Onward its course the present keeps, And, did we judge of time aright, Let no one fondly dream again, Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Our lives are rivers, gliding free Thither all earthly pomp and boast Thither the mighty torrents stray, There all are equal; side by side I will not here invoke the throng Fiction entices and deceives, And, sprinkled o'er her fragrant leaves, To One alone my thoughts arise, To Him I ory, Who shared on earth our common lot, But the world comprehended not This world is but the rugged road So let us choose that narrow way, Our cradle is the starting-place, When, in the mansions of the blest, Death leaves to its eternal rest The weary soul. Did we but use it as we ought, dering thought To its high state. Faith wings the soul beyond the sky, Yes, the glad messenger of love, Born amid mortal cares and fears, Behold of what delusive worth Amid a world of treachery! Time steals them from us, chances strange, Disastrous accident, and change, Even in the most exalted state, Tell me, the charms that lovers seek O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, The cunning skill, the curious arts, The glorious strength that youth imparts In life's first stage; These shall become a heavy weight, The noble blood of Gothic name, How, in the onward course of time, Some, the degraded slaves of lust, Others, by guilt and crime, maintain Wealth and the high estate of pride, With what untimely speed they glide, How soon depart! This world would school each wan- Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay, The vassals of a mistress they, Of fickle heart. * These gifts in Fortune's hands are found; Her swift revolving wheel turns round, And they are gone! No rest the inconstant goddess knows, But changing, and without repose, Still hurries on. Even could the hand of avarice save Let none on such poor hopes rely; 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, Saw, by the stern decrees of fate, Who is the champion? who the strong? Pontiffand priest, and sceptred throng? On these shall fall As heavily the hand of Death, Neither its glory nor its shame Has met our eyes; Nor of Rome's great and glorious dead, Though we have heard so oft, and read, Their histories. Little avails it now to know Of ages passed so long ago, Where is the King, Don Juan? Where Where are the courtly gallantries? Tourney and joust, that charmed the She, that had been his friend before, The countless gifts, the stately walls, Plate with armorial bearings wrought, The noble steeds, and harness bright, And gallant lord, and stalwart knight, In rich array, Where shall we seek them now? Alas! Like the bright dewdrops on the grass, They passed away. His brother, too, whose factious zeal, What a gay, brilliant court had he, But he was mortal; and the breath, Spain's haughty Constable, the true Breathe not a whisper of his pride, The countless treasures of his care, What were they all but grief and shame, His other brothers, proud and high, Who made the bravest and the best What was their prosperous estate So many a duke of royal name, That might the sword of empire wield, All these, O Death, hast thou concealed. In the dark grave! Their deeds of mercy and of arms, O Death, thy stern and angry face, Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, High battlements intrenched around, And covered trench, secure and deep; When thou dost battle in thy wrath, O World! so few the years we live, Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our days are covered o'er with grief, Left desolate of real good, Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, Midway so many toils appear, Thy goods are bought with many a His signal deeds and prowess high To friends a friend; how kind to all To foes how stern a foe was he! What prudence with the old and wise; Benignant to the serf and slave, He showed the base and falsely brave His was Octavian's prosperous star, His, Scipio's virtue; his, the skill His was a Trajan's goodness, his The arm of Hector, and the might The clemency of Antonine, And Theodosius' love to man, In tented field and bloody fray, The faith of Constantine; ay, more, He left no well-filled treasury, He heaped no pile of riches high, He fought the Moors, and, in their fall, Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, And there the warrior's hand did gain The rents, and the long vassal train, That conquest gave. By his unrivalled skill, by great He stood, in his high dignity, He found his cities and domains But, by fierce battle and blockade, By the tried valour of his hand, Let Portugal repeat the story, His arms deserved. And when so oft, for weal or woe, Had been cast down; When he had served with patriot zeal, And done such deeds of valour strong Then, on Ocaña's castled rock, Saying, "Good Cavalier, prepare Let thy strong heart of steel this day “Since thou hast been, in battle-strife, Let virtue nerve thy heart again; They call thy name. "O Thou, that for our sins didst take A human form, and humbly make Thy home on earth; "Think not the struggle that draws Thou, that to thy Divinity near Too terrible for man, nor fear To meet the foe; Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, Its life of glorious fame to leave On earth below. " A life of honour and of worth Has no eternity on earth, 'Tis but a name ; And yet its glory far exceeds A human nature didst ally And in that form didst suffer here By thy redeeming grace alone, As thus the dying warrior prayed, That base and sensual life, which leads Without one gathering mist or shade 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 "But the good monk in cloistered cell, "And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured The life-blood of the Pagan horde In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, "Cheered onward by this promise sure, "O Death, no more, no more delay! The will of Heaven my will shall be, I bow to the divine decree, To God's behest. Upon his mind; Encircled by his family, Watched by affection's gentle eye His soul to Him, who gave it, rose : And, though the warrior's sun has set, ,,,,,,, THE GOOD SHEPHERD. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. SHEPHERD! who with thine amorous sylvan songs Hast broken the slumber that encompassed me, Who mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long! Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains ; For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be; I will obey thy voice, and wait to see Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. Hear, Shepherd! thou who for thy flock art dying, Oh, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou |