The soul in dalliance laid, the spirit But the good monk, in cloistered cell, Shall gain it by his book and bell, His prayers and tears; And the brave knight, whose arm endures Fierce battle, and against the Moors His standard rears. 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; The will of Heaven my will shall be, To God's behest. My soul is ready to depart, No thought rebels, the obedient heart 66 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 Thou, that to thy divinity A human nature didst ally "And in that form didst suffer here Torment, and agony, and fear, By thy redeeming grace alone, As thus the dying warrior prayed, Encircled by his family, Watched by affection's gentle eye So soft and kind; 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, SONNETS. I. THE GOOD SHEPHERD. (EL BUEN PASTOR.) BY LOPE DE VEGA. The five following sonnets are from the Coplas de Manrique volume, where they were printed with the Spanish text on the opposite pages. Two other sonnets in that volume, not retained when the volume was merged in Voices of the Night, will be found in the Appendix. The two Lope de Vega sonnets are from his Rimas Sacras. SHEPHERD! Who with thine amorous, sylvan 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. Oh, wait! to thee my weary soul is crying, Line 1. Shepherd! that with thine amorous, sylvan song Who made the bravest and the best The bondsmen of their high behest, What was their prosperous estate, What, but a transient gleam of light, A flame, which, glaring at its height, So many a duke of royal name, That might the sword of empire wield, Their deeds of mercy and of arms, O Death, thy stern and angry face, Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh, Pennon and standard flaunting high, And flag displayed ; High battlements intrenched around, Bastion, and moated wall, and mound, And palisade, Line 19. O death, thy stern and cruel face, And covered trench, secure and deep, O Death, from thee, When thou dost battle in thy wrath, And thy strong shafts pursue their path Unerringly. 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 Our days are covered o'er with grief, Left desolate of real good, Within this cheerless solitude 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, By the hot sweat of toil alone, And weary hearts; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, Line 10. But thy sorrows fall so fast, |