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O'er rosy lip and brow of suow,
When hoary age approaches slow,
Ah, where are they?
The cuuning skill, the curions arts,
The glorions strength that yonth imparts
In life's first stage;
These shall become a heavy weight,
When Time swings wide his ontward gate
To weary age.
The noble blood of Gothic name.
How, in the onward conrse of time,
Some, the degraded slaves of lust,
Wealth and the high estate of pride.
With what untimely speed they glide,
How soon depart!
Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay,
The vassals of a mistress they,
Of fickle heart.
These gifts in Fortune's hands are fonnd;
Even conld the hand of avarice save
Earthiy desires and seusual lust
Are passious springing from the dust,—
They fade and die;
Bnt, in the life beyond the tomb.
They seal the immortal spirit's doom
The pleasures and delights, which mask
No foe, no dangerons pass, we heed,
Conld we new charms to age impart,
As we can clothe the son! with light.
How busily each passing honr
Monarehs, the powerful and the strong
Famons in history and in song
Of olden time,
Saw, by the stern decrees of fate.
Their kingdoms lost, and desolate
'Their race sublime.
Who is the champion? who the strong?
Pontiff and priest, and sceptred throng?
On these shall fall
As heavily the hand of Death.
As when it stays the shepherd's breath
Beside his stall.
I speak not of the Trojan name,
Ncither its glory nor its shame
Has met onr eyes;
Nor of Rome's great and glorions dead,
Thongh we have heard so oft, and read,
Little avails it now to know
Where is the King, Don Juan? Where
Where are the conrtly gallantries?
Tonrney and jonst that charmed the eye,
Where are the high-born dames, and where
Their gay attire, and jewelled hair,
And odonrs sweet?
Where are the gentle knights, that came
To kneel, and breathe love's ardent flame.
Low at their feet?
Where is the song of Tronbadonr?
Where are the lnte and gay tambonr
Thev loved of yore?
Where is the mazy dance of old.
The flowing robes, inwronght with gold,
The dancers wore?
And he who next the sceptre swayed,
Bnt ah! how false and full of guile
She, that had been his friend before.
The conntless gifts, the stalely walls,
The royal palaces, and halls,
All filled with gold;
Plate with armorial bearings wronght,
Chambers with ample treasures fraught.
Of wealth untold;
The noble steeds, and harness bright.
Where shall we seek them now? Alas!
His brother, too, whose faetions zeal
Bnt he was mortal, and the breath
Jndgment of God! that flame by thee,
Spain's haughty Coustable,—the trua
Breathe not a whisper of his pride,—
The countless Treasures of his caro
His other brothers, prond and high,
What was their prosperons estate,
So many a duke of royal name,
That might the sword of empire wield.
Their deeds of merey and of arms,
Uunumbered hosts, that threaten nigh,
And covered trench, secure and deep,—
All these caunot one vietim keep,
O Death ! from thee.
When thon dost battle in thy wrath,
And thy stron afts pursne their path
O World! so few the years we live.
Wonld that the life which thon dost give
Were life indeed!
Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast.
Our happiest honr is when at last
The sonl is freed.
Our days are covered o'er with grief,
Thy pilgrimage begius in tears.
Thy goods are bonght witli many a groan,
Bv the hot sweat of toil alone,
And weary hearts:
Fleet-footed is the approach of woe,
Bnt with a lingering step and slow
Its form departs.
And he, the good man's shield and shade,
Roderic Maurlqnc,—he whose name
His sigual deeds and prowess high
Demand no pompons eulogy,—
Ye saw his deeds!
Why shonld their praise in verse be sung
The name, that dwells on every tongne
No miustrel needs.
To friends a friend;—how kind to all
What prndence with the old and wise
What grace in yonthful gaieties;
In all how sage!
Beniguant to the serf and slave.
He showed the base and falsely brave
A lion's rage.
His was Oetavian's prosperons star.
The rush of Caesar's conqnering car
At battle's call;
His, Scipio's virtne; his. the skill
And the indomitable will
His was a Trajan's gooduess,—his.
A Titus' noble charities
And righteons laws;
The arm of Heetor, and the might
Of Tuliy, to maintain the right
In trnth's just cause;
The clemeney of Antoulne,
In tented field and bloody fray
He left no well-fllted treasury,
He heaped no pile of riches high,
Nor massive plate;
He fonght the Moors,—and. in their fall,
City and tower and castled wall
Were his estate.
Upon the hard-fonght battle-gronnd,
And there the warrior's hand did gain
And if. of old, his halls displayed
After high deeds, not left untold,
In the stern warfare, which of old
'Twas his to share.
Snch noble leagnes he made, that moro
And fairer regious, than before,
His gnerdon were.
These are the records, half effaced, Which, with the hand of yonth, he traced On history's page;
Bnt with fresh vietories he drew
By his uurivalled skill, by great
He fonnd his cities and domaius
By the tried valonr of his hand,
His monareh and bis native land
Were nobly served;—
Let Portugal repeat the story.
And prond Castile, who shared the glory
His arms deserved.
And when so oft. for weal or woe,
Ilis life upon the fatal throw
Had been cast down;
When he had served with patriot zeal,
Beneath the bauner of Castile,
His sovereigu's crown;
And done snch deeds of valonr strong,
That neither history nor song
Can connt them all;
Then, on Oca mi's castled rock,
Death at his portal came to knock,
With sndden call,—
Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare
Let thy strong heart of steel this day
"Since thon hast been, in battle-strife,
So prodigal of health and life,
Tor earthiy fame.
Let virtne nerve thy heart again;
Lond on the last ster n battle-plain
They call thy name.
"Think not the struggle that draws near
Too terrible for man,—
To meet the foe;
Nor let thy noble spirit grieve.
Its life of glorions fame to leave
On earth below.
"A life of hononr and of worth
Has no eternity on earth,—
'Tis bnt a name;
And yet its glory far exceeds
That base and seusual life, which leads
To want and shame.
"The eternal life, beyond the sky,
The sonl in dalliance laid,—the spirit .
"Bnt the good monk, the cloistered cell,
Shall gain it by his book and bell,
His prayers and tears;
And the brave knight, whose arm endures
Fleree battle, and agaiust the Moors
His standard rears.
"And thon, brave knight, whose hand has
In heaven shalt thon receive, at length,
"Cheered onward by this promise sure,
"O Death! no more, no more delay;
My spirit longs to flee away,
And be at rest;
The will of Heaven my will shall be,
I bow to the divine decree,
To God's behest.
My sonl is ready to depart,
No thonght rebels, the obedient heart
Breathes forth no sigh;
The wish on earth to linger still
Were vain, when 'tis God's sovereign, will
That we shall die.
"O Thon, that for onr sius didst take
And in that form didst suffer hero
By thy redeeming grace alone,
As thus the dying warrior prayed.
His sonl to Him, who gave it, rose;
God lead it to its long repose,
Its glorions rest!
And, thongh the warrior's sun has set.
Its light shall linger ronnd us yet,
Bright, radiant, blest.*
* This poem of Mauriquo is a great favonrite in Spain. No less than fonr jmetic Glosses, or ruuning commentaries upon it. have been published; no one of which, however, possesses great poetic merit. That of the Carthusian monk, itodrigo de Valdepenus, is the best. II is known as Olosa del Cartujo. There is also n prose Commentary by Luis de Aranda.
The following stanzas of the poem were fonnd in the anthors pocket after his death on the field of battle :—
"O World! so few the years we live,
"Our days are covered o'er with grief,
"Thy goods are bonght with many a groan,
THfi GOOD SHEPHERD.
FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPA DE VEGA.
Shepheed! that with thine amorons sylvan
son? Hast broken the slumber which encompassed
me.— Thou mad'st thy craok from the aecursed tree, Ou which thy powerful arms were stretched so
long! Lead uie to merey's ever-flowing fonntaius; For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shult
be; I will obey thy voice, and wait to see Thy feet all beantiful upon the monntaius. Hear, Shepherd! thon who for thy flock art
dying. Oh, wash away these scarlet sius, for thou Kejoicest at the contrite siuner's vow. Oh. wait!—to thee my weary sonl is crying,— Wait for me !—Yet why ask it, when I see, With feet nailed to tne cross, thon'rt waiting
still for me!
FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPA DE VEGA.
Loed, what am I, that, with unceasing care.
lost. If my ingratitnde's unkindly frost Has chilled the bleeding wrmnds upon thy feet. How oft my guardian angel gently cried. "Sonl, from thy casement look, and thon shalt
see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, oh f how often to that voice of sorrow, -To-morrow we will open," I replied, And when the morrow came I auswered still,
THE NATIVE LAXD.
FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA.
Cleae fonnt of light! my native land on high,
THE IMAGE OF GOD.
FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA.
0 Lonn! that seest, from yon starry height,
bright! Eternal Sun! the warmth which thon hast
given. To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays; Yet, in the hoary winter of my days. For ever green shall be iny trust in heaven, Celestial King! Oh, let thy presence pass Before my spirit, and an image fair Shall meet that look of merey from on high, As the refleeted image in a glass Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there. And owes its being to the gazer's eye.
FKOM THE SPANISH.
Lauoh of the monntain !—lyre of bird and tree!
connt! How, withont malice umrumring, glides thy
O sweet simplicity of days gone by!
Thon shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fonnt!
THE CELESTIAL PILOT.
PROM DANTE. PUBGATORIA, II.
And now, behold! as at the approach of morning
Throngh the gross vaponrs, Mars grows fiery red
Down in the west upon the ocean floor.
Appeared to me,—may I again behold it!—
And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little
Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared
1 knew net of white, and underneath. Little by little, there came forth another.
My master yet had nttered not a word,
While the first brightness into wings unfolded;
Bnt, when he clearly recoguised the pilot,
He cried alond: "Quick, quick, and bow the
knee! Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! Henceforward shalt thon see snch officers!
"See, how he scorus all human arguments,
So that no oar he wants, nor other sail
Than his own wings, between so distant shores!
"See. how he holds them, pointed straight to
heaven. Fauning the air with the eternal pinious. That do not monlt themselves like mortal hair!''
And then, as nearer and more near us came
Bnt down I cast it; and he came to shore
Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot!
Beatitnde seemed written in ids face!
And more than a hundred spirits sat within.
'. In exitu Israel ont of Egypt!"
THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE.
FROM DANTE. PUEGATORIO, XXVIII.
Lonoino aiready to seareh in and ronnd
Withonten more delay I left the bank.
A gently-breathing air. that no mntation Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead. No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze.
Even snch 1 was, withont a sigh or teal'.
Bnt. when I heard in those sweet melodies
Whereat the treumlons branches readily
Did all of them bow downward towards that
side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Monntain;
Yet not from their upright direetion bent
Bnt with full-throated joy, the honrs of prime
Even as from branch to branch it gathering
swells, Throngh the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, When Jeoius uniooses the Siroeco.
Aiready my slow steps had led me on
And lo! my farther conrse cnt off a river,
waves, Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang.
All waters that on earth most limpid are,
mixture, Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal.
Althongh it moves on with a brown, brown
current, Under the shade perpetual, that never Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.
FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX. XXXI.
Even as the Blessed, in the new covenant,
So, upon that celestial chariot,
A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis.
Ministers and messengers of life eternal.
They all were saying; "Benediet us qai rents,'" And scattering flowers above and ronnd abont, ^ M ambus O! dateliha plems."
I once beheld, nt the approach of day,
The orient sky all stained with roseate hnes,
And the other heaven with light serene adorned,
And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed,
Thus in the bosom of a clond of flowers.
Which from those hands angelic were thrown
With Crown of olive o'er a suow-white veil,
And then, dissolving, filters throngh itself,
The ice, that was abont my heart congealed.
Confusion and dismay, together mingled.
Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 'tis dis-
So 1 gave way under this heavy burden,
FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEAXS XV. CENTURY.
Gentle Spring!—in suushine clad.
Well dost thon thy power display! For Winter maketh the light heart sad.
And thon—thon makest the sad heart gay. He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train. The sleet, and the suow, and the wind, and the
rain: And they shrink away, and they flee in fear.
When thy merry step draws near.
Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old.
Their beards of icicles and suow:
We umst cower over the embers low:
When thy merry step draws near.
Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Thon tearest away the monrnful shrond.
THE CHILD ASLEEP.
FROM THE FRENCH.
Sweet babe! trne portrait of thy father's face. Sleep on the bosom, that thy lips have pressed!.
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Upon that tender eye. my little friend,
I watch to see thee, nonrish thee, defend.—
His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;
Awake, ray boy!—I tremble with affright!
Awake, and chase this fatal thonght ?—Unclose Thine eye bnt for one moment on the light!
Even at the price of thine, give me repose I