Wondering, I saw God's sun, through western skies, Sink in the ocean's golden lap at night,

And yet upon the morrow early rise,

And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light; And thought of God, the gracious Heavenly Father, Who made me, and that lovely sun on high, And all those pearls of heaven thick-strung together, Dropped, clustering, from his hand o'er all the sky. With childish reverence, my young lips did say The prayer my pious mother taught to me: "O Gentle God! O, let me strive alway

Still to be wise, and good, and follow thee!"

So prayed I for my father and my mother,
And for my sister, and for all the town;
The king I knew not, and the beggar-brother,
Who, bent with age, went, sighing, up and down.
They perished, the blithe days of boyhood perished,
And all the gladness, all the peace I knew!
Now have I but their memory, fondly cherished ;-
God! may I never, never lose that too!

BLESSED ARE THE DEAD.

FROM THE GERMAN.

O, HOW blest are ye whose toils are ended!
Who, through death, have unto God ascended!
Ye have arisen

From the cares which keep us still in prison.

We are still as in a dungeon living,

Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving;
Our undertakings

Are but toils, and troubles, and heart-breakings.

Ye, meanwhile, are in your chambers sleeping,
Quiet, and set free from all our weeping;

No cross nor trial

Hinders your enjoyments with denial.

Christ has wiped away your tears for ever;
Ye have that for which we still endeavour.
To you are chanted

Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted.

Ah! who would not, then, depart with gladness,

To inherit heaven for earthly sadness?

Who here would languish

Longer in bewailing and in anguish

Come, O Christ, and loose the chains that bind us!

Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us!

With thee, the Anointed,

Finds the soul its joy and rest appointed.

DEATH OF ARCHBISHOP TURPIN.

FROM THE FRENCH,

THE archbishop, whom God loved in high degree,
Beheld his wounds all bleeding fresh and free;
And then his cheek more ghastly grew and wan,'
And a faint shudder through his members ran.
Upon the battle-field his knee was bent;
Brave Roland saw, and to his succour went,
Straightway his helmet from his brow unlaced,
And tore the shining hauberk from his breast;
Then raising in his arms the man of God,

Gently he laid him on the verdant sod.

"Rest, Sire," he cried,-"for rest thy suffering needs."

The priest replied, "Think but of warlike deeds!

The field is ours; well may we boast this strife!

But death steals on,--there is no hope of life;

In paradise, where the almoners live again,

There are our couches spread,—there shall we rest from pain."

Sore Roland grieved; nor marvel I, alas!

That thrice he swooned upon the thick, green grass.

When he revived, with a loud voice cried he,

"O Heavenly Father! Holy Saint Marie!
Why lingers death to lay me in my grave?
Beloved France! how have the good and brave
Been torn from thee and left thee weak and poor!"
Then thoughts of Aude, his lady-love, came o'er
His spirit, and he whispered soft and slow,
"My gentle friend!-what parting full of woe!
Never so true a liegeman shalt thou see ;-
Whate'er my fate, Christ's benison on thee
Christ, who did save from realms of woe beneath
The Hebrew prophets from the second death."
Then to the paladins, whom well he knew,
He went, and one by one unaided drew

To Turpin's side, well skilled in ghostly lore;-
No heart had he to smile,-but, weeping sore,

He blessed them in God's name, with faith that he

Would soon vouchsafe to them a glad eternity.

The archbishop, then,-on whom God's benison rest!—
Exhausted, bowed his head upon his breast;-
His mouth was full of dust and clotted gore,

And many a wound his swollen visage bore.

Slow beats his heart,—his panting bosom heaves,

Death comes apace,--no hope of cure relieves.

Towards heaven he raised his dying hands and prayed

That God, who for our sins was mortal made,

Born of the Virgin,―scorned and crucified,—

In paradise would place him by his side.

Then Turpin died in service of Charlon,
In battle great and eke great orison;

'Gainst Pagan host alway strong champion ;-
God grant to him his holy benison

RONDEL.

FROM THE FRENCH.

LOVE, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine? Nought see I fixed or sure in thee!

I do not know thee, -nor what deeds are thine:
Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine?
Nought see I fixed or sure in thee!

Shall I be mute, or vows with prayers combine?
Ye who are blessed in loving, tell it me:
Love, love, what wilt thou with this heart of mine?
Nought see I permanent or sure in thee!

RONDEL.

FROM THE FRENCH.

HENCE away, begone, begone,
Carking care and melancholy!
Think ye thus to govern me
All my life long, as ye have done?
That shall ye not, I promise ye:
Reason shall have the mastery.
So hence away, begone, begone,
Carking care and melancholy!
If ever ye return this way,

With your mournful company,
A curse be on ye, and the day

That brings ye moping back to me!
Hence away, begone, I say,

Carking care and melancholy!

RENOUVEAU.

FROM THE FRENCH.

Now Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain,
And clothes him in the embroidery
Of glittering sun and clear blue sky.
With beast and bird the forest rings,
Each in his jargon cries or sings;
And Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain.
River, and fount, and tinkling brook
Wear in their dainty livery
Drops of silver jewelry;

In new-made suit they merry look;
And Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain.

THE NATURE OF LOVE.

FROM THE ITALIAN.

To noble heart Love doth for shelter fly,
As seeks the bird the forest's leafy shade;

Love was not felt till noble heart beat high,
Nor before love the noble heart was made.
Soon as the sun's broad flame

Was formed, so soon the clear light filled the air;
Yet was not till he came :

So love springs up in noble breasts, and there
Has its appointed space,

As heat in the bright flame finds its allotted place.
Kindles in noble heart the fire of love,

As hidden virtue in the precious stone:

This virtue comes not from the stars above,
Till round it the ennobling sun has shone;

But when his powerful blaze

Has drawn forth what was vile, the stars impart
Strange virtue in their rays:

And thus when Nature doth create the heart
Noble and pure and high,

Like virtue from the star, love comes from woman's eye.

FRIAR LUBIN.

FROM THE FRENCH.

To gallop off to town post-haste
So oft, the times I cannot tell;
To do vile deed, nor feel disgraced,—
Friar Lubin will do it well.

But a sober life to lead,

To honour virtue, and pursue it,
That's a pious, Christian deed,—
Friar Lubin cannot do it.

To mingle with a knowing smile,
The goods of others with his own,
And leave you without cross or pile,
Friar Lubin stands alone.

To say 'tis yours is all in vain,

If once he lays his finger to it;
For as to giving back again,
Friar Lubin cannot do it.

With flattering words and gentle tone,
To woo and win some guileless maid.
Cunning pander need you none,—
Friar Lubin knows the trade.

Loud preacheth he sobriety,

But as for water, doth eschew it;

Vour dog may drink it,-but not he;
Friar Lubin cannot do it.

ENVOI.

When an evil deed's to do,

Friar Lubin is stout and true;

Glimmers a ray of goodness through it,

Friar Lubin cannot do it.

Note 1, p.10.-"Padre Francisco."-This is from an Italian popular song:

"Padre Francesco,

Padre Francesco!'

-Cosa velete del Padre Francesco

'V' è una bella ragazzina

Che si vuole confessar!'

Fatte l'entrare, fatte l'entrare!

Che la voglio confessare."

Kopisch. Volksthümliche Poesien aus allen Mundarten

Italiens und seiner Inseln, p. 194.

Note 2, p. 21.-"Ay, soft, emerald eyes."-The Spaniards, with good reason, consider this colour of the eye as beautiful, and celebrate it in song; as, for example, in the well-known Villancico:

"Ay ojuelos verdes,
ay los mis ojuelos,
ay hagan los cielos
que de mi te acuerdes!

Tengo confianza

de mis verdes ojos."

Bohl de Faber. Floresta, No. 255. Dante speaks of Beatrice's eyes as emeralds: Purgatorio, xxxi. 116. Lam says, in his Annotazioni, "Erano i suoi occhi d' un turchino verdiccio, simile a quel del mare."

Note 3, p. 39.-"The evil eye."-"In the Gitano language, casting the evil eye is called Querelar nasula, which simply means making sick, and which, according to the common superstition, is accomplished by casting an evil look at people, especially children, who, from the tenderness of their constitution, are supposed to be more easily blighted than those of a more mature age. After receiving the evil glance, they fall sick, and die in a few hours.

"The Spaniards have very little to say respecting the evil eye, though the belief in it is very prevalent, especially in Andalusia, amongst the lower orders. A stag's horn is considered a good safeguard, and on that account a small horn, tipped with silver, is frequently attached to the children's necks by means of a cord braided from the hair of a black mare's tail. Should the evil glance be cast, it is imagined that the horn receives it, and instantly snaps asunder. Such horns may be purchased in some of the silversmiths' shops at Seville."-BORROW'S Zincali, Vol. I. ch. ix.

Note 4. p. 40.-"On the top of a mountain I stand."-This and the following scraps of songs are from Borrow's Zincali; or an Account of the Gipsies in Spain. The Gipsy words in the same scene may be thus interpreted :

John-Dorados, pieces of gold.

Pigeon, a simpleton.

In your morocco, stripped.

Doves, sheets.

Moon, a shirt.
Chirelin, a thief.

Murcigalleros, those who steal at
nightfall.