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FROM THE SPANISH OF PEDRO DE CASTRO Y
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,
Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,
Ah! what wild haste !—and all to be
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.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF SEMEDO.
It is a fearful night; a feeble glare
Streams from the sick moon in the o'erclouded sky;
The sailors sleep; the winds are loud and high;
As thus, in bitterness of heart, I cried,
To my poor bark she sprang with footstep light,
I never saw so beautiful a night.
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
Alas! to seize the moment When heart inclines to heart, And press a suit with passion, Is not a woman's part.