And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie ;

And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die.

And realms shall be desolved, and empires be no more, And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore ;

And the great globe itself (so the holy writings tell), With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell,

Shall melt with fervent heat-they shall all pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for ay.

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FROM THE SPANISH OF PEDRO DE
CASTRO Y ANAYA

STAY, rivulet, nor haste to leave

The lovely vale that lies around thee.
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,

When but a fount the morning found thee?
Born when the skies began to glow,
Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters,
No blossom bowed its stalk to show
Where stole thy still and scanty waters.
Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,
Usurping, as thou downward driftest,
Its crystal from the clearest brook,

Its rushing current from the swiftest.
Ah! what wild haste !-and all to be
A river and expire in ocean.

Each fountain's tribute hurries thee

To that vast grave with quicker motion.
Far better 'twere to linger still

In this green vale, these flowers to cherish,
And die in peace, an aged rill,

Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish.

SONNET

FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF SEMEDO

It is a fearful night; a feeble glare

Streams from the sick moon in the o'erclouded sky;
The ridgy billows, with a mighty cry,

Rush on the foamy beaches wild and bare;
No bark the madness of the waves will dare;
The sailors sleep; the winds are loud and high ;
Ah, peerless Laura ! for whose love I die,
Who gazes on thy smiles while I despair?
As thus, in bitterness of heart, I cried,

I turned, and saw my Laura, kind and bright,
A messenger of gladness, at my side:
To my poor bark she sprang with footstep light,
And as we furrowed Tago's heaving tide,
I never saw so beautiful a night.

ΙΟ

SONG

FROM THE SPANISH OF IGLESIAS

ALEXIS calls me cruel;

The rifted crags that hold
The gathered ice of winter,
He says, are not more cold.

When even the very blossoms
Around the fountain's brim,
And forest walks, can witness
The love I bear to him.

I would that I could utter

My feelings without shame;
And tell him how I love him,
Nor wrong my virgin fame.

ΙΟ

Alas! to seize the moment
When heart inclines to heart,
And press a suit with passion,
Is not a woman's part.

If man come not to gather

The roses where they stand,
They fade among their foliage;
They cannot seek his hand.

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THE COUNT OF GREIERS

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND

AT morn the Count of Greiers before his castle stands; He sees afar the glory that lights the mountain lands; The hornèd crags are shining, and in the shade between A pleasant Alpine valley lies beautifully green.

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Oh, greenest of the valleys, how shall I come to thee! Thy herdsmen and thy maidens, how happy must they

be!

I have gazed upon thee coldly, all lovely as thou art, But the wish to walk thy pastures now stirs my inmost heart.'

He hears a sound of timbrels, and suddenly appear
A troop of ruddy damsels and herdsmen drawing near;
They reach the castle greensward, and gaily dance

across;

II

The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the wreaths and ribands toss.

The youngest of the maidens, slim as a spray of spring, She takes the young count's fingers, and draws him to

the ring,

They fling upon his forehead a crown of mountain flowers, And ho, young Count of Greiers! this morning thou

art ours.'

Then hand in hand departing, with dance and roundelay, Through hamlet after hamlet they lead the count away. They dance through wood and meadow, they dance across the linn,

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Till the mighty Alpine summits have shut the music in.

The second morn is risen, and now the third is come; Where stays the Count of Greiers? has he forgot his home?

Again, the evening closes, in thick and sultry air; There's thunder on the mountains, the storm is gathering there.

The cloud has shed its waters, the brook comes swollen down;

You see it by the lightning—a river wide and brown. Around a struggling swimmer the eddies dash and roar, Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps upon the shore.

Here am I cast by tempests far from your mountain dell,

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Amid our evening dances the bursting deluge fell.
Ye all, in cots and caverns, have 'scaped the water-spout,
While me alone the tempest o'erwhelmed and hurried

out.

'Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vale among the rocks!

Farewell the swift sweet moments in which I watched thy flocks!

Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious spot, That garden of the happy, where Heaven endures me not?

Rose of the Alpine valley! I feel, in every vein, The soft touch on my fingers; oh, press them not again! Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that upward track, And thou, my cheerless mansion, receive thy master

back.'

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THE SERENADE

FROM THE SPANISH

Ir slumber, sweet Lisena!
Have stolen o'er thine eyes,
As night steals o'er the glory
Of spring's transparent skies;

Wake, in thy scorn and beauty,
And listen to the strain
That murmurs my devotion,
That mourns for thy disdain.

Here by thy door at midnight
I pass the dreary hour,
With plaintive sounds profaning
The silence of thy bower;

A tale of sorrow cherished
Too fondly to depart,

Of wrong from love the flatterer,
And my own wayward heart.

Twice, o'er this vale, the seasons
Have brought and borne away
The January tempest,

The genial wind of May;

Yet still my plaint is uttered,
My tears and sighs are given
To earth's unconscious waters
And wandering winds of heaven.

I saw, from this fair region,
The smile of summer pass,
And myriad frost-stars glitter
Among the russet grass.

ΤΟ

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