FROM THE SPANISH OF PEDRO DE CASTRO Y

AÑAYA.

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 swiftést.

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.

Y

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.

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.

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

If man comes not to gather

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