O, I MUST PITY YONDER FLOCK! "Pastora que en el cayado." THE maid who carves upon the rock In love's thrice-fettering chains around :— O, I must pity yonder flock! Though that may seem a trifling thing, Which veil'd her secret thoughts in shade. She speaks not; she will not unlock Her bosom's depths to words; but she The mystery which from love we learn, 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? He sweetest hopes and joys shall catch. Idem, No. 188. MATEO VAZQUEZ DE LECA. SONNET. "Cuerpo de Dios, Leandro eternecido." You were a foolish, though an amorous fellow, By an impatient passion's gust-you miss'd her, 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. |