Imágenes de páginas
PDF
[graphic]

But with fresh victories he drew

“ Cheered onward by this promise sure, Each fading character anew

Strong in the faith entire and pure In his old age.

Thou dost profess,

Depart,-thy hope is certainty, By his unrivalled skill, by great

The third-the better life on high
And veteran service to the state,

Shalt thou possess."
By worth adored,
He stood in his high dignity,

"O Death! no more, no more delay : The proudest knight of chivalry,

My spirit longs to fee away, Knight of the Sword.

And be at rest;

The will of Heaven my will shall be, et som He found his cities and domains

I bow to the divine decree,
Beneath a tyrant's galling chains

To God's behest.
And cruel power;
But, by fierce battle and blockade,

My soul is ready to depart. -
Soon his own banner was displayed

No thought rebels, the obedient heart From every tower.

Breathes forth no sigh: 7

The wish on earth to linger still By the tried valour of his hand,

Were vain, when 'tis God's sovereign will is His monarch and his native land

That we shall die.
Were nobly served ;-
Let Portugal repeat the story,

" Thou, that for our sins didst take And proud Castile, who shared the glory

A human form, and humbly make His arms deserved.

Thy home on earth;

Thou, that to thy divinity And when so oft, for weal or woe,

A human nature didst ally
His life upon the fatal throw

By mortal birth.
Had been cast down;
When he had served with patriot zeal,

And in that form didst suffer here
Beneath the banner of Castile,

Torment an agony, and fear, His sovereign's erown;

So patiently;

By thy redeeming grace alone, And done such deeds of valour strong,

And not for merits of my own,
That neither history nor song

Oh, pardon me!"
Can count them all;
Then, on Ocana's castled rock,

As thus the dying warrior prayed,
Death at his portal came to knock,

Without one gathering mist or shade

hal With sudden call,

| Upon his mind:

Encircled by his family, Saying, “Good Cavalier, prepare

Watched by Affection's gentle eye To leave this world of toil and care

od

So soft and kind;
With joyful mien;
Let thy strong heart of steel this day

His soul to Him, who gave it, rose;
Put on its armour for the fray,

God lead it to its long repose, The closing scene.

Its glorious rest!

And, though the warrior's sun has set, "Since thou hast been, in battle-strife,

Its light shall linger round us yet,
So prodigal of health and life,

Bright, radiant, blest.*
For earthly fame,
Let virtue nerve thy heart again:
Loud on the last stern battle-plain

* This poem of Manrique is a great favourite They call thy name.

in Spain. No less than four poetic Glosses, or

running commentaries upon it, have been pub“Think not the struggle that draws near

lished; no one of which, however, possesses great Too terrible for man,

poetic merit. That of the Carthusian monk, To meet the foe;

Rodrigo de Valdepenas, is the best. It is known Nor let thy noble spirit grieve,

as Glosa del Cartujo. There is also a prose ComIts life of glorious fame to leave

mentary by Luis de Aranda. On earth below.

The following stanzas of the poem were found " A life of honour and of worth

in the author's pocket after his death on the llas no eternity on earth,

field of battle :'Tis but a name;

"O World! so few the years we live, And yet its glory far exceeds

Would that the life which thou dost give That base and sensual life, which leads

Were life indeed! To want and shame.

Alas! thy sorrow's fall so fast.

Our happiest hour is when at last “The eternal life, beyond the sky,

The soul is freed.
Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high
And proud estate:

"Our days are covered o'er with grief,

And sorrows neither few nor brie
The soul in dalliance laid, -the spirit
Corrupt with sin,-shall not inherit

Veil all in gloom ;
A joy so great.

Left desolate of real good.

Within this cheerless solitude “ But the good monk, the cloistered cell,

No pleasures bloom. Shall gain it by his book and bell,

Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, His prayers and tears;

And ends in bitter doubts and fears, And the brave knight, whose arm endures

Or dark despair; Fierce battle, and against the Moors

Midway so many toils appear, His standard rears.

That he who lingers longest here "And thou. brave knight. whose hand has knows most of care. poured

“Thy goods are bought with many a groan, The life-blood of the Pagan horde

By the hot sweat of toil alone, O'er all the land;

And weary hearts; In heaven shalt thou receive, at length,

Fleet.footed is the approach of woe, The guerdon of thine earthly strength

But with a lingering step and slow And dauntless hand.

Its form departs."

[ocr errors]

THE GOOD SHE PIERD.

THE BROOK. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPA DE VEGA.

FROM THE SPANISH. SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous sylvan LAUGH of the mountain !-lyre of bird and tree! song

Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn! Hast broken the slumber which encompassed | The soul of April, unto whom are born me,

The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee! Thou mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, Although, where'er thy devioits current strays, On which thy powerful arms were stretched so The lap of earth with gold and silver teems, long!

To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains ; Than golden sands, that charra each shepherd's For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt

gaze. be;

How without guile thy bosom, all transparent I will obey thy voice, and wait to see

As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.

Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles Hear, Shepherd ! thou who for thy flock art

count! dying,

How, without malice murmuring, glides thy Oh, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou

current! Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow.

O sweet simplicity of days gone by! Oh, wait!-to thee my weary soul is crying, Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in Wait for me!-Yet why ask it, when I see,

limpid fount:
With feet nailed to the cross, thoi'rt waiting
still for ine!

THE CELESTIAL PILOT.
TO-MORROW,

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIA, 11. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPA DE VEGA.

AND now, behold! as at the approach of mornLORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care,

ing Thou didst seek after me,-that thou didst wait,

Through the gross vapours, Mars grows fiery

rect Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, And pass the gloomy nights of winter there?

Down in the west upon the ocean floor, O strange delusions--that I did not greet

Appeared to me,-may I again behold it! Thy blest approach, and oh, to Heaven how A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, lost,

Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled. If my ingratitude's unkindly frost Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet.

And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little How oft my guardian angel gently cried,

Mine eres, that I might question my conductor, * Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt

Again I saw it brighter grown and larger, see

Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared llow he persists to knock and wait for thee!” I knew not of white, and underneath, And, oh! how often to that voice of sorrow,

Little by little, there came forth another.
To-morrow we will open," I replied,
And when the morrow came l'answered still, My master yet had uttered not a word,
-To-morrow."

While the first brightness into wings unfolded;

But, when he clearly recognised the pilot,
THE NATIVE LAND).

He cried aloud: "Quick, quick, and bow the FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA.

knee! CLEAR fount of light! my native land on high,

Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! Bright with a glory that shall never fade!

Henceforward shalt thou see such officers! Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade,

" See, how he scorns all human arguments, Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye.

So that no oar he wants, nor other sail There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, Than his own wings, between so distant shores! Gasping no longer for life's feeble breath: But, sentineled in heaven, its glorious presence

"See, how he holds them, pointed straight to With pitying eye beholds. yet fears not leath.

heaven, Beloved country! banished from thy shore,

Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, A stranger in his prison-house of clas,

That do not moult themselves like mortal bair!" The exiled spirit sighs and weeps for thee!

And then, as nearer and more near us came Heavenward the bright perfections I adore

The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way,

So that the eye could not sustain his presence, That whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.

But down I cast it; and he came to shore
With a small vessel, gliding swift and light,

So that the water swallowed nonght thereof
THE IMAGE OF GOD.

Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot! FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA.

Beatitude seemed written in his face! O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height, And more than a hundred spirits sat within. Centred in one the future and the past,

" In erilu Israel out of Egypt!" Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast The world obscures: in me what once was

Thus sang they all together in one voice, bright!

With whatso in that Psalm is after written. Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast

Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, given,

Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays;

And he departed swiftly as he came.
Yet, in the hoary winter of my days,
For ever green shall be my trust in heaven,
Celestial King! Oh, let thy presence pass

TIE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE. Before my spirit, and an image fair

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII.
Shall meet that look of mercy from on high,
As the reflected image in a glass

LONGING already to search in and round
Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, The heavenly forest, dense and living green,
And owes its being to the gazer's eye.

| Which to the eyes tempered the new-born day.

Withouten more delay I left the bank,

Even such I was, without a sigh or teat', Crossing the level country slowly, slowly,

Before the song of those who chime for ever Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fra After the chiming of the eternal spheres; grance.

But, when I heard in those sweet melodies A gently-breathing air, that no mutation

Compassion for me, more than they had said, Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead,

"O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze.

him?" Whereat the tremulous branches readily

The ice, that was about my heart congealed. Did all of them bow downward towards that To air and water changed, and, in my anguish, side

Through lips and eyes came gushing from my Where its first shadow casts the Iloly Moun

breast, tain; Yet not from their upright direction bent

Confusion and dismay, together mingled, So that tlie little birds upon their tops

Forced such a feeble Yes!" out of my mouth, Should ccase the practice of their tuneful art; To understand it one had need of sight. But with full-throated joy, the hours of prime Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 'tis disSinging received they in the midst of foliage

charged, That made monotonous burden to their rhymes, Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, Even as from branch to branch it gathering

And with less force the arrow hits the mark; swells,

So I gave way under this heavy burden, Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs, When Æolus unlooses the Sirocco.

And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its passage. Already my slow steps had led me on Into the ancient wood so far, that I

SPRING. Could see no more the place where I had

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS XV. entered.

CENTURY. And lo! my farther course cut off a river,

GENTLE Spring!-in sunshine clad, Which, towards the left hand, with its little Well dost thou thy power display! waves,

For Winter maketh the light heart sad, Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang. And thou--thou makest the sad heart gay. All waters that on earth most limpid are,

lle sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train. Would seem to have within themselves some

The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the mixture,

rain ; Compared with that, which nothing doth con

And they shrink away, and they fice in fear, ceal.

When thy merry step draws near. Although it moves on with a brown, brown

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, current,

Their beards of icicles and snow: Under the shade perpetual, that never

And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.

We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,

Mope like birds that are changing feather.
BEATRICE.

But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX, XXXI. When thy merry step draws ncar.
Even as the Blessed, in the new covenant,

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky Shall rise up quickened, cach one from his Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud; grave,

But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh ; Wearing again the garments of the flesh,

Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, So, upon that celestial chariot,

And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,

Who has toiled for nought both late and early A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis,

Is banished afar by the new-born year,
Ministers and messengers of life eternal.

When thy merry step draws near.
They all were saying; Benedictus qui renis,"
And scattering flowers above and round about,
" Manibus 0! datelila plenis."

TIE CHILD ASLEEP.
I once beheld, at the approach of day,

FROM THE FRENCH. The orient sky all stained with roseate hues, SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face, And the other heaven with light serene adorned, Sleep on the bosom, that thy lips have And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed,

pressed! So that, by temperate influence of vapours,

Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place The eye sustained his aspect for long while;

Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers,

Upon that tender eye, my little friend, Which from those hands angelic were thrown

Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend,

'Tis sweet to watch for thee,-alone for thee! And down descended inside and without, With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil,

Ilis arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow; Appeared a lady, under a green mantle,

His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of

harm. Vested in colours of the living flame.

Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,

Would you not say he slept on Death's cold Even as the snow, among the living rafters

arm. Upon the back ot Italy, congeals,

Awake, my boy!-I tremble with affright! Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds,

Awake, and chase this fatal thought ?-UnAnd then, dissolving, filters through itself,

close Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, breathes, Thine eye but for one moment on the light! Like as a taper melts before a fire,

| Even at the price of thine, give me repose!

Mom snugly-hwer over't so fast and

up,

own on back of itanong the

Sweet error!-he but slept,-I breathe again :

Thy murky sky! Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep be- | From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', guile!

Let each to Heaven commend his soul, Oh! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,

And fly! Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?

Path of the Dane to fame and might!

Dark-rolling Wave!
THE GRAVE.

Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight,
FROM THE ANGLO-SAXOX.

Goes to meet danger with despite,
For thee was a house built

Proudly as thon the tempest's might,

Dark-rolling wave!
Ere thou wast born

And amid pleasures and alarms,
For thee was a mould meant
Ere thou of mother camest.

And war and victory, be thinc arms
But it is not made ready,

My grave!*
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen

THE HAPPIEST LAND.
How long it shall be.

FRAGMENT OF A MODERN BALLAD, FRON TIIE
Now I bring thee

GERMAN.
Where thou shalt be;

THERE sat one day in quiet,
Now I shall measure thee,

By an alehouse on the Rhine,
And the mould afterwards

Four hale and hearty fellows,
Thy house is not

And drank the precious wine.
Highly timbered,

The landlord's daughter filled their cups,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,

Around the rustic board;

Then sat they all so calm and still,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.

And spake not one rude word.
The roof is built

But when the maid departed,
Thy breast full nigh.

A Swabian raised his hand,
So thou shalt in mould

And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,
Dwell full cold,

"Long live the Swabian land!
Dimly and dark.

“ The greatest kingdom upon earth
Doorless is that house,

Cannot with that compare ;
And dark it is within ;

With all the stout and hardy men
There thou art fast detained,

And the nut-brown maidens there."
And Death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,

" Ha!” cried a Saxon, laughing,
And grim within to dwell.

And dashed his beard with wine;
There thou shalt dwell,

"I had rather live in Lapland,
And worins shall divide thec.

Than that Swabian land of thine!
Thus thou art laid,

“ The goodliest land on all this earth,
And leavest thy friends

It is the Saxon land!
Thou hast no friend,

There have I as many maidens
Who will come to thee,

As fingers on this hand!”
Who will ever see

"Hold your tongues ! both Swabian and Saxon!" How that house plcaseth theo

A bold bohemian cries;
Who will ever open

“If there's a heaven upon this earth,
The door for thee,

In Bohemia it lies.
And descend after thee,
For soon thou art loathsome

"There the tailor blows the flute,
And hateful to see.

And the cobbler blows the horn,
And the miner blows the bugle,

Over mountain gorge and bourn."
KING CHRISTIAN.

And then the landlord's daughter
A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK. FROM THE

Up to heaven raised her hand,
DANISH OF JOHASSES EVALD.

And said, “Ye may no more contend, -
KING CHRISTIAN stood by the lofty mast

There lies the happiest land!"
In wist and smoke;
His sword was hammering so fast,
Through Gothic helm and brain it passed,

THE WAVE.
Then sank each hostile hulk and mast,

FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE. In mist and smoke.

“ WHITHER, thou turbid wave? "Fly!" shouted they, " fly, he who can!

Whither, with so much haste,
Who braves of Denmark's Christian

As if a thief wert thou?".
The stroke?"

"1 am the Wave of Life, Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar,

Stained with my margin's dust; Now is the hour!

From the struggle and the strife, He hoisted his blood-red flag once more,

Of the narrow stream I fly And smote upon the foe full sore,

To the Sea's immensity, And shouted loud through the tempest's roar,

To wash from me the slime
"Now is the hour!"

Of the muddy banks of Time."
"Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter, fly!
Of Denmark's Juel who can defy
The power ?"

* Nils Juel was a celebrated Danish Admiral,

and Peder Wessel, a Vice-Admiral, who for his North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent

great prowess received the popular title of TorThy murky sky!

denskiel, or Thunder-shield. In childhood, he was Then champions to thine arms were sent,

a tailor's apprentice, and rose to his high rank Terror and Death glared where he went;

before the age of twenty-eight, when he was From the waves was heard a wail that rent killed in a duel

THE DEAD.

Is this the way I was going ?

Whither, o brooklet, say!
FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK.

Thou hast, with thy soft murmur,
How they so softly rest,

Murmured my senses away.
All, all the holy dead,

What do I say of a murmur?
Unto whose dwelling-place

That can no murmur be;
Now doth my soul draw near!

'Tis the water-nymphs, that are singing How they so softly rest,

Their roundelays under me.
All in their silent graves,
Deep to corruption

Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,
Slowly down-sinking!

And wander merrily near:

The wheels of a mill are going
And they no longer weer.

In every brooklet clear.
Here, where complaint is still!
And they no longer feel,
Here, where all gladness flics!
And, by the cypresses

BEWARE?
Softly o'ershadowed,
Until the Angel

FROM THE GERMAN.
Calls them, they slumber.

I Know a maiden fair to sce,

Take care!
THE BIRD AND THE SIIIP.

She can both false and friendly be,

Beware! beware!
FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER.

Trust her not, “The rivers rush into the sea,

She is fooling thee! By castle and town they go;

She has two cyes, so soft and brown, The winds behind them merrily

Take care! Their noisy trumpets blow.

She gives a side-glance and looks down, “The clouds are passing far and high,

Beware! Beware! We little birds in them play:

Trust her not, And everything that can sing and fly

She is fooling thee! Goes with us, and far away.

And she has hair of a golden hue, "I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence,

Take care! With thy fluttering golden band?"

And what she says, it is not true, “I greet thee, little bird! to the wide sca

Beware! Beware! I haste from the narrow land.

Trust her not,

She is fooling thee! " Full and swollen is every sail; I see no longer a hill,

She has a bosom as white as snow, I have trusted all to the sounding gale,

Take care!

She knows how much it is best to show, And it will not let me stand still.

Beware! Beware! "And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?

Trust her not,
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,

She is fooling thee!
For full to sinking is my house
With merry companions all."

She gives thee a garland woven fair,

Take care! “I need not and seek not company,

It is a fool's cap for thee to wcar, Bonny boat, I can sing all alone;

Beware! Beware! For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,

Trust her not, Bonny boat, I have wings of my own.

She is fooling thee! "High over the the sails, high over the mast,

Who shall gainsay these joys?
When thy merry companions are still, at last,

SONG OF THE BELL.
Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice.

FROM THE GERMAX. " Who neither may rest, nor listen may, God bless them every one!

BELL! thou soundest merrily, I dart away, in the bright blue day,

When the bridal party And the golden fields of the sun.

To the church doth hie;

Bell! thou sonndest solemnuly "Thus do I sing my weary song,

When on Sabbath morning,
Wherever the foul winds blow;

Fields deserted lic!
And this same song, my whole life long
Neither Poet nor Printer may know."

Bell! thou soundest merrily;
Tellest thou at evening,

Bed-time-draweth nigh?
WHITHER?

Bell! thou sonndest mournfully;

Tellest thou the bitter
FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER.

Parting hath gone by!
I HEARD a brooklet gushing
From its rocky fountain near,

Say! how canst thon mourn ?

How canst thou rejoice?
Down into the valley rushing,
So fresh and wondrous clear.

Thou art but inetal dull!

And yet all our sorrowings, I know not what came o'er me,

And all our rejoicings, Nor who the counsel gave;

Thou dost feel them all! But I must hasten downward,

God hath wonders many, All with my pilgrim stave;

Which we cannot fathom, Downward, and ever farther,

Placed within thy form! And ever the brook beside;

When the heart is sinking, And ever fresher murmured,

Thou alone canst raise it, And ever clearer, the tide,

Prembling in the storm!

« AnteriorContinuar »