At that calm hour, so still, so pale. Awakes the lonely nightingale; And from a hermitage of shade Fills with her voice the forest-glade.
And sweeter far that melting voice, Than all which through the day rejoice; And still shall bard and wanderer love The twilight music of the grove.
Father in Heaven! oh! thus, when day With all its cares hath passed away, And silent hours waft peace on earth, And hush the louder strains of mirth;
Thus may sweet songs of praise and prayer
To Thee my spirit's offering bear;
Yon star, my signal, set on high,
For vesper-hymns of piety.
So may thy mercy and thy power Protect me through the midnight hour; And balmy sleep and visions blest Smile on thy servant's bed of rest.
WHEN the soft breath of Spring goes forth
Far o'er the mountains of the North,
How soon those wastes of dazzling snow
With life, and bloom, and beauty glow.
Then bursts the verdure of the plains, Then break the streams from icy chains; And the glad rein-deer seeks no more Amidst deep snows his mossy store.
Then the dark pine-wood's boughs are seen
Arrayed in tints of living green;
And roses, in their brightest dyes,
By Lapland's founts and lakes arise.
Thus, in a moment, from the gloom And the cold fetters of the tomb, Thus shall the blest Redeemer's voice Call forth his servants to rejoice.
For He, whose word is truth, hath said, His power to life shall wake the dead, And summon those he loves, on high, To "put on immortality!"
Then, all its transient sufferings o'er,
On wings of light the soul shall soar,
Exulting, to that blest abode
Where tears of sorrow never flowed.
PARAPHRASE OF PSALM CXLVIII.
Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens praise him in the heights.
PRAISE ye the Lord! on every height
Songs to his glory raise!
Ye angel-hosts, ye stars of light,
Join in immortal praise!
Oh! heaven of heavens! let praise far-swelling
From all your orbs be sent!
Join in the strain, ye waters, dwelling
Above the firmament!
For His the word which gave you birth,
And majesty and might;
Praise to the Highest from the earth,
And let the deeps unite!
Oh! fire and vapour, hail and snow,
Ye servants of His will;
Oh! stormy winds, that only blow
His mandates to fulfil;
Mountains and rocks, to heaven that rise
Fair cedars of the wood;
Creatures of life, that wing the skies,
Or track the plains for food;
Judges of nations; kings, whose hand
Waves the proud sceptre high;
Oh! youths and virgins of the land,
Oh! age and infancy;
Praise ye His name, to whom alone
All homage should be given;
Whose glory from th' eternal throne
Spreads wide o'er earth and heaven!
TO ONE OF THE AUTHOR'S CHIL,
ON HIS BIRTH Day, August 27, 1825. THOU wak'st from happy sleep to play With bounding heart, my boy! Before thee lies a long bright day
Of summer and of joy.
Thou hast no heavy thought or dream
To cloud thy fearless eye;-
Long be it thus-life's early stream
Should still reflect the sky.
Yet ere the cares of life lie dim
On thy young spirit's wings, Now in thy morn forget not Him
From whom each pure thought springs!
So in the onward vale of tears,
Where'er thy path may be,
When strength hath bowed to evil years-
He will remember thee.
TO A YOUNGER CHILD ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, SEPTEMBER 17, 1825. WHERE sucks the bee now?-Summer is flying? Leaves on the grass-plot faded are lying:
Violets are gone from the grassy dell,
With the cowslip-cups, where the faries dwell; The rose from the garden hath passed awayYet happy, fair boy! is thy natal day.
For love bids it welcome, the love which hath smiled
Ever around thee, my gentle child!
Watching thy footsteps, and guarding thy bed,
And pouring out joy on thy sunny head
Roses may vanish, but this will stay—
Happy and bright is thy natal day.
Translations from Camoens and other Poets.
Siamo nati veramente in un secolo in cui gl' ingegni e gli studj degli uomini sono rivolti all' utilità. L'Agricoltura, le Arti, il Commercio acquistano tutto di novi lumi dalle ricerche de' Saggi; e il voler farsi un nome tentando di dilettare, quand' altri v' aspira con più giustizia giovando, sembra impresa dura e difficile.—Savioli.
CAMOENS.
SONNET 70.
Na metade do Ceo subido ardia.
HIGH in the glowing heavens, with cloudless beam,
The sun had reached the zenith of his reign,
And for the living fount, the gelid stream,
Each flock forsook the herbage of the plain:
'Midst the dark foliage of the forest-shade,
The birds had sheltered from the scorching ray;
Hushed were their melodies-and grove and glade
Resounded but the shrill cicada's lay:
When through the glassy vale a love-lorn swain, To seek the maid who but despised his pain, Breathing vain sighs of fruitless passion roved: "Why pine for her," the slighted wanderer cried, "By whom thou art not loved?"—and thus replied An echo's murmuring voice-"Thou art not loved!"
CAMOENS.
SONNET 282.
From Psalm CXXXVIL
Na ribeira do Euprates assentado.
WRAPT in sad musings by Euphrates' stream I sat, retracing days for ever flown,
While rose thine image on the exile's dream, O much-loved Salem! and thy glories gone.
When they, who caused the ceaseless tears I shed,
Thus to their captive spoke,-" Why sleep thy lays?
Sing of thy treasures lost, thy splendour fled,
And all thy triumphs in departed days!
"Know'st thou not, Harmony's resistless charm
Can sooth each passion, and each grief disarm?
Sing then, and tears will vanish from thine eye."
With sighs I answered,-" When the cup of wo
Is filled, till misery's bitter draught o'erflow,
The mourner's cure is not to sing,—but die."
PART OF ECLOGUE 15.
Se lá no assento da maior alteza.
Ir in thy glorious home above
Thou still recallest earthly love,
If yet retained a thought may be
Of him whose heart hath bled for thee;
Remember still how deeply shrined
Thine image in his joyless mind,
Each well-known scene, each former care,
Forgotten-thou alone art there!
Remember that thine eye-beam's light
Hath fled for ever from his sight,
And, with that vanished sunshine, lost
Is every hope he cherished most.
Think that his life, from thee apart,
Is all but weariness of heart,
Each stream, whose music once was dear Now murmurs discords to his ear.
Through thee, the morn, whose cloudless rays Woke him to joy in other days,
Now, in the light of beauty drest,
Brings but new sorrows to his breast.
Through thee, the heavens are dark to him,
The sun's meridian blaze is dim;
And harsh were e'en the bird of eve,
But that her song still loves to grieve.
All it hath been, his heart forgets,
So altered by its long regrets;
Each wish is changed, each hope is o'er,
And joy's light spirit wakes no more.
SONNET 271.
A formosura desta fresca serra.
THIS mountain-scene, with sylvan grandeur
These chesnut-woods, in summer verdure bright: These founts and rivulets, whose mingling sound Lulls every bosom to serene delight;
Soft on these hills the sun's declining ray; This clime, where all is new; these murmuring seas;
Flocks to the fold that bend their lingering way; Light clouds contending with the genial breeze;
And all that Nature's lavish hands dispense,
In gay luxuriance, charming every sense,
Ne'er, in thy absence, can delight my breast:
Nought, without thee, my weary soul beguiles;
And joy may beam, yet, 'midst her brightest smiles,
A secret grief is mine that will not rest.
Os olhos onde o castro Amor ardia.
THOSE eyes, whence Love diffused his purest light, Proud in such beaming orbs his reign to show; That face, with tints of mingling lustre bright, Where the rose mantled o'er the living snow;
The rich redundance of that golden hair,
Brighter than sunbeams of meridian day;
T'hat form so graceful, and that hand so fair,
Where now those treasures?-mouldering into
clay!
hus, like some blossom prematurely torn, Hath young Perfection withered in its morn, Touched by the hand that gathers but to blight! Oh how could Love survive his bitter tears? Shed, not for her, who mounts to happier spheres, But for his own sad fate, thus wrapt in starless night'
Brandas aguas do Tejo que passando.
FAIR Tajo! thou, whose calmly-flowing tide
Bathes the fresh verdure of these lovely plains,
Enlivening all where'er thy waves may glide,
Flowers, herbage, flocks, and sylvan nymphs, and
swains:
Sweet stream! I know not when my steps again
Shall tread thy shores; and while to part I mourn,
I have no hope to meliorate my pain,
No dream that whispers-I may yet return!
My frowning destiny, whose watchful care
Forbids me blessings, and ordains despair,
Commands me thus to leave thee and repine:
And I must vainly mourn the scenes I fly,
And breathe on other gales my plaintive sigh,
And blend my tears with other waves than thine !
TO A LADY WHO DIED AT SEA.
Chara minha inimiga, em cuja mao.
THOU, to whose power my hopes, my joys, I give,
O fondly loved! my bosom's dearest care!
Earth, which denied to lend thy form a grave,
Yields not one spell to soothe my deep despair!
Yes! the wild seas entomb those charms divine,
Dark o'er thy head th' eternal billows roll;
But while one ray of life or thought is mine,
Still shalt thou live, the inmate of my soul.
And if the tones of my uncultured song
Have power the sad remembrance to prolong,
Of love so ardent, and of faith so pure;
Still shall my verse thine epitaph remain,
Still shall thy charms be deathless in my strain,
While Time, and Love, and Memory shall endure.
CAMOENS.
SONNET 19.
Alma minha gentil, que te partiste.
SPIRIT beloved! whose wing so soon hath flown
The joyless precincts of this earthly sphere,
Now is yon heaven eternally thine own,
Whilst I deplore thy loss, a captive here.
Oh! if allowed in thy divine abode
Of aught on earth an image to retain,
Remember still the fervent love which glowed
In my fond bosom, pure from every stain.
And if thou deem that all my faithful grief,
Caused by thy loss, and hopeless of relief,
Can merit thee, sweet native of the skies!
Oh! ask of Heaven, which called thee soon away,
That I may join thee in those realms of day,
Swiftly, as thou hast vanished from mine eyes.
Que estranho caso de amor!
How strange a fate in love is mine!
How dearly prized the pains I feel!
Pangs that to rend my soul combine,
With avarice I conceal:
For did the world the tale divine,
My lot would then be deeper wo,
And mine is grief that none must know.
To mortal ears I may not dare
Unfold the cause, the pain I prove;
'T would plunge in ruin and despair
Or me, or her I love.
My soul delights alone to bear
Her silent, unsuspected wo,
And none shall pity, none shall know.
Thus buried in my bosom's urn,
Thus in my inmost heart concealed,
Let me alone the secret mourn,
In pangs unsoothed and unrevealed.
For whether happiness or wo,
Or life o. death its power bestow,
It is what none on earth must know.
Sas penas com que Amor tao mal me trata.
SHOULL Love, the tyrant of my suffering heart,
Yet long enough protract his votary's days,
To see the lustre from those eyes depart,
The lode-stars now, that fascinate my gaze;
To see rude Time the living roses blight,
That o'er thy cheek their loveliness unfold,
And all unpitying, change thy tresses bright
To silvery whiteness, from their native gold;
Oh! then my heart an equal change will prove,
And mourn the coldness that repelled my love,
When tears and penitence will all be vain;
And I shall see thee weep for days gone by,
And in thy deep regret and fruitless sigh,
Find amplest vengeance for my former pain.
"Your eyes are lode-stars."-Shakspeare.
CAMOENS.
SONNET 178.
Já cantei, já chorei a dura guerra.
OFT have I sung and mourned the bitter woes,
Which love for years hath mingled with my fate,
While he the tale forbade me to disclose,
That taught his votaries their deluded state.
Nymphs! who dispense Castalia's living stream,
Ye, who from Death oblivion's mantle steal,
Grant me a strain in powerful tone supreme,
Each grief by love inflicted to reveal:
That those, whose ardent hearts adore his sway,
May hear experience breathe a warning lay,
How false his smiles, his promises how vain!
Then, if ye deign this effort to inspire,
When the sad task is o'er, my plaintive lyre,
Forever hushed, shall slumber in your fane.
CAMOENS.
SONNET 80.
Como quando do mar tempestuoso.
SAVED from the perils of the stormy wave,
And faint with toil, the wanderer of the main,
But just escaped from shipwreck's billowy grave,
Trembles to hear its horrors named again.
How warm his vow, that Ocean's fairest mien
No more shall lure him from the smiles of home
Yet soon, forgetting each terrific scene,
Once more he turns, o'er boundless deeps to roam.
Lady! thus I, who vainly oft in flight
Seek refuge from the dangers of thy sight,
Make the firm vow, to shun thee and be free:
But my fond heart, devoted to its chain,
Still draws me back where countless perils reign,
And grief and ruin spread their snares for me.
Yet now what double wo for me,
How shall our voices, on a foreign shore,
(We answered those whose chains the exile wore,) Just at the close of eve, to see
The songs of God, our sacred songs, renew?
If I forget, midst grief and wasting toil,
Thee, O Jerusalem! my native soil!
May my right-hand forget its cunning too!
The dayspring of delight.
Huma admiravel herva se conheco.
Quem diz que Amor he falso, o enganoso.
He who proclaims that Love is light and vain,
Capricious, cruel, false in all his ways;
Ah! sure too well hath merited his pain,
THERE blooms a plant, whose gaze, from hour to Too justly finds him all he thus portrays.
Still to the sun with fond devotion turns,
Wakes, when Creation hails his dawning power,
And most expands, when most her idol burns;
But when he seeks the bosom of the deep,
His faithful plant's reflected charms decay;
Then fade her flowers, her leaves discoloured weep,
Still fondly pining for the vanished ray.
Thou whom I love, the daystar of my sight!
When thy dear presence wakes me to delight,
Joy in my soul unfolds her fairest flower:
But in thy heaven of smiles alone it blooms,
And of their light deprived, in grief consumes,
Born but to live within thine eye-beams power.
For Love is pitying, Love is soft and kind,
Believe not him who dares the tale oppose,
Oh! deem him one whom stormy passions blind,
One to whom earth and heaven may well be toes
Here let the world his utmost rigour see,
If Love bring evils, view them all in me!
His utmost power exerted to annoy:
But all his ire is still the ire of Love;
And such delight in all his woes I prove,
I would not change their pangs for aught of othe
joy!
Polo meu apartamento.
AMIDST the bitter tears that fell
In anguish at my last farewell,
Oh! who would dream that joy could dwell,
To make that moment bright?
Yet be my judge, each heart! and say,
Which then could most my bosom sway,
Affliction, or delight?
It was, when Hope, opprest with woes,
Seemed her dim eyes in death to close,
That Rapture's brightest beam arose
In Sorrow's darkest night.
'Thus, if my soul survive that hour,
"T is that my fate o'ercame the power
Of anguish with delight.
For oh! ner love, so long unknown,
She then confest, was all my own,
And in that parting hour alone
Revealed it to my sight.
And now what pangs will rend my soul,
Should fortune still, with stern control,
Forbid me this delight.
I know not if my bliss were vain,
For all the force of parting pain
Forbade suspicious doubts to reign,
When exiled from her sight:
CAMOENS.
SONNET 133.
Doces, e claras aguas do Mondego.
WAVES of Mondego! brilliant and serene, Haunts of my thought, where memory fondl strays;
Where hope allured me with perfidious mien,
Witching my soul, in long-departed days;
Yes! I forsake your banks; but still my heart
Shall bid remembrance all your charms restore,
And, suffering not one image to depart,
Find lengthening distance but endear you more.
Let fortune's will, through many a future day,
To distant realms this mortal frame convey,
Sport of each wind, and tost on every wave!
Yet my fond soul, to pensive memory true,
On thought's light passion still shall fly to you,
And still, bright waters! in your current lave.
CAMOENS.
SONNET 181.
Onde acharel lugar tao apartado,
WHERE shall I find some desert-scene so rude,
Where loneliness so undisturbed may reign,
That not a step shail ever there intrude
Of roving man, or nature's savage train?
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