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LOS RAYOB LA QUEXTA AL SOL. Los rayos le cuenta al sol

Los pajaros la saludan con un peyne de marfil

porque piensan (y es asi) la bella lacinta un dia

que el sol que sale en Oriente que por mi dicha la vi

buelve otra vez á salir en la verde orilla

en la verde orilla del Guadalquivir.

del Guadalquivir. La mano oscurece al peine

Por solo un cabello el sol mas que mucho si el Abril

de sus rayos diera mil le vio oscurecer los lirios

solicitando invidioso que blancos suelen salir

el que se quedaba alli en la verde orilla

en la verde orilla del Guadalquivir.

del Guadalquivir.-Gongora, ii. 135.
She stood with an ivory comb, and told
Awakening Phæbus' locks of gold
I saw her then-how sweet to see,
What a bright hour of bliss for me!
As she stood by the verdant river,
The flowing Guadalquivir.
If her hand were fairer than lily-flowers
That palely smile on the April hours,
The ivory comb seem'd dark compared
To her whiter hand and arm, when bared,
As she stood by the verdant river,
The flowing Guadalquivir,
The birds were singing their songs anew,
They thought the sun-and, oh! 'twas true,
Was waking again the glorious east,
Summon'd unwonted from his rest,
When she stood by the verdant river,
The flowing Guadalquivir.
That sun for a tress of hers had given
A thousand brightest beams of heaven:
And look'd-to wonder and adore,
As when he stood in heaven of yore-
She walked by the verdant river,
The flowing Guadalquivir.

These compositions breathe the kindest and the warmest affections, and often touch the most susceptible chords of sympathy.

SI MUERO EN TIERRAS AGENAS. ¿Si muero en tierras agenas

Si muero como está cierto lejos de donde naci

de vos, mis ojos ausente quien habrá dolor de mi ?

¿quien sentira el verme muerto Si muero en este destierro

y tan miserablemente á que yo fui condenado

en tierra tan diferente no merece tan gran yerro

de aquella donde naci :
ser plastido ni llorado :

¿quien habrá dolor de mi ?
pues si yo lo he procurado
y toda la culpa fui :

¿Quien no la tuvo consigo ¿quien habrá dolor de mi ?

adonde busca piedad ? Tu tarde podrás dolerte

¿quien à si se fué enemigo que estas mui lejos si muero

para que quiere amistad ? yo tan cerca de la muerte

pues huvo tal necedad que cada rato la espero :

y tan imprudente fui en aquel punto postrero

¿quien habrá dolor de mi ? pues tu no estarás alli:

Antwerp, Cancionero, p. 399. ¿quien habrá dolor de mi? JULY, 1823.




If I in foreign lands should die,
Far from the scenes of infancy,
Who, who will pity me?
If in this exile dark and drear,
To which my fate has doom'd me now,
I should unnoticed die—what tear,
What tear of sympathy will flow?
For I have sought an exile's woe,
And fashion'd my own misery :
Who then will pity me?
Then thou wilt weep-but late-for thou
Art far away if I should die :-
And Death, with frowns upon his brow,
Seems calling me impatiently-
To whose fond bosom shall í fly,
For thou wilt far divided bem
Who then will pity me?
Yes! I sball die-for thou art far,
Far from my eye, though near my thought,
Die where no weeping mourners are-
No mourners--none-for thou art not:
How different there thy minstrel's lot,
Far from the scenes of infancy-
Who then shall pity me?
He dealt no mercy,—where should he,
0! where should he sweet mercy seek?
He was his own heart's enemy-
0! why to him should friendship speak ?
They who love's holy bondage break,
Will feel its vengeful enmity :
Who, who shall pity me?

Nothing can be more natural and touching than the representations and the expression of feminine affection.

Con el viento murmuran

y al sonido me duermo
madre, las hojas,

bajo su sombra. y al sonido me duermo

Si acaso recuerdo bajo su sombra.

me hallo entre flores, Sopla un manso viento

y de mis dolores alegre y suave,

apenas me acuerdo : que mueve la nave

de vista los pierdo de mi pensamiento :

del sueño vencida. dame tal contento

y dame la vida que me parece,

el son de las hojas, que el cielo me ofrece

y al sonido me duermo bien á deshora,

bajo su sombra.

Romancero de 1604.

Mother, list! for the gentle breeze
Among the branches blows :
I, 'neath the shades of the whispering trees,
And their music, will repose.
O the sweet breeze, nor loud nor strong,
Is whispering peace to me:
And bears my bark of thought along
The interminable sea-

And a sense of pleasure fills my soul
As the restless waves of passion roll:-
And my eye sweet visions of comfort sees
Shining around my woes-
And, 'neath the shades of the whispering trees,
And their music, I repose.
And if in such bright and blessed hours
A thought of sadness come,
I look, and a thousand fragrant flowers
In all their beauty bloom;
And in that Eden of peace and rest
A heavenly visitor soothes my breast;
And my soul awakes to extasies,
When my eyes in darkness close :
And, 'neath the shades of the whispering trees,
And their music, I repose.


Del rosal vengo, mi madre,

vengo del rosale. A riberas de aquel vado,

Viera estar rosal florido. viera estar rosal granado :

cogi rosas con sospiro : vengo del rosale.

vengo del rosale, madre A riberas de aquel rio,

vengo del rosale. viera estar rosal florido :

Gil Vicenta vengo del rosale.


I come from the rose-grove, mother,
I come from the grove of roses.
Go to the banks where the streamlet'flows,
There you may gather the damask rose:
I come from the grove of roses.
Go to the vale where the river is flowing,
There you may see the rose-trees blowing:
I come from the grove of roses.
I saw the rose-grove blushing in pride,
I gather'd the blushing rose-and sigh'd
I come from the rose-grove, mother,
I come from the grove of roses.

DICEN QUE ME CASE YO. Dicen que me case yo:

ó quizá mal empleada no quiero marido, no.

la gracia que dios me dió : Mas quiero vivir segura

no querido marido, no. en esta sierra á mi soltura

No es ni será nacido que no estar en ventura si casare bien ó no :

tal para ser mi marido, no quiero marido, no.

y pues que tengo sabido

que la flor yo me la só : Madre, no seré casada

no quiero marido, no. por no ver vida cansada,

Juan de Linares.
They say they'll to my wedding go,
But I will have no husband-no!
I'll rather live serene and still
Upon a solitary hill,
Than bend me to another's will,
And be a slave in weal or woe:
No! I will have no husband-no!

No! mother! I've no wish to prove
The doubtful joys of wedded love-
And from those flowery pathways rove
Where innocence and comfort grow
No! I will have no husband-no!
And heaven, I'm sure, ne'er meant that he
Should thy young daughter's husband be:
We have no common sympathy-
So let youth's bud unbroken blow-
For I will have no husband-no!



y los peñascos buscais ; y con la arena jugais donde vais ?

si reposais donde en calma durmis pues de las flores huis

porque correis y os cansais ?

Francisco de Borja
Ye laughing streamlets, say,
Sporting with the sands, where do wend

your way
From the flowrets flying,
To rocks and caverns hieing:
When ye might sleep in calmness and peace,
Why hurry thus in wearying restlessness ?


QUE NO COGERE YO VERBENA. Que no cogere yo verbena

sino penas tan crueles la mañana de San Juan

cual jamas se cogeran pues mis amores se van.

pues mis amores se van. Que no cogeré yo claveles

Romancero de 1604. madre selva ni mirabeles


I will not gather the vervain sweet,
Though 'tis San Juan's day,
For my love is fading away.
I'll seek no pinks in their retreat,

rosemary,-nor rue-
For, ah! with sorrows such as mine-
When hearts are sick, and spirits pine,
What have sweet flowers to do?

SI DORMIS DONCELLA. Si dormis doncella

que muchas las aguas despertad y abrid

teneis que pasar. que venida es la hora

Las aguas tan hondas si quereis partir.

de Guadalquivir Si estas decalza

que venida es la hora no cureis de os calzar

si quereis partir.--Gil Vicente.
Art thou sleeping, maiden?
Wake and open I pray-
'Tis morning now—and we must go
Forward on our way.
Put not thy sandals on,
But come with thy white bare feet:
For the mountain rains have drench'd the plains,
We many a stream shall meet
And the Guadalquivir's wave
Then, maiden, no delay.
'Tis morning now—so let us go
Forward on our way.


SAMUEL JOHNSON, LLD. IN CONTINUATION OF JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS. There is, perhaps, no one among tution natural to him, and the defect our English writers, who for so great in his eyesight, hindered him from a part of his life has been an object partaking in the sports of other chilof curiosity to his contemporaries as dren, and probably induced him to Johnson. Almost every thing he said seek for distinction in intellectual suor did was thought worthy of being periority. Dame Oliver, who kept a recorded by some one or other of his school for little children, in Lichfield, associates, and the public were for first taught him to read ; and, as he a time willing to listen to all they delighted to tell, when he was going had to say of him. A mass of in- to the University, brought him a preformation has thus been accumulated, sent of gingerbread, in token of his from which it will be my task to se- being the best scholar her academy lect such a portion as shall seem suf- had ever produced. His next inficient to give a faithful representa- structor in his own language was a tion of his fortunes and character, man whom he used to call Tom without wearying the attention of Browne; and who, he said, pubthe reader. That any important ad- lished a Spelling Book, and dedi. dition should be made to what has cated it to the universe. He was been already told of him, will scarce- then placed with Mr. Hunter, the ly be expected.

head master of the grammar school Samuel Johnson, the elder of two in his native city, but, for two years sons of Michael Johnson, who was before he came under his immediate of an obscure family, and kept a tuition, was taught Latin hy Mr. bookseller's shop at Lichfield, was Hawkins, the usher. It is just that born in that city on the 18th of Sep- one, who, in writing the lives of men tember, 1709. His mother, Sarah less eminent than himself, was alFord, was sprung of a respectable ways careful to record the names of race of yeomanry in Worcestershire; their instructors, should obtain a triand, being a woman of great piety, bute of similar respect for his own. early instilled into the mind of her By Mr. Price, who was afterwards son those principles of devotion for head master of the same school, and which he was afterwards so emi- whose name I cannot mention withnently distinguished. At the end of out reverence and affection, I have ten months from his birth, he was been told, that Johnson, when late in taken from his purse, according to life he visited the place of his eduhis own account of himself, a poor cation, showed him a nook in the diseased infant, almost blind; and, school-room, where it was usual for when two years and a half old, was the boys to secrete the translations of carried to London to be touched by the books they were reading; and, Queen Anne for the evil. Being at the same time, speaking of his old asked many years after if he had any master, Hunter, said to him, “ He remembrance of the Queen, he said was not severe, Sir. A master ought that he had a confused but somehow to be severe. Sir, he was cruel.” Johna sort of solemn recollection of a lady son, however, was always ready to in diamonds and a long black hood. acknowledge how much he was inSo predominant was this superstition debted to 'Hunter for his classical relating to the king's evil, that there proficiency. At the age of fifteen, by was a form of service for the occa- the advice of his mother's nephew, sion inserted in the Book of Common Cornelius Ford, a clergyman of conPrayer, and Bishop Bull,* in one of siderable abilities, but disgraced by his Sermons, calls it a relique and the licentiousness of his life, and who remainder of the primitive gift of is spoken of in the Life of Fenton, healing. The morbidness of consti- he was removed to the grammar



# Bull's Fifth Sermon.

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