But when the wound has pierced so deep But if he will live on, a tear 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. 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, Thorns wound his feet. Who suffers this? O tell! 'Tis he who loves so well. Perplex'd the road, His heart is torn: 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, And make, for that's the safest way, 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, He loves him most who plagues him least; The privileged guests who grace his feast |