MARY MAGDALEN.

FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA.

BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted!
The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,
In wonder and in scorn!

Thou weepest days of innocence departed;

Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move

The Lord to pity and love.

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,

Even for the least of all the tears that shine

On that pale cheek of thine.

Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven, Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise

Holy, and pure, and wise.

It is not much that to the fragrant blossom

The ragged brier should change; the bitter fir

Distil Arabian myrrh!

Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom,

The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain

Bear home the abundant grain.

But come and see the bleak and barren mountains Thick to their tops with roses: come and see

Leaves on the dry dead tree:

The perished plant, set out by living fountains, Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise, For ever, towards the skies.

THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE LEON.

REGION of life and light!

Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er!
Nor frost nor heat may blight

Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore,
Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore!

There, without crook or sling,

Walks the good shepherd; blossoms white and red Round his meek temples cling;

And to sweet pastures led,

His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed.

He guides, and near him they Follow delighted, for he makes them go

Where dwells eternal May,

And heavenly roses blow,

Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.

He leads them to the height

Named of the infinite and long-sought Good,

And fountains of delight;

And where his feet have stood

Springs up, along the way, their tender food.

And when, in the mid skies,

The climbing sun has reached his highest bound, Reposing as he lies,

With all his flock around,

He witches the still air with numerous sound.

From his sweet lute flow forth Immortal harmonies, of power to still All passions born of earth,

And draw the ardent will

Its destiny of goodness to fulfil.

Might but a little part,

A wandering breath of that high melody,

Descend into my heart,

And change it till it be

Transformed and swallowed up, oh love! in thee.

Ah! then my soul should know, Beloved! where thou liest at noon of day,

And from this place of woe

Released, should take its way

To mingle with thy flock and never stray.

FATIMA AND RADUAN.

FROM THE SPANISH.

Diamante falso y fingido,
Engastado en pedernal, &c.

"FALSE diamond set in flint! the caverns of the mine

Are warmer than the breast that holds that faithless heart of thine;
Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as the wind,
And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard to bind.
If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few would be
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me.
Oh! I could chide thee sharply-but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.

"Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Grenada's maids,
Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades;
And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to every one
That what thou didst to win my love, from love of me was done.
Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know,
They well might see another mark to which thine arrows go;
But thou giv'st me little heed-for I speak to one who knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.