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النشر الإلكتروني

His soul to Him, who gave it, rose;

God lead it to its long repose,

Its glorious rest!

And, though the warrior's sun has set,
Its light shall linger round us yet,
Bright, radiant, blest.

THE GOOD SHEPHERD

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA

HEPHERD! who with thine amorous, sylvan

SHE

song

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, O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow.

O, wait! to thee my weary soul is crying,

Wait for me! Yet why ask it, when I see, With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt waiting still for me!

TO-MORROW

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA

ORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care,

Thou didst seek after me, that thou didst wait, Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? O strange delusion! that I did not greet

Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven how lost, If my ingratitude's unkindly frost

Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. How oft my guardian angel gently cried,

"Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open," I replied,

And when the morrow came I answered still, "To-morrow."

THE NATIVE LAND

C

FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA

LEAR fount of light! my native land on high,

Bright with a glory that shall never fade! Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade, Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye. There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, Gasping no longer for life's feeble breath; But, sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death. Beloved country! banished from thy shore, A stranger in this prison-house of clay, The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee! Heavenward the bright perfections I adore Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.

THE IMAGE OF GOD

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FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA

LORD! who seest, from yon starry height,

Centred in one the future and the past,

Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast

The world obscures in me what once was bright!

Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast given,
To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays;
Yet, in the hoary winter of my days,

Forever green shall be my trust in Heaven.
Celestial King! O let thy presence pass
Before my spirit, and an image fair

Shall meet that look of mercy from on high, As the reflected image in a glass

Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, And owes its being to the gazer's eye.

THE BROOK

FROM THE SPANISH

L

AUGH of the mountain!-lyre of bird and tree!

Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn! The soul of April, unto whom are born The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee! Although, where'er thy devious current strays, The lap of earth with gold and silver teems, To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd's

gaze.

How without guile thy bosom, all transparent

As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye

Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles

count!

How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current ! O sweet simplicity of days gone by!

Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid fount!

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Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red
Down in the west upon the ocean floor,
Appeared to me, may I again behold it!
A light along the sea, so swiftly coming,
Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled.
And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little
Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor,
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.
Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared

I knew not what of white, and underneath,
Little by little, there came forth another.
My master yet had uttered not a word,
While the first whiteness into wings unfolded;
But, when he clearly recognized the pilot,

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