Voices of the night:
B and other poems,/ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Voices of the night: B and other poems, Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, . |
VOICES OF THE NIGHT
AND OTHER POEMS
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
HURST & CO., PUBLISHERS,
No. 122 NASSAU STREET
CONT ENTS.
PRELUDE,.....
VOICES OF THE NIGHT.
Hymn to the Night,...
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...
—'L 4', -, " -- Tx' -... x-3 5
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,..
TRANSLATIONS.
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,.....
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
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.
[~~~~~~~~~~~~I
Beneath some patriarchal tree
His hoary arms uplifted he,
And all the broad leaves over me
Clapped their little hands in glee,
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,
that brin,,s
Dreams that the soul of youth engage
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.
The green trees wh
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,
And ever whispered, mild and low,
"Come, be a child once more!"
And waved their long arms to and fro,
And beckon
0, I could not choose but go
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.
Before me rose an avenue
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 y
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!
Thou art no more a child l
"The land of Song within thee lies,
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.
Athwart the swinging branches cast,
Then comes the
Our hopes, like withered leaves,
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."
VOICES OF THE, WTC1iT.
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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,
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
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
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most
The best-beloved Nightl
A PSALM OF LIFE.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE
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!
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
VOICES OP TiHE lIGHT.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
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
A PSALM 0F LIFE.
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
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,
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
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?"
"Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet
I will give them all back again."
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed t
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
THE RRAPE-R AND THE FLOWERS. 25
"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,"
The Reaper said,
"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,
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
0, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
'T was an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
THE LIGHT OF STARS.
THE night is come,
And sinking silently,
All silently, the little moon
Drops down behind the sky.
There is no light in earth or heaven
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.
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
Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,
And I am strong again.
Within my breast there is no light,
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.
- I ---- - - -
VOIC~S OP TH~
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.
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
Then the forms of the departed
The beloved, the true-hearted,
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.
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.
SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.
Stars they are, wherein we read our history,
As astrolog
Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery,
Like the burning stars, which they beheld
Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous,
God hath written
But not less in the bright flowerets under us
$tands the revelation Qf his love,
PFL 0 WER S.
Bright and glorious is that revelation,
Written all over this
Making evident our own creation,
In these stars of earth,-these golden
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,
Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues,
Flaunting gayly
Large dclesires, with most uncertain issues,
Tender wishes, blossoming at night!
VOICES 0OF THE NIGHT.
These in flowers and men are more than
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 S
Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing,
Stand like Ruth
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
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 N
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,
In the cottage of the rudest peasant,
In ancestral homes, whose crumbling
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
Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons,
How akin they are to human things.
And with childlike, credulous affection
We behold thei
Emblems of our own great resurrection,
Emblems of the bright and better land.
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.
THE BLE, AGUERED CITY.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry'
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
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.
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,
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.
TH-IP BELEA GUERED CITY.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.
MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING
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,
"Caw! caw!" the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of woe,
A sound of woe!
He~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AfIDNIGHT MASS.
Through woods and mountain passes
The winds, like anthems,
They are chanting solemn masses,
S "Pray for this poor soul,
Pray,-pray!"
And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain,
And patter t'
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.
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!"
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
MIDANGHT MASS.
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
And the stars, from heaven down-cast
. Like red leaves be swept away I
Kyrie, eleyson!
Christe, eleyson!
EARLIER POEMS.
[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 c
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."]
AN APRIL DAY.
WHEN the warm sun, that brings
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again,
'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where
The first flower of the plain.
I love the season well,
When forest glades are teeming with bright
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell
The coming-on of storms.
From the earth's loosened mould
The sapling draws its sustenance,
Though stricken to the heart with winter's
The drooping tree revives.
E4AR LIER POEMS.
The softly-warbled song
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves
The forest openings.
When the bright sunset fills
The silver woods with light, the green slope
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
And the fair trees look over, side by side,
And see themselves below.
AN APRIL DA Y.
Sweet April!-many a thought
Is wedded unto thee,
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought,
Life's golden fruit is shed.
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
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
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crim
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
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke,
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail,
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.
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.
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.
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!
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.
Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown fam
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.
--- I -,-' -1
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 ligh
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'e
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,
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
the tread of
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
SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.
I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven s wide
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-bathed in
They gathered mid-way round the wooded
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
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
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-
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland
Was ringing to the merry 3Dout.
That faint and far the glen sent outs
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin
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
Go to the woods and hills!-No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
THE SPIRIT OF POETRY.
THERE is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells where'er the gentle south wind
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the
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 hil
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve,
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate,
.. _L......................J....}~........J_ Il_
E4ARLIER POEMS.
Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves
In the green valley, where the silver brook,
From its full laver, po
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,
The silent majesty of these deep woods,
Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted
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,
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
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
T and, in these wayward days of
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
When the sun sets. Within her eye
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
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
~ ~,-;, l- r s ^ 7, _, %
BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK.
ON sunny slope and beechen swell,
The shadowed l
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 bl
An image of the silver lakes,
By which the Indian's soul awakes.
EREARLIER POEMS.
But soon a funeral hymn was heard
AThere the soft breath of evening stirred
The tall, 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'
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,
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,
And the broad belt of shells and beads.
BURI,A4 OF THE MIViVJSISIVK.
Before, a dark-haired virgin train
Chanted the deat
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,
H and oft that eye so proud
Asked for his rider in thle crowd.
They b they freed
Beside the gr
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.
TRANSLATIONS.
[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 U and speaks of him as " a youth
of estimable qualities, who in this war gave brilliant
proofs of his valor. H and was thus
cut off from long exercising his great virtues, and ex hibiting to the world the light of his genius, which
already known
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 U
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
This praise is not exaggerated.
is a model in its kind. Its conception is solemn and
and, in accordance with it, the style
moves on-calm, dignified and majestic.]
COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.
FROM THE SPANISH.
0 LET the soul her slumbers break,
Let thought be quickened,
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
The moments that are speeding fast
We heed not, but the past,-the past,More highly prize.
2TR,ANSLA TIONS.
Onward its course the present keeps,
Onward the constant current sweeps,
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
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.
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,
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.
RA4 NSL A TZONS.
This world is but the rugged road
Which leads us to the bright abode
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,
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
To its high state.
Faith wings the soul beyond the sky,
Up to that better world on high,
For which we wait.
COPLAS DE MANVRIQUER.
Yes,-the glad messenger of love,
To guide us to our home above,
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,
Even in the most exalted state,
Relentless sweep
The strongest fall.
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
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,
How, in the onward course of time,
The landmarks of that race sublime
Were swept away!
COPLAS DE M4ANRIQUE.
Some, the degraded slaves of lust.
Prostrate and trampled in the dust,
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'
Her swift revolving wheel turns round,
And they are gone!
No rest the inconstant goddess knows,
But changing, and without repose,
Still hurries on.
TRANSLATIONS.
Even could the hand of avarice save
Its gilded baubles, till the grave
Reclaimed its prey,
Let none on
Life, like an empty dream, flits by,
And where are they?
Earthly desires and sensual lust
Are passions springing from the dust,T
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?
COPLA4S DE AfVANVRIQUE.
No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed,
Brook no delay,-but onward speed
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!
Ij of woe!
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
Nor of Rome's great and glorious dead,
Though we have heard so oft, and read,
Their histories.
COPIlAS DE MANRIQUE.o
Little avails it now to know
Of ages passed so long ago,
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?
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
O, in what winning smiles arrayed,
The.world its various pleasures laid
His throne beside!
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
Plate with armorial bearings wrought,
Chambers with ample treasures fraught
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.
TR A SI,SLA TIHOS.
His brother, too, whose factious zeal
Usurped the sceptre of Castile,
What a gay, brilliant court had he,
When all the flower of chivalry
Was in his train!
B and the breath,
That flamed from the hot forge of Death,
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
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,
Who made the bravest and the best
The bondsmen of their high behest,
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?
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,
High battlements intrenchled around,
Bastion, and moated wall, and mound,
And palisader
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
Left desolate of real good,
Within this cheerless solitude
No pleasures bloom.
TRANSL,ATIONS.
Thy pilgrimage begins in tears,
And ends in bitter doubts and fears,
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,
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
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.
T-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 w
What grace i
In all how sage!
Benignant to the serf and slave,
He showed the base and falsely brave
A lion's rage.
TRA NSLA TIONS.
His was Octavian's prosperous star,
The rush of Cesar's conquering car
At battle'
His, Scipio' his, the skill
And the indomitable will
Of Hannibal.
His was a Trajan's goodness,-his
A Titus' noble charities
The arm of Hector, and the might
Of Tully, to maintain the right
The clemency of Antonine,
Aurelius' countenance divine,
Firm, gentle,
The eloquence of Adrian,
And Theodosius' love to man,
COPLAS 1)- M4ANRIQ UP.
In tented field and bloody fray,
An Alexander's vigorous sway
The faith of C ay, more,
The fervent love Camillus bore
His native land.
He left no well-filled treasury,
He heaped no pile of riches high,
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
And there the warrior's hand did gain
The rents, and the long vassal train,
The conquered gave.
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'
But with fresh victories he drew
Each fading character anew
In his old age.
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
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
WLet Portugal repeat the story,
And proud Castile, who shared the glory
His arms deserved,
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'
And done such deeds of valor strong,
That neither history nor song
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
Let thy strong heart of steel this day
Put on its armor for the fray,The closing scene,
COPLAS DE MAVRIQ UE.
"Since thou hast been, in battle-strife,
So prodigal of health and life,
For earthly fame,
Let virtue n
Loud on the last stern battle-plain
They call thy name.
Think not the struggle that draws near
Too terrible for man,-nor fear
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
And yet its glory far exceeds
That base and sensual life, which leads
To want and shame,
9TR 4ANS~A TIONS.
The eternal life, beyond the sky,
Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high
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,
And the brave knight, whose arm endures
Fierce battle, and against the Moors
His standard rears.
And thou, brave knight, whose hand has
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,
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,
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
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 A& moSF he ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"0 thou, that for our sins didst take
A human form, and humbly make
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,
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
Encircled by his family,
Watched by affection's gentle eye
COPLA4S DE MA4JRIQ UE9
His soul to Him, who gave it,
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.
T03? ANSL A, TIOA S.
"Our days are covered o'er with grief,
And sorrows neither few nor brief
Left desolate of real good,
Within this cheerless solitude
No pleasures bloom.
"Thy pilgrimage begins in tears
And ends in bitter doubts and fears,
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,
Fleet-footed is the approach of woe,
But with a lingering step and slow
Its form departs."
:- -.1::.1.
THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA.
SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous sylvani
Hast broken the slumber which encompassed
That mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree,
On which thy powerful arms were stretched
Lead me to mercy's ever-
For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt
I will obey thy voice, and wait to see
Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.
TRA NSIA TIONS.
Hear, Shepherd!-thou who for thy flock art
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!
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
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
If my ingratitude's unkindly frost
Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy
How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
I ANRASLSA tIOiS.
"Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt
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."
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'
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,
________________
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.
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
Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast
To cheer life's flowery April,
Yet, in the hoary winter of my days,
Forever green shall be my trust in Hleaven.
Celestial King! 0 let thy presence pass
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.
THE BROOK.
FROM THE SPANISH.
LAUGH of the mountain!-lyre of bird and
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
herd's gaze.
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent
As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye
TR A4NSL,A TIO-AS.
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles
IHow, without malice murmuring, glides thy
0 sweet simplicity of days gone by!
Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in
limpid fount!
THE CELESTIAL PILOT
FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO. II.
AND nlow, behold! as at the approach of
Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery
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
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.
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
But, when he clearly recognized the pilot.
H "Quick, quick, and bow the
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
"See, how he holds them, pointed straight to
Fanning the air with the eternal pinions,
That do not moult themselves like mortal
THE CEIESTIAL P0OT.
And then, as nearer and more near us came
The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he ap.
So that the eye could not sustain his presence,
But down I 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.
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,
THE TERRESTR~AZ PARADISE.
Whereat the tremulous branches readily
Did all of them bow downward towards that
Where its first shadow casts the Holy M
Yet not from their upright direction bent
So that the little birds upon their tops
Should cease the practice
But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime
Singing received they in the midst of foliage
That made monotonous burden to their
Even as from branch to branch it gathering
Through the pine forests on the shore of
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
And lo! my farther course cut off a river,
\Which,*towards the left hand, with its little
Bent down the grass, that on its margin sprang.
All waters that on earth most limpid are,
Would seem to have within themselves some
Compared with that, which nothing doth con
Although it moves on with a brown, brown
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,
Shall rise up quickened, each one from his
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.
T Benediclus fui venis,"
And scattering flowers above and round about,
"Manibus o date lilia pilenis."
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
And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed,
So that, by temperate influence of vapors,
The eye sustained his a
Thuts in the bosom of a cloud of flowers,
Which from those hands angelic were thrown
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, -- -
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
But, when I heard in those sweet melodies
Compassion for me, more than had they said,
" O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume
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
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't is dis
Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow,
And with less force the
So I gave way under this heavy burden,
Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs,
And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its pas
v_^Ps zr-7+r.,l-2
~~F~; Tut or rV~r
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
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.
-&swiF&SW~~~~~~~~~~~~a~,;_
4A-SL,T4.t OVS.
Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
Their beards
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
We must cower
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 wi
But, Heaven be praised,
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
Sleep, 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
I watch to see thee, nourish thee,'T is sweet to watch for thee,-alone for
TRANSLA TIONS.
H he sleeps, nor dreams
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,
Would you not say he slept on Death's
Awake, my boy!-I tremble with affright!
Awake, and chase this fatal thought!
Thine eye but for one moment on the light!
Even at the price of thine, give me repose!
Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep be
O! 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 wert 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
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards,
I ________________________
TR4-ANSLA TIONS.
Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
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,
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,
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,
Who will ever see
How that house pleaseth thee
Who will ever open
And descend after thee,
The door for thee
For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.
THE G. R, 4 VE.
KING CHRISTIAN.
A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK.
FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNER ELALD.
KING CHRISTIAN stood by the lofty mast
His sword was hammering so fast,
Through Gothic helm
Then sank each hostile hulk and mast,
In mist and smoke.
'" Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can!
Who braves of Denmark's Christian
The stroke?"
KING CH.RIS IA14.
Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar,
Now is the hour!
He hoisted his blood-red flag once more,
And smote upon the foe full sore,
And shouted loud, through the tempest's oar
"Now is the hour!"
"Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter fly!
Of Denmark's Juel who can defy
The power?"
North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent
Thy murky sky!
Then champions to
Terror and Death
From the waves was heard a wail, that rent
Thy murky sky!
From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol';
Let each to Heaven commend his soul,
Path of the Dane to fame and might!
Dark-rolling wave!
TRA4ZANSLATIONS.
Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight,
Goes to meet danger with despite,
Proudly as thou the tempest's might,
Dark-rolling wave!
And amid pleasures and alarms,
And war and victory, be thine arms
My grave! *
* Nills Juel was a celebrated Danish Admiral, and
Peder Wessel, a Vice-Admiral, who for his great prowess received the popular title of Tordenskiold, or Thunders-shield. In childhood he was a tailor's apprentice,
and rose to his high rank before the age of twenty-eight,
when he was killed in a duel.
THE HAPPIEST LAND.
AGMENT 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,
Then sat they all so calm and still,
And spake not one rude word.
T4TRANSLA TIONS.
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
With all the stout and hardy men
And the nut-brown maidens there."
"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,
And dashed
"I had rather live in Lapland,'
Than that Swabian land of thine!
"The goodliest land on all the earth,
It is the Saxon land!
There have I as many maidens
As fingers on this hand!"
THE HAPPIEST 4AND. Z
"Hold your tongues! both Swabian and
"If there's a heaven upon this earth,
In Bohemia it lies.
"There the tailor blows the flute,
And the cobler blows the horn,
And the miner blows the bugle,
Over mountain gorge and bourn."
And then the landlord's daughter
Up to heaven raised her hand,
And said, "Ye may no more contend,
There lies the happiest land!"
FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE.
"WHITHER, thou turbid wave?
Whither, with so much haste,
As if a thief wert thou?"
"I am the Wave of Life,
Stained with my margin'
From the struggle and the strife
Of the narrow stream I fly
To the Sea's immensity,
To wash from me the slime
Of the muddy banks of Time."
FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK.
How they so softly rest,
All, all the holy dead,
Unto whose dwelling-place
Now doth my soul draw neat
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,
R A NSRAL,4 TIONS.
Here, where all gladness flies!
And, by the cypresses
Softly o'ershadowed,
Until the Angel
Calls them, they slumber I
__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~- I
THE BIRD AND THE SHIP.
FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER.
"THE rivers rush into the sea,
The winds behind them merrily
Their noisy trumpets blow.
"The clouds are passing far and high,
And every thing, that can sing and fly,
Goes with us, and far away.
....... 71'.......~.......~...-~
L,4A TIOZVS.
"I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence,
With thy fluttering golden band? ""I greet, fhee, little bird! To the wide sea
I haste from the narrow land.
"Full and s
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 all."
"I need not and seek not company,
Bonny boat, I
For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,
Bonny boat, I have wings of my own.
HR-E PIR?D AAzD Tr-P
"High over 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,
And this same song, my whole life long,
Neither Poet nor Printer may know."
I__ ___ __
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,
But I must hasten downward,
All with my pilgrim-
~~~~~~~~___________________________
Downward, and ever farther,
And ever fresher murmured,
And ever clearer, the tide.
Is this the way I was going?
Whither, O brooklet, say!
Thlou hast, with thy soft murmur,
Murmured my senses away.
What do I say of a murmur?
'T is the water-nymphs, that are singing
Their roundelays under me.
Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,
The wheels of a mill are going
In every broQklet clear,
e n____________________________
FROM THE GERMAN.
I KNOW a maiden fair to see,
Take care!
She can both false and friendly be,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
She has two eyes, so soft and brown,
Take care!
She gives a side-glance and looks down,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
And she has hair of a golden hue,
Take care!
And what she says, it is not true,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
She has a bosom as white as snow,
Take care!
She knows how much it is best to show,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
She gives thee a garland woven fair,
Take care!
It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
BE W,4-R-F.
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!
Tellest thou at evening,
Bed-time draweth nigh!
Bell! thou
Tellest thou the bitter
Parting hath gone by!
SONG OF THE BELL.
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 he cannot fathom!
Placed within thy form!
When the heart is sinking,
Thou alone canst raise it,
Trembling in the storm!
-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Ir
THE CASTLE BY THIE SEA.
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
And fain it would soar upward
In the evening's crimson glow,"
I_______________________________________________________________
THE CASTLE BY THSL S~'A.
"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 the waves of ocean,
They rested quietly,
But I heard on the gale a 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?
I______________ il
TRAB S~ A LT[ONS.
"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,
* They were moving slow, in weeds of woe,
No maiden was by their side!"
THE BLACK KNIGHT.
FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.
'T WAS Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness,
When woods and fields put off all sadness.
Thus began the K
"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 K
In the play of spears,
Fell all the cavaliers,
Before the monarch's stalwart son.
— = z ~~~~~~~~~~U
7:4RANSL A TIONS.
To the barrier of the fight
Rode at last a sable Knight,
" Sir Knight! your name
"Should I speak it here,
Ye would stand aghast with fe
I'm a Prince of mighty swa
When he rode into the lists,
The arch of heaven grew black with mists
And the castle'gan to rock.
At the first blow,
Fell the youth from saddle-bow,
Hardly rises from the slhock.
Pipe and viol call the dances,
Torch-light through th
With manner bland
Doth ask the maiden's hand,
Doth with her the dance begin,
—., -------
and scut'cheon,
CA 7CKiG A
Danced in sable iron sark,
Danced a measure weird and dark,
Coldly clasped her limbs around.
From breast and hair
Down fall from her the fair
Flowerets, faded, to the ground.
To the sumptuous banquet came
Every Knight and every Dame.
'Twixt son and daughter all distraught,
With mournful mind
The ancient King reclined,
Gazed at them in silent thought.
Pale the children both did look,
"Golden wine will make you whole!
The children drank,
"0 that draught was very cool!"
-R TATNSL A TIOZS.
Each the father's breast em...,
S and their faces
Colorless grow utterly.
Whichever way
Looks the fear-struck father gray,
He beholds his children die.
"Woe! the blessed children both
Takest thou
Take me, too, the joyless father! "
Spake the grim Guest,
From his hollow,
"Roses in the spring I gather I "
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, O 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!.
14TPzAVSZA TIoNS.
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land!
For all tile brokenhearted
The mildest herald by our fate allotted,
Beckons, and with inverted