VOICES OF THE NIGHT BAL LADS AND OTHER POEMS BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW NEW YORK: HURST & CO., PUBLISHERS, No. 122 NASSAU STREET I I i I .- i 0 -- I i I II CONT ENTS. PAGEl PRELUDE,..... VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Hymn to the Night,... A Psalm of Life,... The Reaper and the Flowers. The Light of Stars,.. Footsteps of Angels,... Flowers,.... The Beleaguered City,... Midnight Mass for the Dying Year, EARLIER POEMS. An April Day,.... Autumn,..... Woods in Winter,.... Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, Sunrise on the Hills,... The Spirit of Poetry,... Burial of the Minnisink... I w 1 4 9 ig 2 I 24 26 29 32 36 40 47 50 53 55 58 6i 65 —'L 4', -, " -- Tx' -... x-3 5 CONTENTS. Coplas de Manrique,... The Good Shepherd,... To-morrow,..... The Native Land,... The Image of God,... The Brook,..... The Celestial Pilot,... The Terrestrial Paradise,... Beatrice,..... Spring,..... The Child Asleep,. The Grave,... King Christian,.... The Happiest Land,... The Wave,.... The Dead,.... The Bird and the Ship,. Whither?.... Beware!.... Song of the Bell,.. The Castle by the Sea,... The Black Knight,... Song of the Silent Land,. L'Envoi,.... BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. Preface,... The Skeleton in Armor,. The Wreck of the Hesperus, The Luck of Edenhall,.. I1 : —- -- -,-. - -.'. c 4 TRANSLATIONS. I IPAGR 71 . 1101 . I 03 . 1105 . Ir 07 . log . 1111 . 11 I4 . 117 . 121 . 123 . I25 . 128 . 131 . 134 . 135 . 137 . 140 . 1142 . 144 . 146 . 1149 . 153 . 155 . 1159 . 176 . 1188 . 194 CONENTZS. The Elected Knight,... The Children of the Lord's Supper, MISCELLANEOUS. The Village Blacksmith, Endymion,.. The Two Locks of Hair, It is not always May,. The Rainy Day,.. God's-Acre,.. To the River Charles,. Blind Bartimeus, The Goblet of Life,. Maidenhood,.. Excelsior,... POEMS ON SLAVERY. To William E. Channing, The Slave's Dream,. The Good Part, that shall not be taken away, The Slave in the Dismal Swamp,.. The Slave singing at Midnight,... The Witness,..... The Quadroon Girl,... The Warning,..... -~ I 5 PAGR. . i98 . 202 239 242 245 247 249 251 253 256 258 262 266 . 273 . 275 279 282 285 287 290 294 vI I PRELUDE. I i i I~ PRELUDE. PLEASANT it was, when woods were green And winds were soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Shadows dark and sunlight sheen Alternate come and go; Or where the denser grove receives No sunlight from above, But the dark foliage interweaves In one unbroken roof of leaves, Underneath whose sloping eaves The shadows hardly move. - Off [~~~~~~~~~~~~I 9. PREL UDE. Beneath some patriarchal tree I lay upon the ground; His hoary arms uplifted he, And all the broad leaves over me Clapped their little hands in glee, With one continuous sound; A slumberous sound,-a sound The feelings of a dream,As of innumerable wings, As, when a bell no longer swing Faint the hollow murmur rings O'er meadow, lake, and stream And dreams of that which cannot die, Bright visions, came to me, As lapped in thought I used to lie, And gaze into the summer sky, Where the sailing clouds went by, Like ships upon the sea; 16 that brin,,s t) PR~L ubD. Dreams that the soul of youth engage Ere Fancy has been quelled; Old legends of the monkish page, Traditions of the saint and sage, Tales that have the rime of age, And chronicles of Eld. And, loving still these quaint old themes, Even in the city's throng I feel the freshness of the streams, That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, Water the green land of dreams, The holy land of song. Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings The Spring, clothed like a bride, When nestling buds unfold their wings, And bishop's caps have golden rings, Musing upon many things, I sought the woodlands wide. it PRP UDE. The green trees whispered low and mild; It was a sound of joy! They were my playmates when a child. And rocked me in their arms so wild I Still they looked at me and smiled, As if I were a boy; And ever whispered, mild and low, "Come, be a child once more!" And waved their long arms to and fro, And beckoned solemnly and slow; 0, I could not choose but go Into the woodlands hoar; Into the blithe and breathing air, Into the solemn wood, Solemn and silent everywhere! Nature with folded hands seemed there, Kneeling at her evening prayer! Like one in prayer I stood. t2 PREI UDE. Before me rose an avenue Of tall and sombrous pines; Abroad their fan-like branches grew, And, where the sunshine darted through, Spread a vapor soft and blue, In long and sloping lines. And, falling on my weary brain, Like a fast-falling shower, The dreams of youth came back again; Low lispings of the summer rain, Dropping on the ripened grain, At once upon the flower. Visions of childhood! Stay, O stay! Ye were so sweet and wild! And distant voices seemed to say, "It cannot be! They pass away! Other themes demand thy lay; Thou art no more a child l I 13 L PREL UDE. "The land of Song within thee lies, Watered by living springs; The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes And gates unto that Paradise, Holy thoughts, like stars, arise, Its clouds are angels' wings. Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow, Nor forest sounding like the sea, Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, Where the woodlands bend to see The bending heavens below. "There is a forest'where the din Of iron branches sounds! A mighty river roars between, And whosoever looks therein Sees the heavens all black with sin, Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 14 PREI UDE. Athwart the swinging branches cast, Soft rays of sunshine pour; Then comes the fearful wintry blast; Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast; Pallid lips say,' It is past! We can return no more!' "Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright, 13e these henceforth thy theme." I i VOICES OF THE, WTC1iT. 116-rvtr, 7-r67Vta v;6., ~v~o667,-tpa r()i 7rokvr6vc,, Ppor~v 'Epeo66Ov!tO U6, j~62,E KaTdlr~e.p 'Ayap-,vi'6ovi''r~' (51ov-,o -o7r a,p L?wv rv6 7CaILOd RUF,TPIT)FS. HYMN TO THE NIGHT. 'At.rac, rp/i2%tcro. I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love, I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes, I____________ ____________ f'YMfN TO THE iAvIGHT. From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, From those deep cisterns flows. 0 holy Night! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before! Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more. Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! Descend with broad-winged flight, The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most r fair, The best-beloved Nightl I 20 A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE P LMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, "Life is but an empty dream!" For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. 22. VOICES OP TiHE lIGHT. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave. Still, like muffled drums, are beating Fuineral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,-act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead I m m I~~~~~ A PSALM 0F LIFE. Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footsteps on the sands of time; Footsteps, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. m I 23 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. "Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. i . I 1 1 THE RRAPE-R AND THE FLOWERS. 25 "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they Where he was once a child. "They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear." And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love; She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. 0, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day; 'T was an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. m I THE LIGHT OF STARS. THE night is come, but not too soon; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven But the cold light of stars; And the first watch of night is given To the red planet Mars. Is it the tender star of love? The star of love and dreams? O no! from that blue tent above, A hero's armor gleams. I ______ TZHE LIGHT OP STARS. And earnest thoughts within me rise, When I behold afar, Suspended in the evening skies, The shield of that red star. O star of strength! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain; Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, And I am strong again. Within my breast there is no light, But the cold light of stars; I give the first watch of the night To the red planet Mars. The star of the unconquered will, He rises in mny breast, Serene, an(i resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. Z. - I ---- - - - - - I 27 m -_ _ _ _ _ _ - _ = - VOIC~S OP TH~ NIGHT. And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart, Be resolute and calm. 0 fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong. I 28 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. WI:EN the hours of Dav are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight, Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall Shadows from the fitful fire-light Dance upon the parlor wall; Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door; The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more; I I 4 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. He the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the road-side fell and perished, Weary with the march of life! They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more! And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. I I 11 30 l And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. Uttered not, yet comprehended, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air. 0, though oft depressed and lonely All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died I FOOTSTEPS OF,4-zVGELS. 31 - g~~~~~ FLOWERS. SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above; But not less in the bright flowerets under us $tands the revelation Qf his love, I 11 PFL 0 WER S. Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours; Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth,-these golden flowers. And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part Of the self-same, universal being, Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay; Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, Flaunting gayly in the golden light; Large dclesires, with most uncertain issues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night! r. i I I r I p 11 l 33 VOICES 0OF THE NIGHT. These in flowers and men are more than seeming; Workings are they of the self-same powers, Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers. Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born; Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn; Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, And in Summer's green-emblazoned field, But in arms of brave old Autumnn's wearing, In the centre of his blazen shield; Not alone in meadows and green alleys, On the mountain-top, and by the brink Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink; 34 I FLO WERS. Not alone in her vast dome of glory, Not on graves of bird and beast alone, But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone; In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers, In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. And with childlike, credulous affection We behold their tender buds expand; Emblems of our own great resurrection, Emblems of the bright and better land. I i I 35 THE BELEAGUERED CITY. I HAVE read, in some old marvelous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguered the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead. White as a sea-fog, landward bound, The spectral camp was seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flowed between. I j THE BLE, AGUERED CITY. No other voice nor sound was there, No drum, nor sentry's pace; The mist-like banners clasped the air, As clouds with clouds embrace. But, when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer, The white pavilions rose and fell On the alarmed air. Down the broad valley fast and far The troubled army fled; Up rose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead. I have read, in the marvelous heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul. I I 37 i VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the River of Life between. No other voice, nor sound is there, In the army of the grave; No other challenge breaks the air, But the rushing of Life's wave. And, when the solemn and deep church-bell Entreats the soul to pray, The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. L- --------- I 38 TH-IP BELEA GUERED CITY. Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled; - Faith shineth as a morning star, Our ghastly fears are dead. o MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. YES, the Year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely,-sorely! The leaves are falling, falling, Solemnly and slow; "Caw! caw!" the rooks are calling, It is a sound of woe, A sound of woe! He~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ m I 1. .1 il AfIDNIGHT MASS. Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll; They are chanting solemn masses, Singing; "Pray for this poor soul, Pray,-pray!" And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain, And patter their doleful prayers;' But their prayers are all in vain, All in vain! There he stands in the foul weather, The foolish, fond Old Year, Crowned with wild flowers and with heather Like weak, despised Lear, A king,-a king! Then comes the summer-like day, Bids the old man rejoice! His joy! his last! 0, the old man gray, Loveth that ever-soft voice, Gentle and low. I t t f II I i I i I .1 i i 41 I VOICES OF THE NIGHT. To the crimson woods he saith, To the voice gentle and low Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath, "Pray do not mock me so! Do not laugh at me!" And now the sweet day is dead; Cold in his arms it lies; No stan from its breath is spread Over the glassy skies, No mist or stain! Then, too, the Old Year dieth, And the forests utter a moan, Like the voice of one who crieth In the wilderness alone, "Vex not his ghost! " Then comes, with an awful roar, Gathering and sounding on, The storm-wind from Labrador, The wind Euroclydon, The storm-wind I I 4:2 L MIDANGHT MASS. How]! howl! and from the forest Sweep the red leaves away! VTould, the sins that thou abhorrest, 0 Soul! could thus decay, And be swept away! For there shall come a mightier blast There shall be a darker day; And the stars, from heaven down-cast . Like red leaves be swept away I Kyrie, eleyson! Christe, eleyson! I x -- wI 4i I I 11 I I i li r k I EARLIER POEMS. I [These poems were written for the most part during my college life, and all of them before the age of nineteen. Some have found their way into schools, and seem to be successful. Others lead a vagabond and precarious existence in the corners of newspapers; or have changed their names and run away to seek their fortunes beyond the sea. I say, with the Bishop of Avranches, on a similar occasion: "I cannot be displeased to see these children of mine, which I have neglected, and almost exposed, brought from their wanderings in lanes and alleys, and safely lodged, in order to go forth into the world together in 9 more decorous garb."] aiy AN APRIL DAY. WHEN the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, The drooping tree revives. I Ii il 11 [] E4AR LIER POEMS. The softly-warbled song Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves alo ng The forest openings. When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, And wide the upland glows. And, when the eve is born, In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star Inverted in the tide, Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, And the fair trees look over, side by side, And see themselves below. I I 1 04 1 I I 49 AN APRIL DA Y. Sweet April!-many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed. i I t 49 AUTUMN. WITH what a glory comes and goes the year! The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out; And when the silver habit of the clouds Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with A sober gladness the old year takes up His bright inheritance of golden fruits, A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, X UTUMArT., Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crim soned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees The golden robin moves. The purple finch, That c(al wild cherry and red cedar feeds, A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail, 51 EAR]LIER POEMS. O what a glory doth this world put on For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent! For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. He shall so hear the solemn hymn, that Death He lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-place without a tear. l 52 WOODS IN. WINTER. WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, And through the hawthorn blows the gale With solemn feet I tread the hill, That overbrows the lonely vale. O'er the bare upland, and away Through the long reach of desert woods, The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes. Where, twisted round the barren oak, The summer vine in beauty clung, And summer winds the stillness broke, The crystal icicle is hung. i i EA4RILER PoEMS. Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings, And voices fill the woodland side. 11 Alas! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green And the song ceased not with the day. But still wild music is abroad, Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear Has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long. --- I -,-' -1 11 84 HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. WHEN the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowled head; And the censer burning swung, Where, before the altar, hung The blood-red banner, that with prayer Had been consecrated there. And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. P,AR.LItR POAMS. Take thy banner! May it wave Proudly o'er the good and brave; When the battle's distant wail Breaks the sabbath of our vale, When the clarion's music thrills To the hearts of these lone hills, When the spear in conflict shakes, And the strong lance shivering breaks. Take thy banner! and, beneath The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, Guard it!-till our homes are free! Guard it!-God will prosper thee! In the dark and trying hour, In the breaking forth of power, In the rush of steeds and men, His right hand will shield thee then. "Take thy banner! But, when night Closes round the ghastly fight, , I -,, I I i; I 56 JZYMiV OP THE AfOSRA ViA. iVUS. 57 If the vanquished warrior bow, Spare him!-By our holy vow, By our prayers and many tears, By the mercy that endears, Spare him!-he our love hath shared! Spare him!-as thou wouldst be spared I "Take thy banner!-and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, And the muffled drum should beat To the tread of mournful feet, Then this crimson flag shall be Martial cloak and shroud for three. The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and shroud I i 1I 1 ?I i i SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven s wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. The clouds were far beneath me;-bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And, in their fading-glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, StUkSSE oArn TE fziLLS. And rocking on the cliff was left The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. 'rhe veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow Was darkened by the forest's shade. Or glistened in the white cascade; Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, 'The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash,And'richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, The woods were bending with a silent reach. Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, The music of the village bell Came sweetly to tile echo-giving hills; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, Was ringing to the merry 3Dout. That faint and far the glen sent outs i -1 i t p 11 I 80 I ~AP4I4P P6gMS. Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, Through thick-leaved branches, from the din gle broke. If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills!-No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. I 'W.-, I to THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. THERE is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where'er the gentle south wind blows Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. With what a tender and impassioned voice It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, When the fast-ushering star of morning comes O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf; Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, .. _L......................J....}~........J_ Il_ l I E4ARLIER POEMS. Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves In the green valley, where the silver brook, From its full laver, pours the wide cascade; And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, Slip down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. And frequent, on the everlasting hills, Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers? the leaves the river on its way, I 62 THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds,The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes,Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, The distant lake, fountains,-and mighlty trees, In many a lazy syllable, repeating Their old poetic legends to the wind. And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill The world; and, in these wayward days of youth, My busy fancy oft embodies it, As a bright image of the light and beauty That dwell in nature,-of the heavenly forms We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds When the sun sets. Within her eye I I 6,3 Il EARLIER POEMS. The heaven of April, with its changing light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek' Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us,-and her silver voice Is the rich muic of a summer bird, Heard in the still night with its passionate cadence. _ E _ _ r ~ ~ ~ ~,- r g;;, l- r s ^ 7, _, % -, b _ _ I 64 I BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. ON sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell; And, where the maple's leaf was brown, Withl soft and silent lapse came down The glory, that the wood receives, At sunset, in its brazen leaves. Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, Around a far uplifted cone, In the warm blush of evening shone; An image of the silver lakes, By which the Indian's soul awakes. i iI I i -i EREARLIER POEMS. But soon a funeral hymn was heard AThere the soft breath of evening stirred The tall, gray forest; and a band Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, Came winding down beside the wave, To lay the red chief in his grave. They sang, that by his native bowers He stood, in the last moon of flowers, And thirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior's head; But, as the summer fruit decays, So died he in those naked days. A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin Covered the warrior, and within Its heavy folds the weapons, made For the hard toils of war, were laid; The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, And the broad belt of shells and beads. 6o4 I BURI,A4 OF THE MIViVJSISIVK. Before, a dark-haired virgin train Chanted the death dirge of the slain; Behind, the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, Leading the war-horse of their chief. Stripped of his proud and martial dress Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, Withl darting eye, and nostril spread. And heavy and impatient tread, He came; and oft that eye so proud Asked for his rider in thle crowd. They buried the dark chief; they freed Beside the grave his battle steed; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart! One piercing neigh Arose,-and, on the dead man's plain, The rider grasps his steed again. I 67 I i TRANSLATIONS. I A$ [Don Jorge Manrique, the author of the following poem, flourished in the last half of the fifteenth century. He followed the profession of arms, and died on the field-of battle. Mariana, in his History of Spain, makes honorable mention of him, as being present at the siege of Ucles; and speaks of him as " a youth of estimable qualities, who in this war gave brilliant proofs of his valor. He died young; and was thus cut off from long exercising his great virtues, and ex hibiting to the world the light of his genius, which was already known to fame." He was mortally wounded in a skirmish near Cafiavete, in the year I479. The name of Rodrigo Manrique, the father of the poet, Conde de Paredes and Maestre de Santiago, is well known in Spanish history and song. He died in 1476; according to Mariana, in the town of Uclhs; but, according to the poem of his son, in Ocania. It was his death that called forth the poem upon which rests the literary reputation of the younger Manrique. In the language of his historian," Don Jorge Man rique, in an elegant Odcle, full of poetic beauties, rich embellishments of genius, and high moral reflections, mourned the death of his father as with a funeral hymn." This praise is not exaggerated. The poem is a model in its kind. Its conception is solemn and beautiful; and, in accordance with it, the style moves on-calm, dignified and majestic.] I i COPLAS DE MANRIQUE. FROM THE SPANISH. 0 LET the soul her slumbers break, Let thought be quickened, and awake; Awake to see IHow soon this life is past and gone, And death comes softly stealing on, How silently! Swiftly our pleasures glide away, Our hearts recall the distant day With many sighs; The moments that are speeding fast We heed not, but the past,-the past,More highly prize. I I L II I 2TR,ANSLA TIONS. Onward its course the present keeps, Onward the constant current sweeps, Till life is done; And, did we judge of time aright, The past and future in their flight Would be as one. Let no one fondly dream again, That Hope and all her shadowy train Will not decay; Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Remembered like a tale that's told, They pass away. Our lives are rivers, gliding free To that unfathomed, boundless sea, The silent grave! Thither all earthly pomp and boast. Roll, to be swallowed up and lost In one dark wave. Olf I 72 rs1 > X 4 7 COPL,AS DE MAfNRIQU U7 Thither the mighty torrents stray, Thither the brook pursues its way, And tinkling rill. There all are equal. Side by side The poor man and the son of pride LIie calm and still. I will not here invoke the throng Of orators and sons of song, The deathless few; Fiction entices and deceives, And, sprinkled o'er her fragrant leaves, Lies poisonous dew. To Ona alone my thoughts arise, The Eternal Truth,-the Good and Wise, To Him I cry, Who shared on earth our common lot, But the world comprehended not His deity. il i I I i i i 1, 73 I RA4 NSL A TZONS. This world is but the rugged road Which leads us to the bright abode Of peace above; So let us choose that narrow way, Whlichl leads no traveler's foot astray From realms of love. Our cradle is the starting-place, In life we run the onward race, And reach the goal; When, in the mansions of the blest, Death leaves to its eternal rest The weary soul. Did we but use it as we ought, This world would school each wandering thought To its high state. Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, Up to that better world on high, For which we wait. I 74 COPLAS DE MANVRIQUER. Yes,-the glad messenger of love, To guide us to our home above, The Saviour came; Born amid mortal cares and fears, He suffered in this vale of tears A death of shame. Behold of what delusive worth The bubbles we pursue on earth The shapes we chase, Amid a world of treachery! They vanish ere death shuts the eye, And leave no trace. Time steals them fromn us,-chances strange, Disastrous accidents, and change, That come to all; Even in the most exalted state, Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate; The strongest fall. 7s T ATNSL,A TIONS. Tell me,-the charms that lovers seek In the clear eye and blushing cheek, The hues that play O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, When hoary age approaches slow, Ah, where are they? The cunning skill, the curious arts, The glorious strength that youth imparts In life's first stage; These shall become a heavy weight, When Time swings wide his outward gate To weary age. The noble blood of Gothic name, Heroes emblazoned high to fame, In long array; How, in the onward course of time, The landmarks of that race sublime Were swept away! I 1, I , I . 76 COPLAS DE M4ANRIQUE. Some, the degraded slaves of lust. Prostrate and trampled in the dust, Shall rise no more; Others, by guilt and crime, maintain The scutcheon, that, without a stain, Their fathers bore. Wealth and 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 found; Her swift revolving wheel turns round, And they are gone! No rest the inconstant goddess knows, But changing, and without repose, Still hurries on. i 77 TRANSLATIONS. Even could the hand of avarice save Its gilded baubles, till the grave Reclaimed its prey, Let none on such poor hopes rely; Life, like an empty dream, flits by, And where are they? Earthly desires and sensual lust Are passions springing from the dust,They fade and die; But, in the life beyond the tomb, They seal the immortal spirit's doom Eternally! Tile pleasures and delights, which mask In treacherous smiles life's serious task What are they, all, But the fleet coursers of the chase, And death an ambush in the race, Wherein we fall? i 78 . _. _ _ I II IHilI COPLA4S DE AfVANVRIQUE. No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, Brook no delay,-but onward speed With loosened rein; And, when the fatal snare is near, We strive to check our mad career, But strive in vain. Could we new charms to age impart, And fashion with a cunning art The human face, As we can clothe the soul with light, And make the glorious spirit bright With heavenly grace, How busily each passing hour Should we exert that magic power! What ardor show, To deck the sensual slave of sin, Yet leave the freeborn soul within, In weeds of woe! In wee;j of woe! 79 TRzS' A 7SL 0IVNS. Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, Famous 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, Neither its glory nor its shame Has met our eyes; Nor of Rome's great and glorious dead, Though we have heard so oft, and read, Their histories. I I I ilI I i i 80 COPIlAS DE MANRIQUE.o Little avails it now to know Of ages passed so long ago, Nor how they rolled; Our theme shall be of yesterday, Which to oblivion sweeps away, Like days of old. Where is the King, Don Juan? Where Each royal prince and noble heir Of Aragon? Where are the courtly gallantries? The deeds of love and high emprise, In battle done? Tourney and joust, that charmed the eye, And scarf, and gorgeous panoply, And nodding plume, What were they but a pageant scene? What but the garlands, gay and green That deck the tomb? I Si - I I TR,ANSLATIONS. Where are the high-born dames, and where Their gay attire, and jeweled hair, And odors sweet? Where are the gentle knights, that canme To kneel, and breathe love's ardent flame, Low at their feet? Where is the song of Troubadour? Where are the lute and gay tambour They loved of yore? Where is the mazy dance of old, The flowing robes, inwrought with gold, The dancers wore? And he.who.next the sceptre swayed,: Henry, whose royal court displayed Such power and pride; O, in what winning smiles arrayed, The.world its various pleasures laid His throne beside! ., 82 I COPLAS DE MA[ARIQ UE. But O! how false and full of guile That world, which wore so soft a smile But to betray! She, that had been his friend before, Now from the fated monarch tore Her charms away. The countless gifts,-the stately walls, The royal palaces, and halls All filled with gold; Plate with armorial bearings wrought, Chambers with ample treasures fraught Of wealth untold; The noble steeds, and harness bright, And gallant lord, and stalwart knight, In rich array,WVhere shall we seek them now? Alas! Like the bright dewdrops on the grass, They passed away. I 83 l TR A SI,SLA TIHOS. His brother, too, whose factious zeal Usurped the sceptre of Castile, Unskilled to reign; What a gay, brilliant court had he, When all the flower of chivalry Was in his train! But he was mortal; and the breath, That flamed from the hot forge of Death, Blasted his years; Judgment of God! that flame by thee, When raging fierce and fearfully Was quenched in tears! Spain's haughty Constable,-the great And gallant Master,-cruel fate Stripped him of all. Breathe not a whisper of his pride,He on the g!oomy scaffold died, Ignoble fallI I I I 84 I __ COPiLAS DR MANRQU UE. The countless treasures of his care, Hamlets and villas green and fair, His mighty power,What were they all but grief and shame, Tears and a broken heart, when came The parting hour? His other brothers, proud and high, Masters, who, in prosperity, Might rival kings; Who made the bravest and the best The bondsmen of their high behest, Their underlings; What was their prosperous estate, When high exalted and elate With power and pride? What, but a transient gleam of light, A flame, which, glaring at its height, Grew dim and died? -1 -E 4 I i 85 I TR6ATSfA TIOiNS. So many a duke of royal name, Marquis and count of spotless fame, And baron brave, That might the sword of empire wield, All these, 0 Death, hast thou concealed In the dark grave! Their deeds of mercy and of arms, In peaceful days, or war's alarms, When thou dost,lhow, O Death, thy stern and angry face, One stroke of thy all-powerful mace Can overthrow. Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, Pennon and standard flaunting high, And flag displayed; High battlements intrenchled around, Bastion, and moated wall, and mound, And palisader I 86 COPLTS DE AJANPIQ U~. And covered trench, secure and deep,All these cannot one victim keep,. 0 Death, from thee, When thou dost battle in thy wrath, And thy strong shafts pursue their path Unerringly. 0 World! so few the years we live, Would that the life which thou dost give Were life indeed! Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour is when at last The soul is freed. Our days are covered o'er with grief, And sorrows neither few nor brief Veil all in gloom; Left desolate of real good, Within this cheerless solitude No pleasures bloom. I I 87 TRANSL,ATIONS. Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, And ends in bitter doubts and fears, Or dark despair; Midway so many toils appear, That he who lingers longest here Knows most of care. Thy goods are bought with many a groan, By the hot sweat of toil alone, And weary hearts; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, But with a lingering step and slow Its form departs. And he, the good man's shield and shade, To whom all hearts their homage paid, As Virtue's son,Roderic Manrique,-he whose name Is written on the scroll of Fame Spain's champion; I i -T I X i I I I :' 88 COPLAS DE MANIQUL U~. His signal deeds and prowess high Demand no pompous eulogy,Ye saw his deeds! Why should their praise in verse be sung? The name, that dwells on every tongue, No minstrel needs. To friends a friend;-how kind to all The vassals of this ancient hall And feudal fief! To foes how stern a foe was he! And to the valiant and the free How brave a chief I What prudence with the old and wise; What grace int youthful gayeties; In all how sage! Benignant to the serf and slave, He showed the base and falsely brave A lion's rage. X l iz IS F IS ilh i c 89 TRA NSLA TIONS. His was Octavian's prosperous star, The rush of Cesar's conquering car At battle's call; His, Scipio's virtue; his, the skill And the indomitable will Of Hannibal. His was a Trajan's goodness,-his A Titus' noble charities And righteous laws; The arm of Hector, and the might Of Tully, to maintain the right In truth's just cause; The clemency of Antonine, Aurelius' countenance divine, Firm, gentle, still; The eloquence of Adrian, And Theodosius' love to man, And generous will; go COPLAS 1)- M4ANRIQ UP. In tented field and bloody fray, An Alexander's vigorous sway And stern command; The faith of Constantine; ay, more, The fervent love Camillus bore His native land. He left no well-filled treasury, He heaped no pile of riches high, Nor massive plate; He fought the Moors,-and, in their fall, Villa and tower and castled wall Were his estate. Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, Brave steeds and gallant riders found A common grave; And there the warrior's hand did gain The rents, and the long vassal train, The conquered gave. I I gt ERANSLSiA TONS. And if, of old, his halls displayed The honored and exalted grade His worth had gained, So, in the dark, disastrous hour, Brothers and bondsmen of his power His hand sustained. After high deeds, not left untold, In the stern warfare, which of old 'T was his to share, Such noble leagues he made, that more And fairer regions, than before, His guerdon were. These are the records, half effaced, Which, with the hand of youth, he traced On history's page; But with fresh victories he drew Each fading character anew In his old age. I I i l 0 9 I i I I I -' - I'-... 92 COPLAS DE M'A2RIQUE. By his unrivaled skill, by great And veteran service to the state, By worth adored, He stood, in his high dignity, The proudest knight of chivalry, Knight of the Sword. He found his villas and domains Beneath a tyrant's galling chains And cruel power; But, by fierce battle and blockade, Soon his own banner was displayed From every tower. By the tried valor of his hand, His monarch and his native land Were nobly served;Let Portugal repeat the story, And proud Castile, who shared the glory His arms deserved, I 93 I TRA NSA4 TIONS. And when so oft, for weal or woe, His life upon the fatal throw Had been cast down When he had served, with patriot zeal, Beneath the banner of Castile, His sovereign's crown; And done such deeds of valor strong, That neither history nor song Can count them all; Then, on Ocana's castled rock, Death at his portal came to knock, With sudden call, Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare To leave this world of toil and care With joyful mien; Let thy strong heart of steel this day Put on its armor for the fray,The closing scene, 94 COPLAS DE MAVRIQ UE. "Since thou hast been, in battle-strife, So prodigal of health and life, For earthly fame, Let virtue nerve thy heart again; Loud on the last stern battle-plain They call thy name. Think not the struggle that draws near Too terrible for man,-nor fear To meet the foe; Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, Its life of glorious fame to leave On earth below. "A life of honor and of worth Has no eternity on earth,'T is but a name; And yet its glory far exceeds That base and sensual life, which leads To want and shame, I 95 9TR 4ANS~A TIONS. The eternal life, beyond the sky, Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high And proud estate; The soul in dalliance laid,-the spirit Corrupt with sin,-shall not inherit A joy so great. 'But the good monk, in cloistered cell, Shall gain it by his book and bell, His prayers and tears; And the brave knight, whose arm endures Fierce battle, and against the Moors His standard rears. And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured The life-blood of the Pagan horde O'er all the land, In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, The guerdon of thine earthly strength And dauntless hand, I 96 I, COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.9 " Cheered onward by his promise sure, Strong in the faith entire and pure Thou dost profess, Depart,-thy hope is certainty, The third-the better life on high Shalt thou possess." " 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 soul is ready to depart, No thought rebels, the obedient heart Breathes forth no sigh; The wish on earth to linger still Were vain, when't is God's sovereign will That we shall die. o~~~~~~~~~~~s-ssc~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~zz~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~n And;> moSF he ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 97 f TR,A4SI A TI ONS. "0 thou, that for our sins didst take A human form, and humbly make Thy home on earth; Thou, that to thy divinity A human nature didst ally By mortal birth, "And in that form didst suffer here Torment, and agony, and fear, So patiently; By thy redeeming grace alone, And not for merits of my own, 0, pardon me!" As thus the dying warrior prayed, Without one gathering mist or shade Upon his mind; Encircled by his family, Watched by affection's gentle eye So soft and kind; 98 [ COPLA4S DE MA4JRIQ UE9 His soul to Him, who gave it, rose; God lead it to its long repose, Its glorious rest! And, thlough the warrior's sun has set, Its light shall linger round us yet, Bright, radiant, blest.* * This poem of Manrique is a great favorite in Spain. No less than four poetic Glosses, or running commentaries, upon it have been published, no one of which, however, possesses great poetic merit. That of the Carthusian nmonk, Rodrigo de Valdepenas, is the best. It is known as the Glosa del Cartijo. There is also a prose Commentary by Luis de Aranda. The following stanzas of the poem were found in the author's pocket, after his death on the field of battle: "0 World! so few the years we live, Would that the life which thou dost give Were life indeed! Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour is when at last The soul is freed. I 99 B T03? ANSL A, TIOA S. "Our days are covered o'er with grief, And sorrows neither few nor brief Veil all in gloom; Left desolate of real good, Within this cheerless solitude No pleasures bloom. "Thy pilgrimage begins in tears And ends in bitter doubts and fears, Or dark despair; Midway so many toils appear, That he who lingers longest here Knows most of care. "Thy goods are bought with many a groan, By the hot sweat of toil alone, And weary hearts; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, But with a lingering step and slow Its form departs." I 100 :- -.1::.1. THE GOOD SHEPHERD. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous sylvani song Hast broken the slumber which encompassed me, That 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. i ii I p II I I TRA NSIA TIONS. Hear, Shepherd!-thou who for thy flock art dying, 0, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow. 0, 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! 102 TO-MORROW. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE 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? 0 strange delusion!-that I did not greet Thy blest approach, and 0, to Heaven hov lost, If my ingratitude's unkindly frost Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. How oft my guardian angel gently cried, I I ANRASLSA tIOiS. "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open," I replied, And when the morrow came 1 answered still, "To-morrow." I "4, I I 'O7' 104 "I 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 this prison-house of clay, I[I I ________________ -I TRANSLAS iOAS. The exiled spirit weeps and sighs 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. I Io6 THE IMAGE OF GOD. FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height, Centred in one the future and the past, Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast The world obscures in me what once was bright! Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast given, To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays; Yet, in the hoary winter of my days, Forever green shall be my trust in Hleaven. Celestial King! 0 let thy presence pass I Iel I _ -- I TR NASLA TIONS. Before my spirit, and an image fair Shall meet that look of mercy from on high, As the reflected image in a glass Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, And owes its being to the gazer's eye. I wr4 io8 Al I THE BROOK. FROM THE SPANISH. LAUGH of the mountain!-lyre of bird and tree! Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn! The soul of April, unto whom are born The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee! Although, where'er thy devious current strays, The lap of earth with gold and silver teems, To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems Than golden sands, that charm each shep herd's gaze. How without guile thy bosom, all transparent As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye I i ii TR A4NSL,A TIO-AS. Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count! IHow, without malice murmuring, glides thy current! 0 sweet simplicity of days gone by! Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount! T iio THE CELESTIAL PILOT FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO. II. AND nlow, behold! as at the approach of morning, Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red Down in the west upon the ocean floor, Appeared to me,-would I again could see it!A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, Its motion by no flight of wing is equaled. And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little Mine eyes, that I might question my con ductor, Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. II I 11 -,I TRi4 iVSI A TIOZVS. Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared I knew not what 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 un folded; But, when he clearly recognized 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!" I 4tL a I An'iT v= 1t l' 1T II2 ,0 if I' N* THE CEIESTIAL P0OT. And then, as nearer and more near us came The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he ap. peared, So that the eye could not sustain his presence, But down I cast it; and he came to shore With a smnall 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 exztu 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. g.1 W - -- --- M.- r - e I 113 et. I-;4- l". W B v r 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 soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance. A gently-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead, No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze, o - THE TERRESTR~AZ PARADISE. ",5 Whereat the tremulous branches readily Did all of them bow downward towards that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Moun tain; 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 AEolus unlooses the SiroccQ, 27SIANS4 A T~ONS. 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 en tered. And lo! my farther course cut off a river, \Which,*towards the left hand, with its little waves, Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang. All waters that on earth most limpid are, Would seem to have within themselves some mixture, Compared with that, which nothing doth con ceal. Although it moves on with a brown, brown current, Under the shade perpetual, that never Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon. IS I iI6 i BEATRICE. FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX., XXXI. EVEN as the Blessed, in the new covenant, Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave, Wearing again the garments of the flesh, So, upon that celestial chariot, A hundred rose ad vocem lan/i senis, Ministers and messengers of life eternal. They all were saying; Benediclus fui venis," And scattering flowers above and round about, "Manibus o date lilia pilenis." I ~H ll ll,.t... I _, T" .1 Rp ANSLSA TIioNS. 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 vapors, The eye sustained his aspect for long while; Thuts in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, Which from those hands angelic were thrown up, And down descended inside and without, With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil, Appeared a lady, under a green mantle, Vested in colors of the living flame. Even as the snow, among the living rafters Upon the back of Italy, congeals, Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds, : '. -1- -yy, -- - 118 IA PR4 TICR. And then, dissolving, filters through itself, Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, breathes. Like as a taper melts before a fire, Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, Before the song of those who chime forever After the chiming of the eternal spheres; But, when I heard in those sweet melodies Compassion for me, more than had they 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. i I I 110 120 TR s ATIOS. Even as a cross-bow breaks, when't is 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 pas sage. *1 XI m a v_^Ps zr-7+r.,l-2 _4__4 ~~F~; Tut or rV~r A d 4 4F i, at I SPRING. I 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. a I: Of1 -