THE GOOD SHEPHER D.
FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPA DE VEGA.

SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous sylvan song

me,

Hast broken the slumber which encompassed Thou mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long!

Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains;
For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt
be:

I will obey thy voice, and wait to see
Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.
Hear, Shepherd! thou who for thy flock art
dying,

Oh, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou
Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow.

Oh, wait!-to thee my weary soul is crying,--
Wait for me!-Yet why ask it, when I see,
With feet nailed to the cross, thou'rt waiting
still for me!

TO-MORROW.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPA DE VEGA. LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care, Thou didst seek after me,-that thou didst wait, Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? O strange delusion!-that I did not greet Thy blest approach, and oh, to Heaven how lost,

If my ingratitude's unkindly frost

Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. How oft my guardian angel gently cried, "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt

see

How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, oh! how often to that voice of sorrow, To-morrow we will open," I replied,

And when the morrow came I answered still, "To-morrow."

THE NATIVE LAND.

FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. CLEAR fount of light! my native land on high, Bright with a glory that shall never fade! Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade, Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye. There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, Gasping no longer for life's feeble breath; But, sentineled in heaven, its glorious presence With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not death. Beloved country! banished from thy shore, A stranger in his prison-house of clay, The exiled spirit sighs and weeps for thee! Heavenward the bright perfections I adore Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, That whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.

THE CELESTIAL PILOT.

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIA, II. AND NOW, behold! as at the approach of mornThrough the gross vapours, Mars grows fiery red

ing

Down in the west upon the ocean floor,
Appeared to me,-may I again behold it!-
A light along the sea, so swiftly coming,
Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled.
And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little
Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor,
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.
Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared
I knew not of white, and underneath.
Little by little, there came forth another.
My master yet had uttered not a word,
While the first brightness into wings unfolded;
But, when he clearly recognised the pilot,

He cried aloud: "Quick, quick, and bow the knee!

Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands!
Henceforward shalt thou see such officers!
"See, how he scorns 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,

Fanning the air with the eternal pinions,
That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!"
And then, as nearer and more near us came
The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared,
So that the eye could not sustain his presence,
But down I cast it; and he came to shore
With a small vessel, gliding swift and light,
So that the water swallowed nought thereof
Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot!
Beatitude seemed written in his face!
And more than a hundred spirits sat within.
"In exitu Israel out of Egypt!"
Thus sang they all together in one voice,
With whatso in that Psalm is after written.
Then made he sign of holy rood upon them,
Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore,
And he departed swiftly as he came.

THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE.

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII. LONGING already to search in and round The heavenly forest, dense and living green, Which to the eyes tempered the new-born day.

Withouten more delay I left the bank,
Crossing the level country slowly, slowly.
Over the soll, that everywhere breathed fra-
grance.

A gently-breathing air, that no mutation
Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead.
No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze.

Whereat the tremulous branches readily

Did all of them bow downward towards that side

Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;

Yet not from their upright direction bent
So that the little birds upon their tops
Should cease the practice of their tuneful art;
But with full-throated joy, the hours of prime
Singing received they in the midst of foliage
That made monotonous burden to their rhymes,
Even as from branch to branch it gathering

swells,

Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi,
When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.

Already my slow steps had led me on
Into the ancient wood so far, that I

Could see no more the place where I had entered.

And lo! my farther course cut off a river,
Which, towards the left hand, with its little

grave,

Wearing again the garments of the flesh,

So, upon that celestial chariot,

A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis,
Ministers and messengers of life eternal.

They all were saying; "Benedictus qui venis," And scattering flowers above and round about, "Mambus O! datelilia plenus."

I once beheld, at the approach of day,
The orient sky all stained with roseate hues,
And the other heaven with light serene adorned,
And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed,
So that, by temperate influence of vapours,
The eye sustained his aspect for long while;
Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers,
Which from those hands angelic were thrown

Even such I was, without a sigh or tear,
Before the song of those who chime for ever
After the chiming of the eternal spheres;

But, when I heard in those sweet melodies
Compassion for me, more than they had said,
"O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume
him?"

The ice, that was about my heart congealed.
To air and water changed, and, in my anguish,
Through lips and eyes came gushing from my
breast,

Confusion and dismay, together mingled,
Forced such a feeble Yes!" out of my mouth,
To understand it one had need of sight.
Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 'tis dis-
charged,

Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow,
And with less force the arrow hits the mark;
So I gave way under this heavy burden,
Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs,
And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its passage.

SPRING.

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

GENTLE Spring!-in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!

For Winter maketh the light heart sad,

And thou-thou makest the sad heart gay.
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
The sleet, and the snow, 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 snow:

And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,

We must cower over the embers low:
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;

Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for nought both late and early,
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
When thy merry step draws near.

THE CHILD ASLEEP.

FROM THE FRENCH.

SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face, Sleep on the bosom, that thy lips have pressed!

Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.

Upon that tender eye, my little friend,

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! His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow; His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm.

Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow. Would you not say he slept on Death's cold

Sweet error!-he but slept,-I breathe again;Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile!

Oh when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?

THE GRAVE.

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON.
For thee was a house built
Ere thou wast born

For thee was a mould meant
Ere thou of mother camest.
But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,'
Nor is it seen

How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;

Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low:
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.
The roof is built

Thy breast full nigh.

So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained,
And Death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell.
There thou shalt dwell,

And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,

And leavest thy friends
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,

Who will ever see

How that house pleaseth thee

Who will ever open

The door for thee,

And descend after thee,

For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.

THE HAPPIEST LAND.

FRAGMENT OF A MODERN BALLAD, FROM THE GERMAN.

THERE sat one day in quiet,

By an alehouse on the Rhine, Four hale and hearty fellows,

And drank the precious wine.

The landlord's daughter filled their cups,
Around the rustic board;

Then sat they all so calm and still,
And spake not one rude word.

But when the maid departed,

A Swabian raised his hand,

And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,
"Long live the Swabian land!
"The greatest kingdom upon earth
Cannot with that compare;

With all the stout and hardy men
And the nut-brown maidens there."
"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing.-
And dashed his beard with wine;
"I had rather live in Lapland,

Than that Swabian land of thine!

"The goodliest land on all this earth,

It is the Saxon land!

There have I as many maidens

As fingers on this hand!"

"Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!"

A bold bohemian cries;

"If there's a heaven upon this earth,

In Bohemia it lies.

"There the tailor blows the flute, And the cobbler blows the horn, And the miner blows the bugle, Over mountain gorge and bourn."

THE DEAD.

FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK.

How they so softly rest,
All, all the holy dead,
Unto whose dwelling-place

Now doth my soul draw near!
How they so softly rest,

All in their silent graves,
Deep to corruption
Slowly down-sinking!

And they no longer weep.
Here, where complaint is still!
And they no longer feel,

Here, where all gladness flies!
And, by the cypresses
Softly o'ershadowed,
Until the Angel

Calls them, they slumber.

THE BIRD AND THE SHIP.
FROM THE GERMAN OF MÜLLER.

"THE rivers rush into the sea,
By castle and town they go;
The winds behind them merrily
Their noisy trumpets blow.

"The clouds are passing far and high,
We little birds in them play;

And everything that can sing and fly
Goes with us, and far away.

"I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence,

With thy fluttering golden band?"

"I greet thee, little bird! to the wide sca 1 haste from the narrow land.

"Full and swollen is every sail;
I see no longer a hill,

I have trusted all to the sounding gale,
And it will not let me stand still.

"And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,
For full to sinking is my house
With merry companions aH."

"I need not and seek not company,
Bonny boat, I can sing all alone;"

For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,
Bonny boat, I have wings of my own.
"High over the the sails, high over the mast,
Who shall gainsay these joys?
When thy merry companions are still, at last,
Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice.
"Who neither may rest, nor listen may,
God bless them every one!

I dart away, in the bright blue day,
And the golden fields of the sun.
"Thus do I sing my weary song,
Wherever the foul winds blow:
And this same song, my whole life long
Neither Poet nor Printer may know.'

WHITHER?

FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER.

I HEARD a brooklet gushing
From its rocky fountain near,
Down into the valley rushing,

So fresh and wondrous clear.
I know not what came o'er me,
Nor who the counsel gave;
But I must hasten downward,
All with my pilgrim stave;
Downward, and ever farther,
And ever the brook beside
And ever fresher murmured,
And ever clearer, the tide.

SONG OF THE BELL.
FROM THE GERMAN.

BELL! thou soundest merrily,
When the bridal party

To the church doth hie:
Bell! thou soundest solemnly
When on Sabbath morning,
Fields deserted lie!

Bell! thou soundest merrily;
Tellest thou at evening.

Bed-time draweth nigh?

Bell! thou soundest mournful},
Tellest thou the bitter
Parting hath gone by!

Say! how canst thou mourn?
How canst thou rejoice?

Thou art but metal dull!
And yet all our sorrowings,
And all our rejoicings,

Thou dost feel them all! God hath wonders many, Which we cannot fathom, Placed within thy form! When the heart is sinking, Thou alone canst raise it, Trembling in the storm!

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.
"HAST thou seen that lordly castle,
That castle by the Sea?
Golden and red above it

The clouds float gorgeously.
"And fain it would stoop downward
To the mirrored wave below:
And fain it would soar upward
In the evening's crimson glow.
"Well have I seen that castle,
That castle by the Sea,
And the moon above it standing,
And the mist rise solemnly.'

"The winds and the waves of ocean,

Had they a merry chime?

Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,
The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?"
"The winds and waves of the ocean,
They restedly quietly,

But I heard on the gale the sound of wail,
And tears came to mine eye."

And sawest thou on the turrets

The King and his royal bride?

And the wave of their crimson mantles?
And the golden crown of pride?
"Led they not forth in rapture,
A beauteous maiden there?
Resplendent as the morning sun,
Beaming with golden hair ?"
Well saw I the ancient parents,
Without the crown of pride;

They were moving slow in weeds of woe,
No maiden was by their side!"

FROM

'THE BLACK KNIGHT.

THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. "TWAS Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, When woods and fields put off all sadness. Thus began the King and spake;

"So from the halls

Of ancient Hofburg's walls,

A luxuriant Spring shall break." Drums and trumpets echo loudly. Wave the crimson banners proudly. From balcony the King looked on; In the play of spears,

Fell all the cavaliers,

Beford the monarch's stalwart son.

To the barrier of the fight
Rode at last a sable Knight.

Sir Knight! your name and scutcheon, say!"

"Should I speak it here.

Ye would stand aghast with fear;

I am a Prince of mighty sway!"

When he rode into the lists,

The arch of heaven grew black with mist,
And the castle 'gan to rock.

At the first blow,

To the sumptuous banquet came
Every Knight and every Dame.

"Twixt son and daughter ail distraught, With mournful mind

The ancient King reclined,

Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look,
But the guest a beaker took;
"Golden wine will make you whole!"
The children drank,

Gave many a courteous thank;

“Oh, that draught was very cool!"

Each the Father's breast embraces,
Son and daughter; and their faces
Colourless grow utterly.
Whichever way

Looks the fear-struck father gray,
He beholds his children die.
"Woe, the blessed children both
Takest thou in the joy of youth;

Take me, too, the joyless father!"
Spake the grim Guest,

From his hollow, cavernous breast, "Roses in the Spring I gather!"

SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS.

INTO the Silent Land!

Ah! who shall lead us thither?

Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand

Thither, oh, thither,
Into the Silent Land!

Into the Silent Land!

To you, ye boundless regions

Of all perfection! Tender morning visions

Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band!

Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,

Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land!

O Land! O Land!

For all the broken-hearted

The mildest herald by our fate allotted,

Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand

To lead us with a gentle hand

Into the land of the great Departed,
Into the Silent Land!

L'ENVOI

YE voices, that arose

After the Evening's close,

And whispered to my restless heart repose; Go, breathe it in the ear,

Of all who doubt and fear,

And say to them, "Be of good cheer!"

Ye sounds, so low and calm,

That in the groves of balm

Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!
Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar!

Tongues of the dead not lost,
But speaking from death's frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!
Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps

Of the vast plain where Death encamps!