COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.

By his unrivaled skill, by great

And veteran service to the state,

By worth adored,

He stood, in his high dignity,
The proudest knight of chivalry,
Knight of the Sword.

He found his villas and domains
Beneath a tyrant's galling chains
And cruel power;

But, by fierce battle and blockade,
Soon his own banner was displayed
From every tower.

By the tried valor of his hand,

His monarch and his native land

Were nobly served;

Let Portugal repeat the story,

And proud Castile, who shared the glory

His arms deserved.

93

And when so oft, for weal or woe,

His life upon the fatal throw

Had been cast down;

When he had served, with patriot zeal, Beneath the banner of Castile,

His sovereign's crown;

And done such deeds of valor strong,
That neither history nor song

Can count them all;

Then, on Ocana's castled rock,

Death at his portal came to knock,
With sudden call,-

Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare
To leave this world of toil and care

With joyful mien;

Let thy strong heart of steel this day

Put on its armor for the fray,

The closing scene.

COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.

"Since thou hast been, in battle-strife,

So prodigal of health and life,

For earthly fame,

Let virtue nerve thy heart again;
Loud on the last stern battle-plain
They call thy name.

To meet the foe;

Nor let thy noble spirit grieve,

Its life of glorious fame to leave
On earth below.

95

"Think not the struggle that draws near Too terrible for man,―nor fear

A life of honor and of worth

Has no eternity on earth,—

'T is but a name;

And yet its glory far exceeds

That base and sensual life, which leads

To want and shame.

"The eternal life, beyond the sky,

Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high

And proud estate;

The soul in dalliance laid,-the spirit
Corrupt with sin,-shall not inherit
A joy so great.

But the good monk, in cloistered cell,
Shall gain it by his book and bell,

His prayers and tears;

And the brave knight, whose arm endures
Fierce battle, and against the Moors
His standard rears.

And thou, brave knight, whose hand has

poured

The life-blood of the Pagan horde

O'er all the land,

In heaven shalt thou receive, at length,

The guerdon of thine earthly strength
And dauntless hand.

46

COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.

Cheered onward by his promise sure.
Strong in the faith entire and pure
Thou dost profess,

Depart, thy hope is certainty,-
The third-the better life on high
Shalt thou possess."

O Death, no more, no more delay
My spirit longs to flee away,

And be at rest;

The will of Heaven my will shall be.

I bow to the divine decree,

To God's behest.

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My soul is ready to depart,

No thought rebels, the obedient heart

Breathes forth no sigh;

The wish on earth to linger still

Were vain, when 't is God's sovereign will That we shall die.