Las que engañas y entretienes Con maldiciones te ayuden, Y de tu muerte se huelguen. Piensa Gazul que se burla, Que es proprio del inocente, Y alçandose en los estribos Tomarle la mano quiere. Miente le dize Señora El Moro que me rebuelve, A quien estas maldiciones Le vengan porque me venguen. Mi alma aborrece Zayda De que la amo se arrepiente, Malditos sean los anos Que la servi por mi suerte. Dexome a mi por un Moro Mas rico de pobres bienes : Esto que oye Lindaraxa Aqui la paciencia pierde. A este punto passo un page Con sus cavallos ginetes,1 Que los llevava gallardos De plumas y de jaezes, La lança con que ha de entrar La toma, y fuerte arremete Haziendola mil pedaços Contra las mismas paredes. Y manda que sus cavallos Jaezes y plumas truequen, Los verdes truequen leonados Para entrar leonado en Gelues. From LUPERCIO LEONARDo. THE Sun has chased away the early shower, And on the misty mountains' clearer height Pours o'er the clouds aslant his growing light. The husbandman, loathing the idle hour, Starts from his rest, and to his daily toil Light-hearted man goes forth, and patient now As the slow ox drags on the heavy plough, With the young harvest fills the reeking soil. See Third Series, p. 538. Our word "Jennet."-J. W. W. Domestic love his due return awaits With the clean board bespread with coun try care. And clust'ring round his knee his children play. His days are pleasant and his nights secure. Oh, cities haunt of power and wretch edness, Who would your busy vanities endure!” BARTOLOME LEonardo. Extract from an Epistle. "EVEN as the river swift and silent flows And wither'd plant, whose season is gone by. The spring flowers fade, the autumnal fruits decay, And grey old Winter, with his clouds and storms, Comes on the leaves, whose calm, cool murmuring Made pleasant music to our green-wood walks, Now rustle dry beneath our sinking feet. Is barren still and stubborn to the plough, God Forgetful, be as is the worthless vine Or for the blasting thunderbolt of war? Was this his being's end? Oh, how he errs Who of his godlike nature and his God Thus poorly, basely, blasphemously deems! For higher actions and for nobler ends, Our better part, the deathless and divine, Was made. The fire that animates my breast May not be quenched. And when that breast is cold The unextinguishable fire shall burst Obedient to my better part, my Friend, Intreats admittance. Wretched fool is he, Me menéo, Me paseo, No me estoi quieta jamas. Son de alguna utilidad ? La Ardilla y el Caballo.-YRIARTE. Que docil à espuela y rienda De ese brio, Suelo hacer, y acaso mas. "Yo soi viva Translation. A SQUIRREL sat and eyed a horse, The squirrel marked his varied pace, "Your swiftness, and form, "So active am I, I can run, I can fly, Whose mountain mass darkens the hollow vale! Yet there it falls not, for the eternal wind winding straits, Scatters the midway stream, and borne afar, Of elder times had journey'd here, his art From L. LEONARDO. I. 73. 11. Thy paint-beplaster'd forehead, broad and With not a grey lock left, thy mouth so black, That with a random hand blind Fortune deals Wisdom from Nature, marking how the Save all its folly and its ignorance. |