'Five bloody suns with headlong rage
Each host an equal war shall wage,
Each see by turns his doubtful scale ascend;
The sixth shall view thy flight forlorn,

Thy shatter'd arms, thy banners torn,

While Spain's proud neck beneath the victor's heel shall bend.'

RUSSELL.

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA.

LET no one say that there is need

Of time for love to grow;

Ah no! the love that kills indeed
Dispatches at a blow.

The spark which but by slow degrees
Is nursed into a flame,

Is habit, friendship, what you please;
But love is not its name.

For love to be completely true,
It death at sight should deal,
Should be the first one ever knew,
In short, be that I feel.

To write, to sigh, and to converse,
For years to play the fool;

"Tis to put passion out to nurse,

And send one's heart to school.

Love all at once should from the earth
Start up full grown and tall;

If not an Adam at his birth,

He is no love at all.

LORD HOLLAND.

ZARA'S EARRINGS.

FROM THE SPANISH.

My earrings! my earrings! they've dropp'd into the well,

And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell'Twas thus Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter, [blue water

The well is deep, far down they lie beneath the cold To me did Muça give them, when he spake his -sad farewell, [cannot tell. And what to say when he comes back, alas! I

My earrings! my earrings! they were pearls in silver set, [him forget; That when my Moor was far away I ne'er should That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale; [earrings pale—

But remember he my lips had kiss'd, pure as those When he comes back and hears that I have dropp'd them in the well

[tell. Oh, what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot

have been,

My earrings! my earrings! he'll say they should [ing sheen; Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glitterOf jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, [insincere Changing to the changing light, with radiance That changing mind unchanging gems are not befitting well[not tell, Thus will he think-and what to say, alas! I canHe'll think when I to market went, I loiter'd by [might sayHe'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads

the way

He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed, [of pearl unloosedFrom the ears where he had placed them, my rings He'll think when I was sporting so beside this

marble well

[not tell. My pearls fell in,-and what to say, alas! I canHe'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same— He'll say I loved when he was here to whisper of his flame

But when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had

broken,

[his token. And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for My earrings! my earrings! oh! luckless, luckless

well!

For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell.

I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe, [him at eve; That I thought of him at morning, and thought of Thus musing on my lover, when down the sun [all alone; His earrings in my hand I held, by the fountain And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell;

was gone,

And that deep his love lies in my heart as they lie in the well.

LOCKHART.

ROMANCE.

FROM THE SPANISH.

AWAKE, Sweet life, awake!
See the bright morning break!

Busy footsteps, hurrying by,
Tell that now the sun is high;

1

Borne on wings of purest white,
The morning spreads its fullest light.
Sore thou fear'st, and sore I fear,
Prying strangers roaming near
May divulge the rumour free,
How thee I love, and thou lovest me.
Awake, sweet life, awake!

See the bright morning break!
If the rising sun destroy

Dewy pearls, the meadow's joy,
From my side it hastes to tear

A gem, that shines more bright and fair:
Beams, that bring to mortals light,
Show to me like blackest night;
When the dawn's first blushes glow,
Thine absence spreads the gloom of woe.
Awake, sweet life, awake!

See the bright morning break!
Wouldst thou root the present bliss
Springing from each secret kiss,
Firm, that envious gales which blow
May not our budding joys o'erthrow?
Wouldst thou, love, we thus should meet
Oft in this secure retreat,

Where at sight we pay so free

What thee I owe, and thou owest me?
Awake, sweet life, awake!

See the bright morning break!
Take those circling arms away!
Linger not with fond delay!
One dear moment of delight
May rouse misfortune's bitter spite.
Short I deem the day of grief,
When the night brings quick relief,

And the hope of coming pleasure
Steals from sorrow half its measure.
Awake, sweet life, awake!

See the bright morning break!

HON. W. HERBERT.

LINES.

FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOMÉ LEONARDO.

As the deep river swift and silent flows
Towards the ocean, I am borne adown

The quiet tide of time. Nought now remains
Of the past years; and for the years to come,
Their dark and undiscoverable deeds
Elude the mortal eye. Beholding thus
How daily life wanes on, so may I learn,
Not with an unprovided mind, to meet
That hour, when Death shall gather up the old
And wither'd plant, whose season is gone by.
The spring flowers fade, the' autumnal fruits decay,
And gray old Winter, with his clouds and storms,
Comes on; the leaves, whose calm cool murmuring
Made pleasant music to our green-wood walks,
Now rustle dry beneath our sinking feet.
So all things rise and perish; we the while
Do, with a dull and profitless eye, behold
All this, and think not of our latter end.
My friend! we will not let that soil, which oft
Impregnate with the rains and dews of heaven,
Is barren still and stubborn to the plough,
Emblem our thankless hearts; nor of our God
Forgetful be, as is the thankless vine,

That in due season brings not forth its fruits.
Think'st thou, that God created man alone