TRANSLATIONS. VERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMONIDES. THE night winds howled-the billows dashed Against the tossing chest ; As Danaë to her broken heart Her slumbering infant pressed. "My little child"-in tears she said "To wake and weep is mine, But thou canst sleep-thou dost not know Thy mother's lot, and thine. "The moon is up, the moonbeams smile They tremble on the main ; But dark, within my ɔating cell, "Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm, Thy clustering locks are dry, Nor breakers booming high. "As o'er thy sweet unconscious face A mournful watch I keep, I think, didst thou but know thy fate, "Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds, When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS. 'TIS sweet, in the green Spring, To gaze upon the wakening fields around; Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground. Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes. Shadowy, and close, and cool, The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook; Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook; Spread for a place of banquets and of dreams. Thou, who alone art fair, And whom alone I love, art far away. Unless thy smile be there, It makes me sad to see the earth so gay; I care not if the train Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again. MARY MAGDALEN. FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA. BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted! In wonder and in scorn! Thou weepest days of innocence departed; Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move The greatest of thy follies is forgiven, Even for the least of all the tears that shine On that pale cheek of thine. Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven, Holy, and pure, and wise. It is not much that to the fragrant blossom The ragged brier should change; the bitter fir, Distil Arabian myrrh; Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom, The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain But come and see the bleak and barren mountains Leaves on the dry dead tree. The perished plant, set out by living fountains, THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED. FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE Leon. REGION of life and light! Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er! Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore, There, without crook or sling, Walks the good shepherd; blossoms white and red Round his meek temples cling; And to sweet pastures led, The flock he loves beneath his eye is fed. He guides, and near him they Follow delighted, for he makes them go Where dwells eternal May, And heavenly roses blow, Deathless, and gathered but again to grow. He leads them to the height Named of the infinite and long-sought Good, And where his feet have stood Springs up, along the way, their tender food. And when, in the mid skies, The climbing sun has reached his highest bound, Reposing as he lies, With all his flock around, He witches the still air with numerous sound. From his sweet lute flow forth And draw the ardent will Its destiny of goodness to fulfil. Might but a little part, A wandering breath of that high melody, And change it till it be Transformed and swallowed up, oh love, in thee! Ah! then my soul should know, Released, should take its way To mingle with thy flock and never stray. FATIMA AND RADUAN. FROM THE SPANISH. Diamante falso y fingido, Engastado en pedernal, etc. "FALSE diamond set in flint! hard heart in haughty breast! |