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;

138

THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED.

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 wo

Released, should take its way

To mingle with thy flock and never stray.

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.

140

MARY MAGDALEN.

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 SIESTA.

(FROM THE SPANISH.)

Vientecico murmurador,
Que lo gozas y andas todo, &c.

AIRS, that wander and murmur round,
Bearing delight where'er ye blow!

Make in the elms a lulling sound,

While my lady sleeps in the shade below.

Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest,

Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er.

Sweet be her slumbers! though in my breast
The pain she has waked may slumber no more.
Breathing soft from the blue profound,

Bearing delight where'er ye blow,

Make in the elms a lulling sound,

While my lady sleeps in the shade below.

Airs! that over the bending boughs,

And under the shadows of the leaves, Murmur soft, like my timid vows

Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves,