I CANNOT LOVE THIS ENGLAND.

"Ay! Dios de mi tierra."

GOD of my country! hear me,

And let me hence remove:

Alas! alas! this England
I can no longer love.

God of the best, the brightest,
The dearest spot of earth,

Where thou hast loved to scatter
Thy gifts of joy and mirth,
See how in gloom I wander,
How mournfully I rove:
Alas! alas! this England
I can no longer love.

And did not Heaven reprove?

Alas! alas! this England

I can no longer love.

Ah me! that gloomy misery
With other miseries blends;

"Tis like a pang infernal

That never, never ends: "Twere better far to perish

Than conscience' pangs to prove.

Alas! alas! this England
I can no longer love.

O who can bid the sorrows
That crush the soul depart?

O who can think of blessings
When curses scathe the heart?

One-one alone petition

God! let me hence remove:
Alas! alas! this England
I can no longer love.

Cancionero de Amberes, 1555, p. 390.

ZEPHYR GENTLY BLOW.

"Mientras duerme mi niña."

WHILE my lady sleepeth,
Zephyr, gently blow:
Wake her not, I pray thee,
Lest she wake to woe.

Gently blow, gay Zephyr!
Noiseless be thy tread-

Glide on wings of silence

O'er her slumbering head. Breathe as through the pearl-drops

Hung on twilight's bed,

Where thou lov'st to linger

Where thou lov'st to blow:-

Wake her not, I pray thee,

Lest she wake to woe.

Wake her not-she slumbers-
Peace is on her breast.
O, would I deprive her
Of one dream of rest?
No!--but how I envy,

How I deem thee blest,
Who, my gentle lady,

Tranquillizest so.

Wake her not, I pray thee,

Lest she wake to woe.

Romancero General, 1604, p. 207.

ON MY LAP HE SLEPT.

"A la sombra de mis cabellos."

On my lap he slept, and my raven hair
Shelter'd him from the sunbeams there.
Love! shall I rouse him to tell him so?
O no! O no!

I comb'd my raven locks with care,
For he oft on their tresses smil'd;

And they were scatter'd by breezes wild,
Breezes which stole the fairest too-

He was fann'd by those breezes; my raven hair
Shelter'd him from the sunbeams there;

Love! shall I wake him to tell him so?
O no! O no!

He call'd me cruel-but if he knew
This heart of mine I heard him say,
My raven locks, and my chesnut hue,
Were his life's charm, and his life's decay.
Siren!-he cried-and then he flew

To my lap, where he slept, and my raven hair
Shelter'd him from the sunbeams there.
Love! shall I rouse him and tell him so?
O no! O no!

Primavera y flor de Romances de varios Poetas,

Madrid, 1623.

P. 46.

GARLANDS OF SPRING TIME.

"Verde primavera."

O THOU gay spring time,
Cover'd with flowers,

Crown with thy garlands
Passion like ours.

Crown with white lilies,

Jasmines, and roses;

Every gay floweret

That odour discloses―

Violets, vervains,

Pinks, and all flowers;

Crown with your garlands

Passion like ours.

The tresses of gold

That imprison the soul, The bright suns of heaven In glory that roll;

While I weep o'er my sorrows, And gather sweet flowersO crown with their garlands

Passion like ours.