But when the wound has pierced so deep
That hope can neither cure nor cheer,
"Twere better far in death to sleep
Than to live on despairing here;

But if he will live on, a tear
Or sigh some comfort may supply.
O, 'tis most sweet to sigh!

There are insufferable woes

Which must be suffer'd,-man must bear Terrors, and terror-waking throes,

Which language dares not,-nor could dare

To compass.

Let his heart beware:

He may not speak,-but he may die.

O, 'tis most sweet to sigh!

Silva de Aventuras, Salamanca, 1573, p. 42.

MARIA DOCEO.

COVER ME WITH FLOWERS.

"Cubridme de flores."

FLING your sweet flowers,-scatter'd beneath,―

I'm sick with love; I wait for death.
Rain down, in fragrant showers,

All the rich odours of your bowers:

Fling your sweet flowers!

For love's attractive breath

Smells like an odoriferous wreath

Scatter'd beneath.

Jasmins and pinks above,

Lilies, and all that deck the

grove:

I'm sick with love.

Wouldst thou know why? My breath

Fails, and in weak accents saith,

I wait for death!

THE CRUCIFIXION.

"Piedra levantada."

THE stones they raise,

Life's hope decays

With insults greeted

And woes repeated

Affection gone,

Woe stands alone;

Who suffers this? O tell!

"Tis he who loves so well.

Lights darken'd all,

The stone-showers fall,
The wild winds blowing,
His long hair flowing,
His eyes are wet,

Thorns wound his feet.

Who suffers this? O tell!

'Tis he who loves so well.

Perplex'd the road,
His breast a load;

His heart is torn:
The world in scorn-
The flowers are faded,

The sun is shaded.

DON'T shut your door,—don't shut

If love should come and call, "Twill be no use at all.

If love command, you'd best obey,
Resistance will but hurt you;

And make, for that's the safest way,
Necessity a virtue.

So don't resist his gentle sway,

Nor shut your door if he should call,

For that's no use at all.

I've seen him tame the wildest beast,
And strengthen too the weakest:

He loves him most who plagues him least;
His favourites are the meekest.

The privileged guests who grace his feast
Have ne'er opposed his gentle call,
For that's no use at all.