MORTIMER'S INTERVIEW WITH MARIA

STUART.

(FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER'S TRAGEDY MARIA

NE day,

"ON

STUART').

As I looked about me in the Bishop's house

A woman's picture met my startled eye;

Of wonderful and sympathetic charm it was:

How powerfully it moved me in my deepest soul!

Unable to control my feelings, helpless stood I there.
Then said to me the Bishop, "Well may

You stand impressed before this picture,

Not only represents it, the most beautiful woman that lives,
But she is also the one who deserves the sincerest pity:
For our faith she is a resigned sufferer,

And 'tis in your father-land where she suffers."

"Now see I Queen, your very self!

*

Not your mere picture! O what a treasure holds

This castle! It is no jail! Rather a Hall of the Gods

More brilliant than the Sovereign Court

Of England. O! what happiness is granted

Those who breathe this air with you!

Well have they right, you so deeply to conceal !

All England's youth would rise,

No sword lie idle in its scabbard

And the revolt, with head of giant
Would-through this peaceful island stride
Saw but the Briton once, his rightful Queen!"

TRANS. E. V. B.

O MARY QUEEN OF MERCY.
(FROM THE GERMAN OF KARL SIMROCK).

HERE lived a Knight long years ago,
Proud, carnal, vain, devotionless,

Of God above, or Hell below,

He took no thought, but undismayed,
Pursued his course of wickedness.

His heart was rock; he never prayed
To be forgiven for all his treasons;
He only said, at certain seasons,

"O Mary, Queen of Mercy!"

Years rolled, and found him still the same
Still draining Pleasure's poison-bowl;
Yet felt he now and then some shame;
The torment of the Undying Worm

At whiles woke in his trembling soul;

And then, though powerless to reform
Would he, in hope to appease that sternest
Avenger, cry, and more in earnest,

"O Mary, Queen of Mercy!"

At last youth's riotous time was gone, And loathing now came after sin.

With locks yet brown he felt as one

Grown grey at heart; and oft, with tears, He tried, but all in vain, to win

From the dark desert of his years

One flower of hope; yet morn and e'ening, He still cried, but with deeper meaning, "O Mary, Queen of Mercy!"

A happier mind, a holier mood,
A purer spirit, ruled him now;

No more in thrall to flesh and blood,
He took a pilgrim-staff in hand,

And under a religious vow,

Travalled his way to Pommerland, There entered he an humble cloister, Exclaiming, while his eyes grew moister, "O Mary, Queen of Mercy!"

Here, shorn and cowled, he laid his cares Aside, and wrought for God alone.

Albeit he sang no choral prayers,

Nor matin hymn nor laud could learn,

He mortified his flesh to stone;

For him no penance was too stern;
And often prayed he on his lonely
Cell-couch at night, but still said only,
"O Mary, Queen of Mercy!"

And thus he lived long, long; and, when God's angels called him, thus he died. Confession made he none to man,

Yet, when they anointed him with oil, He seemed already glorified.

His penances, his tears, his toil,

Were past; and now, with passionate sighing Praise thus broke from his lips while dying, "O Mary, Queen of Mercy!"

They burried him with mass and song Aneath a little knoll so green;

But lo a wondrous sight!-ere long

Rose blooming, from that verdant mound,

The fairest lilly ever seen;

And on its petal edges round,

Relieving their translucent whiteness,

Did shine these words in gold-hued brightness, "O Mary, Queen of Mercy!"

And would God's angels give thee power,
Thou, dearest reader, mightst behold
The fibres of this holy flower

Upspringing from the dead man's heart,

In tremulous threads of white and gold;

Then wouldst thou choose the better part! And thenceforth flee Sin's foul suggestions; Thy sole response to mocking questions

"O Mary, Queen of Mercy!"

TRANS. BY J. C. MANGIN.

MARIA'S ASCENSION.

FROM THE SPANISH.

LADY, thou moun test slowly

O'er the bright cloud, while music sweetly plays;

Blest, who thy mantle holy

With outstretched hand may seize,

And rise with thee to the Infinite of Days.

Around, behind, before thee

Bright angels wait, that watched 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.

LUIS PONCE DE LEON.