TRANSLATIONS. VERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMONIDES. THE night winds howled-the billows dashed Against the tossing chest ; And Danaë to her broken heart Her slumbering infant pressed. "My little child"-in tears she said- “To wake and weep is mine, But thou canst sleep-thou dost not know Thy mother's lot, and thine. "The moon is up, the moonbeams smile They tremble on the main ; To me they smile in vain. 231 "Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm, Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust, "As o'er thy sweet unconscious face I think, didst thou but know thy fate, "Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds That vex the restless brine When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed As peacefully as thine!" FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS. 'Tis sweet, in the green Spring, To gaze upon the wakening fields around; Birds in the thicket sing, Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground; A thousand odours rise, Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes. Shadowy, and close, and cool, The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook; For ever fresh and full, Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook; Spread for a place of banquets and of dreams. Thou, who alone art fair, And whom alone I love, art far away. Unless thy smile be there, It makes me sad to see the earth so gay; Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again. MARY MAGDALEN. FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA. BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted! 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, 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. |