FROM DANTE. BEATRICE. PURGATORIO, XXX., XXXI. EVEN as the Blessed, in the new covenant, So, upon that celestial chariot, A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis, They all were saying; "Benedictus qui venis," I once beheld, at the approach of day, And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed, Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil, Even as the snow, among the living rafters Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds, And then, dissolving, filters through itself, Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, But, when I heard in those sweet melodies Compassion for me, more than had they said, "O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume him?" The ice, that was about my heart congealed, Through lips and eyes came gushing from my breast. Confusion and dismay, together mingled, Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 'tis discharged So I gave way under this heavy burden, SPRING. FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS, XV. CENTURY. GENTLE Spring!—in sunshine clad,, For Winter maketh the light heart sad, And thou-thou makest the sad heart gay. The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain; Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, We must cower over the embers low; And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky When thy merry step draws near. THE CHILD ASLEEP. FROM THE FRENCH. SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face, Upon that tender eye, my little friend, Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend;'Tis sweet to watch for thee,-alone for thee! His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow; His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow, Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm? Awake, my boy!-I tremble with affright! ཡ Sweet error!he but slept,-I breathe again ;- THE GRAVE. FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. FOR thee was a house built Ere thou wast born, For thee was a mould meant But it is not made ready, Nor its depth measured, Nor is it seen How long it shall be. Now I bring thee Where thou shalt be; Now I shall measure thee, And the mould afterwards. Thy house is not It is unhigh and low; Dimly and dark. Doorless is that house, Thus thou art laid, Who will come to thee, Who will ever see How that house pleaseth thee; Who will ever open The door for thee, And descend after thee, For soon thou art loathsome And hateful to see. KING CHRISTIAN. A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK. FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNES EVALD. KING Christian stood by the lofty mast His sword was hammering so fast, "Fly!" shouted they, "fly, he who can! Who braves of Denmark's Christian The stroke?" Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar, He hoisted his blood-red flag once more, And shouted loud, through the tempest's roar, "Fly!" shouted they, "for shelter, fly! North Sea! a glimpse of Wessel rent Then champions to thine arms were sent; From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', Path of the Dane to fame and might! Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight, And amid pleasures and alarms, THE HAPPIEST LAND. FRAGMENT OF A MODERN BALLAD. FROM THE GERMAN. THERE sat one day in quiet, By an alehouse on the Rhine, The landlord's daughter filled their cups, Then sat they all so calm and still, And spake not one rude word. Nils Juel was a celebrated Danish Admiral, and Peder Wessel, a ViceAdmiral who for his great prowess received the popuiar title of Tordenskiold, or Thunder-shield. In childhood he was a tailor's apprentice, and rose to his high rank before the age of twenty-eight, when he was killed in a duel. |