THE JOURNEY OF LIFE.

BENEATH the waning moon I walk at night,
And muse on human life-for all around
Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight,
And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground,
And broken gleams of brightness, here and there,
Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air.

The trampled earth returns a sound of fear-
A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs;
And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear
Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms.
A mournful wind across the landscape flies,
And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs.

And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on,
Watching the stars that roll the hours away,
Till the faint light that guides me now is gone,
And, like another life, the glorious day
Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height,
With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light.

TRANSLATIONS.

VERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMONIDES.

THE night winds howled-the billows dashed
Against the tossing chest;

As Danaë to her broken heart
Her slumbering infant pressed.

"My little child"-in tears she said-
"To wake and weep is mine,
But thou canst sleep-thou dost not know
Thy mother's lot, and thine.

"The moon is up, the moonbeams smile-
They tremble on the main ;
But dark, within my floating cell,
To me they smile in vain.

"Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm,
Thy clustering locks are dry,
Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust,

Nor breakers booming high.

"As o'er thy sweet unconscious face
A mournful watch I keep,

I think, didst thou but know thy fate,
How thou wouldst also weep.

"Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds
That vex the restless brine-

When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed
As peacefully as thine!"

FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS.

"TIS sweet, in the green Spring, To gaze upon the wakening fields around; Birds in the thicket sing,

Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground; A thousand odors rise,

Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes.

Shadowy, and close, and cool,

The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook;
For ever fresh and full,

Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook;
And the soft herbage seems

Spread for a place of banquets and of dreams.

Thou, who alone art fair,
And whom alone I love, art far away.
Unless thy smile be there,

It makes me sad to see the earth so gay;
I care not if the train

Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again.

MARY MAGDALEN.

157

MARY MAGDALEN.

FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA.

BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted!
The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,
In wonder and in scorn!

Thou weepest days of innocence departed;
Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move
The Lord to pity and love.

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,

Even for the least of all the tears that shine
On that pale cheek of thine.

Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven,
Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise
Holy, and pure, and wise.

It is not much that to the fragrant blossom
The ragged brier should change; the bitter fir,
Distil Arabian myrrh!

Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom,

The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain Bear home the abundant grain.

But come and see the bleak and barren mountains
Thick to their tops with roses: come and see
Leaves on the dry dead tree:

The perished plant, set out by living fountains,
Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise,
For ever, towards the skies.

THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE LEON.

REGION of life and light!

Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er!
Nor frost nor heat may blight

Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore,
Tielding thy blessed fruits for evermore.

There, without crook or sling,

Walks the good shepherd; blossoms white and red Round his meek temples cling;

And to sweet pastures led,

His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed.

He guides, and near him they
Follow delighted, for he makes them go
Where dwells eternal May,

And heavenly roses blow,
Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.

He leads them to the height
Named of the infinite and long-sought Good,
And fountains of delight;

And where his feet have stood

Springs up, along the way, their tender food.

And when, in the mid skies,

The climbing sun has reached his highest bound, Reposing as he lies,

With all his flock around,

He witches the still air with numerous sound.