"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.
"Cheered onward by this 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 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, O, 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;His soul to Him, who gave it, rose;
God lead it to its long repose, Its glorious rest!
And, though the warrior's sun has set, Its light shall linger round us yet, Bright, radiant, blest.
SONNETS
I
THE GOOD SHEPHERD
(EL BUEN PASTOR)
BY LOPE DE VEGA
Shepherd! who with thine amorous, sylvan song Hast broken the slumber that encompassed me, Who mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long!
Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains;For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be;I will obey thy voice, and wait to see Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.
Hear, Shepherd! thou who for thy flock art dying, O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow.
O, 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!
II
TO-MORROW
(MANANA)
BY 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?
O strange delusion! that I did not greet Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven how lost, If my ingratitude's unkindly frost Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet.
How oft my guardian angel gently cried, "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!"And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open," I replied, And when the morrow came I answered still "To-morrow."III
THE NATIVE LAND
(EL PATRIO CIELO)
BY 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, sentinelled 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.
IV
THE IMAGE OF GOD
(LA IMAGEN DE DIOS)
BY FRANCISCO DE ALDANA
O Lord! who 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 Heaven.
Celestial King! O let thy presence pass 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.
V
THE BROOK
(A UN ARROYUELO)
ANONYMOUS
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 shepherd's gaze.
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count!
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current!
O sweet simplicity of days gone by!
Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount!
ANCIENT SPANISH BALLADS.
In the chapter with this title in Outre-Mer, besides Illustrations from Byron and Lockhart are the three following examples, contributed by Mr.Longfellow.
I
Rio Verde, Rio Verde!
Many a corpse is bathed in thee, Both of Moors and eke of Christians, Slain with swords most cruelly.
And thy pure and crystal waters Dappled are with crimson gore;For between the Moors and Christians Long has been the fight and sore.
Dukes and Counts fell bleeding near thee, Lords of high renown were slain, Perished many a brave hidalgo Of the noblemen of Spain.
II