"And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured The life-blood of the Pagan horde O'er all the land; In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, "Cheered onward by this promise sure, Strong in the faith entire and pure Thou dost profess, Depart, thy hope is certainty, The third-the better life on high "O Death! no more, no more delay; My spirit longs to flee away, And be at rest; The will of Heaven my will shall be, I bow to the divine decree, To God's behest. "My soul is ready to depart, No thought rebels, the obedient heart Breathes forth no sigh; The wish on earth to linger still Were vain, when 't is God's sovereign will That we shall die. "O Thou, that for our sins didst take A human form, and humbly make Thy home on earth; Thou, that to thy divinity A human nature didst ally "And in that form didst suffer here Torment, and agony, and fear, So patiently; By thy redeeming grace alonc, As thus the dying warrior prayed, Encircled by his family, Watched by Affection's gentle eye His soul to Him. who gave it, rose; Its glorious rest! And, though the warrior's sun has set, * This poem of Manrique is a great favourite in Spain. No less than four poetic Glosses, or running commentaries, upon it have been published, no one of which, however, possesses great poetic merit. That of the Carthusian monk, Rodrigo de Valdepenas, is the best. known as the Glosa del Cartujo. There is also a prose Commentary by Luis de Aranda. It is The following stanzas of the poem were found in the author's pocket after his death on the field of battle : "O World! so few the years we live, Would that the life which thou dost give Were life indeed! Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour is when at last The soul is freed. "Our days are covered o'er with grief, And sorrows neither few nor brief THE GOOD SHEPHERD. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous, sylvan song For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be; Oh, wait!—to thee my weary soul is crying, - With feet nailed to the cross, thou'rt waiting still for me! Left desolate of real good, No pleasures bloom. "Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, And ends in bitter doubts and fears, Or dark despair; Midway so many toils appear, That he who lingers longest here Knows most of care. "Thy goods are bought with many a groan, And weary hearts; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, But with a lingering step and slow Its form departs." TO-MORROW. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care, Thou didst seek after me,- -that thou didst wait, -- Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, oh! 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. FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. CLEAR fount of light! my native land on high, Beloved country! banished from thy shore, THE IMAGE OF GOD FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height, For ever green shall be my trust in Heaven Shail meet that look of mercy from on high, Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, |