« 上一页继续 »
COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.
FROM THE SPANISH.
O LET the soul her slumbers break,
Let thought be quickened, and awake;
How soon this life is past and gone,
And death comes softly stealing on,
Swiftly our pleasures glide away,
Our hearts recall the distant day
With many sighs;
The moments that are speeding fast
We heed not, but the past,-the past,-
Onward its course the present keeps,
And, did we judge of time aright,
The past and future in their flight
Let no one fondly dream again,
Fleeting as were the dreams of old,
Remembered like a tale that's told,
Our lives are rivers, gliding free
To that unfathomed, boundless sea,
The silent grave!
Thither all earthly pomp and boast.
In one dark wave,
COPLAS DE MANRIQUE
Thither the mighty torrents stray,
There all are equal. Side by side
I will not here invoke the throng
Of orators and sons of song,
The deathless few;
Fiction entices and deceives,
And, sprinkled o'er her fragrant leaves,
Lies poisonous dew.
To One alone my thoughts arise,
The Eternal Truth,-the Good and Wis
To Him I cry,
Who shared on earth our common lot,
But the world comprehended not