood upright.
A spirit passed then before my face,

Before my eyes it stood, but not in light;
A voice spoke in deep silence, and my gaze
Was on an image then, but I no form could trace.

"Shall man than his Creator be more pure?

Than God shall mortal man be deemed more just?
Whose present light not angels can endure,

Who in those seraph servants puts no trust;
How much in those who dwell in clay, there must
Be less of honour? who are crushed and die
Before the moth, who framed are of dust,
Who hourly fall, as morn and evening fly,
And pass unnoticed hence into eternity."

VOL. XXXIV.

T

That youthful eye was fixed
Upon the old man's face;
How many thoughts were mixed
In its impassioned gaze!

As one who hears an angel's voice, he hung
With reverence and joy upon his father's tongue.

"Yes, so it is," he murmured; for at first
His calm voice faltered; from his eye there burst
The unresisted tear; but warming now,

He dashed the gathering darkness from his brow,
(As trembling fingers sweep at first the strings
Of some wild harp with fear; but soon it flings,
In bolder strains, its melody around,
The minstrel's spirit kindling at the sound,)
And spoke in firmer tone,-"Yes, it is so,
For I, alas! have proved it, and I know
Its secret wisdom; I, of old, like you,
Rejoiced in young life's freshness, and the dew
Sparkled as bright around my morning way,
Its thousand spangles painted with the ray
Of Hope's gay sun; and my young spirit's thirst
For knowledge was as strong, when on me burst
The sight of all its riches; in my dreams

Danced with linked hands glad forms in cloudless beams:
And they have melted from me-melted all;
Some voice unheard by me still seemed to call
Them one by one away; and I was left
In life's grey truth of that glad band bereft.
Thick darkness fell around me, and there came
Strange shapes instead, of blackness and of flame,
Which forced upon my loathing, shrinking eye,
Thirsting for rest, their hateful company.
But it was long before my spirit bowed
To His high will, at whose command the crowd
Of foul distempered phantoms passed away,
And left me calm and happy; though the day
Was somewhat spent with me. Since; evening light
Has gathered mildly round me, and the night
Seen often near me, in my waking trance,
Looks on me with a gentle countenance.

Life has passed strangely with me;—once I knew
But joy and rapture in it; then it grew

Into a fearful dream, which passed not soon;

At last it melted from me, and my noon

Saw a fresh spring with gayest blossoms; then
Came on the calm old age of peaceful men.

What? thou would'st have me tell it thee? and why
Should I gainsay that earnest asking eye?

For thou perchance wouldst pause and learn of me
This boasting pageant's unreality.

“Well, I was what thou art, and in me glowed
High thoughts and longings; hidden science showed
Her veiled form to me, and I followed where
She led my eager steps; earth, sea, and air
Had wonders for me, and I loved them all;
There was in them a voice of power to call
My hidden spirit forth; and thus my name
Grew common in men's ears and dear to fame.
Then gathered round me other spirits, who
Thirsted to learn from me whate'er I knew
Of Nature's secret things; their flattering nursed
What had been but a spark, until it burst
Into a deadly flame, and poisoned all
My bosom's purity;-it was the fall
Of poisoned air upon the fruitful earth.

What was it? sayest thou; 't was ambition's birth
Within my tainted heart; the thirst for power
Which grew upon me; from that evil hour
I loved not wisdom purely, for her store
Of various treasure gladdened me no more
For its own richness, but because they might
Be steps by which to climb fair fortune's height.
The giddy height men gaze upon. I heard
My name oft whispered now, as one who feared
No secret wisdom, and I let it pass,

As what might help my rising fame: alas!
I little knew what was before me then,

But I was pleased; for, as I walked, old men
With secret touch would stir each other's side,
And the quick turning eye would mark my stride.
The merry child who gambolled at the door,
Its eager mother caught, and quickly bore
Clear from my path, lest evil eye should smite
Its innocent freshness; or unholy blight
Fall from my passing shadow on its head.
Men came to me in trouble, for they said
That wisdom dwelt with me, and inly thought
That from man's enemy my skill I bought,
Which was but built upon observance fine,
Of tangled threads they brought me to untwine.

But dearly did I pay to quit the cost
Of that false fame; for I had wholly lost
The innocent joy true wisdom can bestow,
The eager search, the thrilling bosom's glow,
When truth reveals herself, long sought in vain,
And prized more highly for the search's pain.
Yet there were times in which, tho' deeply stained,
By love of praise, my better mind regained
Much of its early freshness: evening's hour
Breathed softly o'er my soul with healing power;