A pink has fallen, — a crimson blossom.
The only flower the Virgin bore
(Aurora fair,) within her breast,
She gave to earth, yet still possessed
Her virgin blossom as before: 15
The hay that colored drop caressed, —
Received upon its faithful bosom
That single flower, — a crimson blossom.
The manger, unto which ‘t was given,
Even amid wintry snows and cold, 20
Within its fostering arms to fold
The blushing flower that fell from Heaven,
Was as a canopy of gold, —
A downy couch, — where on its bosom
That flower hath fallen, — that crimson blossom. 25
The Assumption of the Virgin
By Luis Ponce de Leon
LADY! thine upward flight
The opening heavens receive with joyful song:
Blest, who thy garments bright
May seize, amid the throng,
And to the sacred mount float peacefully along. 5
Bright angels are around thee,
They that have served thee from thy birth are there:
Their hands with stars have crowned thee;
Thou, — peerless Queen of air,
As sandals to thy feet the silver moon dost wear. 10
Celestial dove! so meek
And mild and fair! — oh, let thy peaceful eye
This thorny valley seek,
Where such sweet blossoms lie,
But where the sons of Eve in pain and sorrow sigh. 15
For if the imprisoned soul
Could catch the brightness of that heavenly way,
‘T would own its sweet control
And gently pass away,
Drawn by its magnet power to an eternal day. 20
The Disembodied Spirit
By Hernando de Herrera
PURE Spirit! that within a form of clay
Once veiled the brightness of thy native sky;
In dreamless slumber sealed thy burning eye,
Nor heavenward sought to wing thy flight away!
He that chastised thee did at length unclose 5
Thy prison doors, and give thee sweet release; —
Unloosed the mortal coil, eternal peace
Received thee to its stillness and repose.
Look down once more from thy celestial dwelling,
Help me to rise and be immortal there, — 10
An earthly vapor melting into air; —
For my whole soul, with secret ardor swelling,
From earth’s dark mansion struggles to be free,
And longs to soar away and be at rest with thee.
Ideal Beauty
By Hernando de Herrera
O LIGHT serene! present in him who breathes
That love divine, which kindles yet restrains
The high-born soul — that in its mortal chains
Heavenward aspires for love’s immortal wreaths!
Rich golden locks, within whose clustered curls 5
Celestial and eternal treasures lie!
A voice that breathes angelic harmony
Among bright coral and unspotted pearls!
What marvellous beauty! Of the high estate
Of immortality, within this light 10
Transparent veil of flesh, a glimpse is given;
And in the glorious form, I contemplate,
(Although its brightness blinds my feeble sight,)
The immortal still I seek and follow on to Heaven!
The Lover’s Complaint
By Hernando de Herrera
BRIGHT Sun! that, flaming through the mid-day sky,
Fillest with light heaven’s blue, deep-vaulted arch,
Say, hast thou seen in thy celestial march
One hue to rival this blue, tranquil eye?
Thou Summer Wind, of soft and delicate touch, 5
Fanning me gently with thy cool, fresh pinion,
Say, hast thou found, in all thy wide dominion,
Tresses of gold, that can delight so much?
Moon, honor of the night! Thou glorious choir
Of wandering Planets and eternal Stars! 10
Say, have ye seen two peerless orbs like these?
Answer me, Sun, Air, Moon, and Stars of fire —
Hear ye my woes, that know no bounds nor bars?
See ye these cruel stars, that brighten and yet freeze?
Art and Nature
By Francisco de Medrano
THE WORKS of human artifice soon tire
The curious eye; the fountain’s sparkling rill,
And gardens, when adorned by human skill,
Reproach the feeble hand, the vain desire.
But oh! the free and wild magnificence 5
Of Nature, in her lavish hours, doth steal,
In admiration silent and intense,
The soul of him who hath a soul to feel.
The river moving on its ceaseless way,
The verdant reach of meadows fair and green, 10
And the blue hills, that bound the sylvan scene,
These speak of grandeur, that defies decay, —
Proclaim the Eternal Architect on high,
Who stamps on all his works his own eternity.
The Two Harvests
By Francisco de Medrano
BUT yesterday these few and hoary sheaves
Waved in the golden harvest; from the plain
I saw the blade shoot upward, and the grain
Put forth the unripe ear and tender leaves.
Then the glad upland smiled upon the view, 5
And to the air the broad green leaves unrolled,
A peerless emerald in each silken fold,
And on each palm a pearl of morning dew.
And thus sprang up and ripened in brief space
All that beneath the reaper’s sickle died, 10
All that smiled beauteous in the summer-tide.
And what are we? a copy of that race,
The later harvest of a longer year!
And oh! how many fall before the ripened ear!
Clear Honor of the Liquid Element
By Luis de Góngora y Argote
CLEAR honor of the liquid element,
Sweet rivulet of shining silver sheen!
Whose waters steal along the meadows green,
With gentle step, and murmur of content!
When she, for whom I bear each fierce extreme, 5
Beholds herself in thee, — then Love doth trace
The snow and crimson of that lovely face
In the soft gentle movement of thy stream.
Then smoothly flow as now; and set not free
The crystal curb and undulating rein 10
Which now thy current’s headlong speed restrain;
Lest broken and confused the image rest
Of such rare charms on the deep-heaving breast
Of him who holds and sways the trident of the sea.
Praise of Little Women
By Juan Ruiz de Hita
I WISH to make my sermon brief, — to shorten my oration, —
For a never-ending sermon is my utter detestation:
I like short women, — suits at law without procrastination, —
And am always most delighted with things of short duration.
A babbler is a laughing-stock; he’s a fool who’s always grinning; 5
But little women love so much, one falls in love with sinning.
There are women who are very tall, and yet not worth the winning,
And in the change of short for long repentance finds beginning.
To praise the little women Love besought me in my musing;
To tell their noble qualities is quite beyond refusing: 10
So I’ll praise the little women, and you ‘ll find the thing amusing:
They are, I know, as cold as snow, whilst flames around diffusing.
They ‘re cold without, whilst warm within the flame of Love is raging;
They ‘re gay and pleasant in the street, — soft, cheerful, and engaging;
They ‘re thrifty and discreet at home, — the cares of life assuaging: 15
All this and more; — try, and you ‘ll find how true is my presaging.
In a little precious stone what splendor meets the eyes!
In a little lump of sugar how much of sweetness lies!
So in a little woman love grows and multiplies:
You recollect the proverb says, — A word unto the wise. 20
A pepper-corn is very small, but seasons every dinner
More than all other condiments, although ‘t is sprinkled thinner:
Just so a little woman is, if Love will let you win her, —
There ‘s not a joy in all the world you will not find within her.
And as within the little rose you find the richest dyes, 25
And in a little grain of gold much price and value lies,
As from a little balsam much odor doth arise,
So in a little woman there ‘s a taste of paradise.
Even as the little ruby its secret worth betrays,
Color, and price, and virtue, in the clearness of its rays, — 30
Just so a little woman much excellence displays,
Beauty, and grace, and love, and fidelity always.
The skylark and the nightingale, though small and light of wing,
Yet warble sweeter in the grove than all the birds that sing:
And so a little woman, though a very little thing, 35
Is sweeter far than sugar, and flowers that bloom in spring.
The magpie and the golden thrush have many a thrilling note,
Each as a gay musician doth strain his little throat, —
A merry little songster in his green and yellow coat:
And such a little woman is, when Love doth make her dote. 40
There ‘s naught can be compared to her, throughout the wide creation;
She is a paradise on earth, — our greatest consolation, —
So cheerful, gay, and happy, so free from all vexation:
In fine, she ‘s better in the proof than in anticipation.
If as her size increases are woman’s charms decreased, 45
Then surely it is good to be from all the great released.
Now of two evils choose the less, — said a wise man of the East:
By consequence, of womankind be sure to choose the least.
Milagros de Nuestra Señora
By Gonzalo de Berceo
I, GONZALO DE BERCEO, in the gentle summer-tide,
Wending upon a pilgrimage, came to a meadow’s side:
All green was it and beautiful, with flowers far and wide, —
A pleasant spot, I ween, wherein the traveller might abide.
Flowers with the sweetest odors filled all the sunny air, 5
And not alone refreshed the sense, but stole the mind from care;
On every side a fountain gushed, whose waters pure and fair,
Ice-cold beneath the summer sun, but warm in winter were.
There on the thick and shadowy trees, amid the foliage green,
Were the fig and the pomegranate, the pear and apple, seen; 10
And other fruits of various kinds, the tufted leaves between,
None were unpleasant to the taste, and none decayed, I ween.
The verdure of the meadow green, the odor of the flowers,
The grateful shadows of the trees, tempered with fragrant showers,
Refreshed me in the burning heat of the sultry noon-tide hours: 15
Oh, one might live upon the balm and fragrance of those bowers!
Ne’er had I found on earth a spot that had such power to please,
Such shadows from the summer sun, such odors on the breeze:
I threw my mantle on the ground, that I might rest at ease,
And stretched upon the greensward lay in the shadow of the trees. 20
There soft reclining in the shade, all cares beside me flung,
I heard the soft and mellow notes that through the woodland rung:
Ear never listened to a strain, from instrument or tongue,
So mellow and harmonious as the songs above me sung.
Song of the Rhine
FORTH rolled the Rhine-stream strong and deep
Beneath Helvetia’s Alpine steep,
And joined in youthful company
Its fellow-travellers to the sea.
In Germany embraced the Rhine, 5
The Neckar, the Mosel, the Lahn, and the Main,
And strengthened by each rushing tide,
Onward he marched in kingly pride.
But soon from his enfeebled grasp
The satraps of his power, 10
The current’s flowing veins unclasped —
He moves in pride no more.
Forth the confederate waters broke
On that rebellious day,
And, bursting from their monarch’s yoke, 15
Each chose a separate way.
Wahl, Issel, Leck, and Wecht, all, all
Flowed sidewards o’er the land,
And a nameless brook, by Leyden’s wall,
The Rhine sank in sand. 20
Elegy written in the Ruins of an Old Castle
By Friedrich von Matthisson
SILENT, in the veil of evening twilight,
Rests the plain; the woodland song is still,
Save that here, amid these mouldering ruins,
Chirps a cricket, mournfully and shrill.
Silence sinks from skies without a shadow, 5
Slowly wind the herds from field and meadow,
And the weary hind to the repose
Of his father’s lowly cottage goes.
Here, upon this hill, by forests bounded,
‘Mid the ruins of departed days, 10
By the awful shapes of Eld surrounded,
Sadness! unto thee my song I raise!
Sadly think I what in gray old ages
Were these wrecks of lordly heritages:
A majestic castle, like a crown, 15
Placed upon the mountain’s brow of stone.
There, where round the column’s gloomy ruins,
Sadly whispering, clings the ivy green,
And the evening twilight’s mournful shimmer
Blinks the empty window-space between, 20
Blessed, perhaps, a father’s tearful eye
Once the noblest son of Germany;
One whose heart, with high ambition rife,
Warmly swelled to meet the coming strife.
“Go in peace!” thus spake the hoary warrior, 25
As he girded on his sword of fame;
“Come not back again, or come as victor:
Oh, be worthy of thy father’s name!”
And the noble youth’s bright eyes were throwing
Deadly flashes forth; his cheeks were glowing, 30
As with full-blown branches the red rose
In the purple light of morning glows.
Then, a cloud of thunder, flew the champion,
Even as Richard Lion-Heart, to fight;
Like a wood of pines in storm and tempest, 35
Bowed before his path the hostile might.
Gently, as a brook through flowers descendeth.
Homeward to the castle-crag he wendeth, —
To his father’s glad, yet tearful face, —
To the modest maiden’s chaste embrace. 40
Oh, with anxious longing, looks the fair one
From her turret down the valley drear!
Shield and breastplate glow in gold of evening,
Steeds fly forward, the beloved draws near!
Him the faithful right-hand mute extending, 45
Stands she, pallid looks with blushes blending.
Oh, but what that soft, soft eye doth say,
Merrily echoed there the sound of goblets,
Where the rank grass, waving in the gale, 50
O’er the nests of owls is blackly spreading,
Till the silver glance of stars grew pale.
Tales of hard-won battle fought afar,
Wild adventures in the Holy War,
Wakened in the breast of hardy knight 55
The remembrance of his fierce delight.
Oh, what changes! Awe and night o’ershadow
Now the scene of all that proud array;
Winds of evening, full of sadness, whisper,
Where the strong ones revelled and were gay; 60
Thistles lonely nod, in places seated
Where for shield and spear the boy entreated,
When aloud the war-horn’s summons rang,
And to horse in speed the father sprang.
Ashes are the bones of these, — the mighty! 65
Deep they lie within earth’s gloomy breast;
Hardly the half-sunken funeral tablets
Now point out the places where they rest!
Many to the winds were long since scattered, —
Like their tombs, their memories sunk and shattered 70
O’er the brilliant deeds of ages gone
Sweep the cloud-folds of Oblivion!
Thus depart life’s pageantry and glory!
Thus flit by the visions of vain might!
Thus sinks, in the rapid lapse of ages, 75
All that earth doth bear, to empty night!
Laurels, that the victor’s brow encircle,
High deeds, that in brass and marble sparkle,
Urns devoted unto Memory,
And the songs of Immortality! 80
Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Delphi Poets Series Book 13) Page 147