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THE BROOK. Laugh of the mountain !-lyre of bird and tree! Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn! The soul of April, unto whom are born The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee! Although, where'er thy devious current strays, The lap of earth with gold and silver teems, To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems Than golden sands that charm each shepherd's gaze. 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!
SANTA TERESA'S BOOK-MARK.
FROM SANTA TERESA.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
Awake, and open thy door:
O’er meadow, and mount, and moor.
But come with thy naked feet:
And waters wide and feet.
FROM LOPE DE VEG
LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care,
THE NATIVE LAND.
FROM FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. CLEAR fount of light! my native land on high, Bright with a glory that shall never fade! Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade, Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye. There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, Gasping no longer for life's feeble breath; But sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death. Beloved country! banished from thy shore, A stranger in this prison-house of clay, The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee! Heavenward the bright perfections I adore Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.
THE IMAGE OF GOD.
FROM FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height, Centred in one the future and the past, Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast The world obscures in me what once was bright! Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast given To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays; Yet, in the hoary winter of my days, For ever green shall be my trust in Heaven. Celestial King! O let thy presence pass Before my spirit, and an image fair Shall meet that look of mercy from on high, As the reflected image in a glass Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, And owes its being to the gazer's eye.
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE ITALIAN.
THE CELESTIAL PILOT.
FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, II.
And now, behold! as at the approach of morning,
Appeared to me-may I again behold it!-
Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared
My master yet had uttered not a word,
“ See how he scorns all human arguments,
So that no oar he wants, nor other sail
“See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven, Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, That do not moult themselves like mortal hair !"
And then, as nearer and more near us came
But down I cast it; and he came to shore
Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot!
“ In exitu Israel de Ægypto !”
Thus sang they altogether in one voice,
THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE.
FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII.
LONGING already to search in and round
Withouten more delay I left the bank,
A gently-breathing air, that no mutation
Yet not from their upright direction bent
But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime
Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells, Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, When Æolus unlooses the Sirocco.
Already my slow steps had led me on
And lo! my farther course cut off a river
All waters that on earth most limpid are,
Although it moves on with a brown, brown current,
FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX. XXXI.
EVEN as the Blessèd, at the final summons
So, upon that celestial chariot,