For there, and there alone, Are peace and joy and never-dying love; There, on a splendid throne, 'Midst all those fires above, In glories and delights which never wane nor move. O wondrous blessedness! Whose shadowy effluence hope o'er time can fling; Day that shall never cease: No night there threatening No winter there to chill joy's ever-during spring. Ye fields of changeless green, Cover'd with living streams and fadeless flowers, Eternal, joyful hours My disembodied soul shall welcome in thy bowers. Fernandez, x. p. 17. IN. VIRGIN BORNE BY ANGELS. "Al cielo vais, Señora." LADY! thou mountest slowly O'er the bright cloud, while music sweetly plays; With outstretch'd hand may seize, And rise with thee to the Infinite of Days. Around, behind, before thee, Bright angels wait, that watch'd thee from thy birth: A crown of stars is o'er thee, The pale moon of the earth, Thou, supernatural queen, nearest in light and worth. Turn, turn thy milden'd gaze, Amidst time's twilight pale, Where many a son of Eve in toils and darkness strays. O! if thy vision see The wandering spirits of this earthly sphere, Virgin! to thee, to thee Thy magnet voice will bear Their steps, to dwell with bliss through all eternity. Obras. Madrid, 1816, vi. p. 123. LOPEZ DE AYALA. LADY! STAR OF BRIGHEST RAY. "Señora, estrella luciente." LADY! star of brightest ray, Which this world of darkness guides, Light thy pilgrim on his way, For his soul in thee confides! Thou art like the fragrant bough Like the Orient myrrh art thou, Lady! when the sufferer mourns, 'Tis to thee he bends his eye: "Tis to thee the sinner turns, Virgin of the cloudless sky! Thee has wisdom's son compared Thou art like the palm-trees green, Blooming in the book of heaven. Brightest planet of the sea, Dazzling gate in heaven's abode Virgin in the agony, Mother, daughter, spouse of God. Though the curse that Eve had brought O'er her children, threat'ning stood, All the evil that she wrought, Lady! thou hast turn'd to good. Böhl, No. 3. JORGE MANRIQUE. ODE. "Recuerde el alma dormida." AWAKE, awake, my sleeping soul! Rouse from thy dreams of hope and fear, And think, and see How soon life's busy moments roll, How soon the hour of death draws near, How silently! How swiftly hurrying joy glides by, And nought but sorrow's shade remains Of vanish'd bliss: And sweeter is the memory Of other moments' griefs and pains, Than joys in this. Then since the passing hour is fled, Just like a vision to its home, For ever banish'd, If we in wisdom's track are led, |