THE ELOCUTIONIST'S ANNUAL. NUMBER 6. RELENTLESS TIME. TRANSLATION FROM THE SPANISH, ABRIDGED. 0 LET the soul her slumbers break, Let thought be quickened and awake: How soon this life is past and gone, Swiftly our pleasures glide away, The moments that are speeding fast Our lives are rivers, gliding free Thither all earthly pomp and boast 9 Thither the mighty torrents stray, There all are equal,-side by side Our cradle is the starting-place, When, in the mansions of the blest, Did we but use it as we ought, This world would school each wandering thought Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, Behold of what delusive worth Amid a world of treachery! They vanish ere death shuts the eye, The cunning skill, the curious arts, These shall become a heavy weight, When time swings wide his outward gate The noble blood of Gothic name, How, in the onward course of time," Wealth and the high estate of pride, Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay, Earthly desires and sensual lust But, in the life beyond the tomb, The pleasures and delights, which mask But the fleet coursers of the chase, No foe, no dangerous pass we heed, And when the fatal snare is near, Could we new charms to age impart, As we can clothe the soul with light, How busily each passing hour To deck the sensual slave of sin, Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, Famous in history and in song Of olden time, Saw, by the stern decrees of fate, Who is the champion? who the strong? As heavily the hand of Death, O World! so few the years we live! Would that the life which thou dost give Were life indeed! Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour is when at last The soul is freed. Our pilgrimage begins in tears, Midway so many toils appear, Our goods are bought with many a groan, Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, A life of honor and of worth 'Tis but a name; And yet its glory far exceeds That base and sensual life, which leads This world is but the rugged road So let us choose that narrow way, HENRY W. Longfellow. |