TRANSLATIONS.

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TRANSLATIONS.

VERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMONIDES.

THE night winds howled-the billows dashed

Against the tossing chest ;

And Danaë to her broken heart

Her slumbering infant pressed.

"My little child"-in tears she said

"To wake and weep is mine,

But thou canst sleep-thou dost not know

Thy mother's lot, and thine.

"The moon is up, the moonbeams smile

They tremble on the main;

But dark, within my floating cell,

To me they smile in vain.

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"Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm,
Thy clustering locks are dry,

Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust,
Nor breakers booming high.

"As o'er thy sweet unconscious face
A mournful watch I keep,

I think, didst thou but know thy fate,
How thou wouldst also weep.

"Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds That vex the restless brine

When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed As peacefully as thine!"

FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS.

'Tis sweet, in the green Spring, To gaze upon the wakening fields around; Birds in the thicket sing,

Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground; A thousand odours rise,

Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes.

Shadowy, and close, and cool,

The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook;
For ever fresh and full,

Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook;
And the soft herbage seems

S; read for a place of banquets and of dreams.

Thou, who alone art fair,

And whom alone I love, art far away.

Unless thy smile be there,

It makes me sad to see the earth so gay;

I care not if the train

Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again.