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第iii页 - O 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. WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the Night Wake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy,
第70页 - 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! THE CELESTIAL PILOT. FROM DANTE.
第94页 - 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's dust; 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.
第78页 - 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, 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,
第44页 - great And gallant Master, — cruel fate Stripped him of all. Breathe not a whisper of his pride, — He on the gloomy scaffold died, Ignoble fall ! 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
第48页 - Manrique, — he whose name Is written on the scroll of Fame, Spain's champion ; 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
第73页 - 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.
第59页 - Its glorious rest! And, though 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 monk, Rodrigo de
第3页 - 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,