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On which thy powerful arms were stretched so Celestial King! O let thy presence pass 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.

LORD, 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 blee ling 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.

FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA.

CLEAR 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.

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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.

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AND now,

PURGATORIO, IL

behold! as at the approach of morn

ing, 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, He cried aloud: "Quick, quick, and bow the knee!

Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! See, how he scorns all human arguments, Henceforward shalt thou see such officers!

So that no oar he wants, nor other sail Than his own wings, between so distant shores! See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven,

Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!"

And then, as nearer and more near us came The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared,

So that the eye could not sustain his presence, But down I cast it; and he came to shore With a small vessel, gliding swift and light, So that the water swallowed naught thereof. Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot! Beatitude seemed written in his face! And more than a hundred spirits sat within. "In exitu Israel de Egypto !"

24

THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE.-THE CHILD ASLEEP.

Thus sang they all together in one voice, With whatso in that Psa.m is after written. Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, And he departed swiftly as he came.

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tain;

Yet not from their upright direction bent
So that the little birds upon their tops
Should cease the practice of their tuneful art;
But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime
Singing received they in the midst of foliage
That made monotonous burden to their rhymes,
Even as from branch to branch it gathering
swells,

Through the pine forests on the shore of
Chiassi,

When olus unlooses the Sirocco.

Already my slow steps had led me on

Into the ancient wood so far, that I

Could see no more the place where I had entered.

And lo! my further course cut off a river,
Which, tow'rds the left hand, with its little

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Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, Which from those hands angelic were thrown up,

And down descended inside and without, With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil, Appeared a lady, under a green mantle, Vested in colors of the living flame.

.

Even as the snow, among the living rafters
Upon the back of Italy, congeals,
Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds,
And then, dissolving, filters through itself,
Whene'r the land, that loses shadow, breathes,
Like as a taper melts before a fire,
Even such I was, without a sigh or tear,

Before the song of those who chime forever After the chiming of the eternal spheres; But, when I heard in those sweet melodies Compassion for me, more than had they said, "O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus cousume him?"

The ice, that was about my heart congealed,
To air and water changed, and, in my anguish,
Through lips and eyes came gushing from my
breast.

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GENTLE Spring! in sunshine clad,

Well dost thou thy power display! For Winter maketh the light heart sad,

And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay.
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the
rain ;

And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
Their beards of icicles and snow;

And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;

Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for naught both late and early,
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
When thy merry step draws near.

THE CHILD ASLEEP.

FROM THE FRENCH.

SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face,
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed!
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.

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