Spanish. COPLAS DE MANRIQUE. 88 O LET the soul her slumbers break, How soon this life is past and gone, Swiftly our pleasures glide away, The moments that are speeding fast Onward its course the present keeps, And, did we judge of time aright, Let no one fondly dream again Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Our lives are rivers, gliding fres Thither all earthly pomp and boast Thither the mighty torrents stray, There all are equal. Side by side, I will not here invoke the throng The deathless few ; Fiction entices and deceives, And, sprinkled o'er her fragrant leaves, Lies poisonous dew. To One alone my thoughts arise, The Eternal truth-the Good and Wise To Him I cry, Who shared on earth our common lot, His deity. This world is but the rugged road So let us choose that narrow way, Our cradle is the starting-place, And reach the goal; When, in the mansions of the blessed, Did we but use it as we ought, This world would school each wandering thought To its high state. Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, Up to that better world on high, Yes-the glad Messenger of Love, Born amid mortal cares and fears, Behold of what delusive worth The shapes we chase, Amid a world of treachery! They vanish ere death shuts the eye, Time steals them from us, chances strange, That come to all: Even in the most exalted state, Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate; The strongest fall. Tell me the charms that lovers seek O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, When hoary age approaches slow, Ah, where are they? The cunning skill, the curious arts, These shall become a heavy weight, The noble blood of Gothic name, How, in the onward course of time, Some, the degraded slaves of lust, Others, by guilt and crime, maintain Wealth, and the high estate of pride, Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay, These gifts in fortune's hands are found; No rest the inconstant goddess knows, Even could the hand of avarice save Let none on such poor hopes rely; Earthly desires and sensual lust Are passions springing from the dustThey fade and die; But, in the life beyond the tomb, They sealed the immortal spirit's doom Eternally! The pleasures and delights, which mask But the fleet coursers of the chase, No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, And, when the fatal snare is near, Could we new charms to age impart, As we can clothe the soul with light, How busily each passing hour What ardour show, To deck the sensual slave of sin, In weeds of woe! Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, S |