This virtue comes not from the stars above, Till round it the ennobling sun has shone;But when his powerful blaze Has drawn forth what was vile, the stars impart Strange virtue in their rays;And thus when Nature doth create the heart Noble and pure and high, Like virtue from the star, love comes from woman's eye.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE
SONG
BY GIL VICENTE
If thou art sleeping, maiden, Awake and open thy door, 'T is the break of day, and we must away, O'er meadow, and mount, and moor.
Wait not to find thy slippers, But come with thy naked feet;We shall have to pass through the dewy grass, And waters wide and fleet.
FROM EASTERN SOURCES
THE FUGITIVE
A TARTAR SONG
I
"He is gone to the desert land I can see the shining mane Of his horse on the distant plain, As he rides with his Kossak band!
"Come back, rebellious one!
Let thy proud heart relent;
Come back to my tall, white tent, Come back, my only son!
"Thy hand in freedom shall Cast thy hawks, when morning breaks, On the swans of the Seven Lakes, On the lakes of Karajal.
"I will give thee leave to stray And pasture thy hunting steeds In the long grass and the reeds Of the meadows of Karaday.
"I will give thee my coat of mail, Of softest leather made, With choicest steel inlaid;Will not all this prevail?"
II
"This hand no longer shall Cast my hawks, when morning breaks, On the swans of the Seven Lakes, On the lakes of Karajal.
"I will no longer stray And pasture my hunting steeds In the long grass and the reeds Of the meadows of Karaday.
"Though thou give me thy coat of mall, Of softest leather made, With choicest steel inlaid, All this cannot prevail.
"What right hast thou, O Khan, To me, who am mine own, Who am slave to God alone, And not to any man?
"God will appoint the day When I again shall be By the blue, shallow sea, Where the steel-bright sturgeons play.
"God, who doth care for me, In the barren wilderness, On unknown hills, no less Will my companion be.
"When I wander lonely and lost In the wind; when I watch at night Like a hungry wolf, and am white And covered with hoar-frost;"Yea, wheresoever I be, In the yellow desert sands, In mountains or unknown lands, Allah will care for me!"III
Then Sobra, the old, old man,--
Three hundred and sixty years Had he lived in this land of tears, Bowed down and said, "O Khan!
"If you bid me, I will speak.
There's no sap in dry grass, No marrow in dry bones! Alas, The mind of old men is weak!
"I am old, I am very old:
I have seen the primeval man, I have seen the great Gengis Khan, Arrayed in his robes of gold.
"What I say to you is the truth;
And I say to you, O Khan, Pursue not the star-white man, Pursue not the beautiful youth.
"Him the Almighty made, And brought him forth of the light, At the verge and end of the night, When men on the mountain prayed.
"He was born at the break of day, When abroad the angels walk;He hath listened to their talk, And he knoweth what they say.
"Gifted with Allah's grace, Like the moon of Ramazan When it shines in the skies, O Khan, Is the light of his beautiful face.
"When first on earth he trod, The first words that he said Were these, as he stood and prayed, There is no God but God!
"And he shall be king of men, For Allah hath heard his prayer, And the Archangel in the air, Gabriel, hath said, Amen!"THE SIEGE OF KAZAN
Black are the moors before Kazan, And their stagnant waters smell of blood:
I said in my heart, with horse and man, I will swim across this shallow flood.
Under the feet of Argamack, Like new moons were the shoes he bare, Silken trappings hung on his back, In a talisman on his neck, a prayer.
My warriors, thought I, are following me;But when I looked behind, alas!
Not one of all the band could I see, All had sunk in the black morass!
Where are our shallow fords? and where The power of Kazan with its fourfold gates?
From the prison windows our maidens fair Talk of us still through the iron grates.
We cannot hear them; for horse and man Lie buried deep in the dark abyss!
Ah! the black day hath come down on Kazan!
Ah! was ever a grief like this?
THE BOY AND THE BROOK
Down from yon distant mountain height The brooklet flows through the village street;A boy comes forth to wash his hands, Washing, yes washing, there he stands, In the water cool and sweet.
Brook, from what mountain dost thou come, O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I come from yon mountain high and cold, Where lieth the new snow on the old, And melts in the summer heat.
Brook, to what river dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the river there below Where in bunches the violets grow, And sun and shadow meet.
Brook, to what garden dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the garden in the vale Where all night long the nightingale Her love-song doth repeat.
Brook, to what fountain dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the fountain at whose brink The maid that loves thee comes to drink, And whenever she looks therein, I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin, And my joy is then complete.
TO THE STORK
Welcome, O Stork! that dost wing Thy flight from the far-away!
Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring, Thou hast made our sad hearts gay.
Descend, O Stork! descend Upon our roof to rest;In our ash-tree, O my friend, My darling, make thy nest.
To thee, O Stork, I complain, O Stork, to thee I impart The thousand sorrows, the pain And aching of my heart.
When thou away didst go, Away from this tree of ours, The withering winds did blow, And dried up all the flowers.
Dark grew the brilliant sky, Cloudy and dark and drear;They were breaking the snow on high, And winter was drawing near.
From Varaca's rocky wall, From the rock of Varaca unrolled, the snow came and covered all, And the green meadow was cold.
O Stork, our garden with snow Was hidden away and lost, Mid the rose-trees that in it grow Were withered by snow and frost.
FROM THE LATIN
VIRGIL'S FIRST ECLOGUE
MELIBOEUS.
Tityrus, thou in the shade of a spreading beech-tree reclining, Meditatest, with slender pipe, the Muse of the woodlands.