O, I MUST PITY YONDER FLOCK!

"Pastora que en el cayado."

THE maid who carves upon the rock
Her lover's name, is lost,—and bound

In love's thrice-fettering chains around :— O, I must pity yonder flock!

Though that may seem a trifling thing,
Yet by that very deed the maid
Doth from her heart the curtain fling,

Which veil'd her secret thoughts in shade. She speaks not; she will not unlock

Her bosom's depths to words; but she
Is fetter'd in love's mystery:-
O, I must pity yonder flock!

The mystery which from love we learn,
Is the soul's business :-how can art,

With her corporeal eye, discern

What passes in the secret heart?

The maid records upon the rock

The dreams that through her bosom rove; O! she is all subdued by love,

And I must pity yonder flock.

Where is the youth ?—now tell me where?
That he that maiden's look may watch,
For from her eye, her lip, her air,

He sweetest hopes and joys shall catch.
Her soul has burst its bounds,-the shock
Of passion all its springs will move,-
The maiden is subdued by love:
O, I must pity yonder flock!

Idem, No. 188.

MATEO VAZQUEZ DE LECA.

SONNET.

"Cuerpo de Dios, Leandro eternecido."

You were a foolish, though an amorous fellow,
Leander! had you for a boat but waited,
Death and the devil might have both been cheated,
And history have been spared the pains to tell how
A silly youth was drown'd.-You might have gone
Dry-footed to your mistress-and have kiss'd her
In nuptial joy-but no!-for driven on

By an impatient passion's gust-you miss'd her,
And died. A pity that!-in this our Seville,
You've not a notion how we cheat the devil;
And run no risk of colds, nor disappointments:
True, love may graze us,—but the drowning plan
Is a mistake, which neither oil nor ointments,
Nor wit, nor wisdom, can get over, man.

Böhl. N. 660.

ANTONIO DE VELASCO.

LADY! LADY! WHY COMPLAIN?

"Señora de que os quejais."

LADY! lady! why complain?

What have I done?

Check those frowns of cold disdain,—

Bid them be gone.

You know you may

Drive all hope, all joy away, Whenever, lady! you shall choose to frown.

If a glance of brightness gleam'd

Across my breast,

'Twas because my fancy deem'd

I thee possest;

But death is now,

Of all woes, the lightest woe,

Since disappointment robs my soul of rest!

I for thee alone would live,

Alone for thee,

Else sad death's alternative

Were sweet to me.

If life were lost

For thee, life's best and brightest boast, Would death bring silence and serenity.

Cancionero de Sevilla, 1535, p. 47.