« 上一页继续 »
COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.
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,
* This poem of Manrique is a great favorite in Spain. No less than four poetic Glosses, or running commen. taries, upon it have been published, no one of which, however, possesses great poetic merit. That of the Car thusian monk, Rodrigo de Valdepenas, is the best. It is known as the Glosa del Cartujo. 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:
"O World! so few the years we live,
Would that the life which thou dost give
Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast,
Our happiest hour is when at last
"Our days are covered o'er with grief,
And sorrows neither few nor brief
Veil all in gloom;
Left desolate of real good,
Within this cheerless solitude
No pleasures bloom.
"Thy pilgrimage begins in tears.
And ends in bitter doubts and tears
Or dark despair;
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,
And weary hearts;
Fleet-footed is the approach of wor
But with a lingering step and slow
Its form departs."
THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA.
SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous, sylvan
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-flowing fountains; For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt
I will obey thy voice, and wait to see
Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.
Hear, Shepherd -thou who for thy flock art
O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou
O, wait!—to thee my weary soul is crying,-
still for me!
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,
If my ingratitude's unkindly frost
Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy
How oft my guardian angel gently cried,