THE EARTHQUAKE OF LISBON, 1755.

T length they see the waters gleam
Amid the fragrant bowers

Where Lisbon mirrors in the stream

Her belt of ancient towers.

Red is the orange on its bough,
To-morrow's sun shall fling
O'er Cintra's hazel-shaded brow
The flush of April's wing.

The streets are loud with noisy mirth,
They dance on every green;
The morning's dial marks the birth
Of proud Braganza's queen.

At eve beneath their pictured dome
The gilded courtiers throng;
The broad moidores have cheated Rome
Of all her lords of song.

Ah! Lisbon dreams not of the day,
Pleased with her painted scenes,
When all her towers shall slide away
As now these canvas screens !

The spring has passed, the summer fled, Aud yet they linger still,

Though autumn's rustling leaves have spread The flank of Cintra's hill.

*

Three hours the first November dawn

Has climbed with feeble ray
Through mists like heavy curtains drawn
Before the darkened day.

How still the muffled echoes sleep!
Hark! hark! a hollow sound,
A noise like chariots rumbling deep
Beneath the solid ground.

The channel lifts, the water slides
And bares its bar of sand,

Anon a mountain billow strides
And crashes o'er the land.

The turrets lean, the steeples reel
Like masts on ocean's swell,
Aud clash a long discordant peal,
The death-doomed city's knell.

The pavement bursts, the earth upheaves
Beneath the staggering town!
The turrets crack, the castle cleaves,
The spires come rushing down.

Around, the lurid mountains glow
With strange unearthly gleams;
While black abysses gape below,

Then close in jagged seams.

The earth has folded like a wave,
And thrice a thousand score,

Clasped, shroudless in their closing grave,
The sun shall see no more!

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

M

Mondego, the River.

MONDEGO.

[ONDEGO, thou whose waters, cold and clear,

Gird those green banks where fancy fain would stay Fondly to muse on that departed day

When hope was kind and friendship seemed sincere,
Ere I had purchased knowledge with a tear;
Mondego, though I bend my pilgrim way
To other shores where other fountains stray
And other rivers roll their proud career;
Still, nor shall time, nor grief, nor stars severe,
Nor widening distance e'er prevail in aught
To make thee less to this sad bosom dear:
And memory oft by old affection taught
Shall lightly speed upon the plumes of thought
To bathe among thy waters cold and clear.

Luis de Camoens. Tr. Lord Strangford.

MONDEGO.

ATERS! which pendent from your airy height,

WA

Dash on the heedless rocks and stones below, Whilst in your white uplifted foam ye show,

Though vexed yourselves, your beauties much more

bright.

Why, as ye know that changeless is their doom,
Do ye, if weary, strive against them still?

Year after year, as ye your course fulfil,
Ye find them rugged nor less hard become.
Return ye back unto the leafy grove,

Through which your way ye may at pleasure roam,
Until ye reach at last your longed-for home.
How hid in mystery are the ways of love!
Ye, if ye wished, yet could not wander free,
Freedom in my lorn state is valueless to me.

T

Francisco Rodriguez Lobo. Tr. John Adamson.

MONDEGO.

thy clear streams, Mondego, I return With renovated life and eyes now clear. How fruitless in thy waters fell the tear, When Love's delirium did with me sojourn, When I, with face betraying anguish deep, And hollow voice, and unsuspecting ear, Knew not the danger of the mountain steep Whereon I stood, of which my soul with fear The memory chills! Seducing wiles of Love! 'Neath what vain shadows did you hide my fate, Shadows that swiftly passed the happier state Which now this breast enjoys! Now peace I For smiling day succeeds the clouds of night, And sweet repose, and joys, and prospects bright. Antonio Ferreira. Tr. John Adamson.

prove;

EVER

MONDEGO.

gliding to the sea

Flow the waters fair and free

Of clear Mondego tranquil through the plain:
Anxious thoughts and growing care

Bound my youthful bosom there,

And slowly fixed their ever-during reign.
Along the pleasant margin green,
Where now I mourn the altered scene,
First did my eyes a nymph behold,
Brighter than snow and pure as gold;

Sweet smiles serene; and grace so well displayed,
That from my heart its form will never fade.

In this country decked with flowers
Blithely rolled my peaceful hours,

In calm contentment, unalloyed with sighs.
Then I gloried in my cares;

Rapture sweetened e'en the tears

Drawn by the beam of those love-darting eyes.
Time flowed, nor I its lapse perceived,
Long by delusive hope deceived;

I sported in life's cheerful ray,

And dreamed of bliss from day to day.

What now avail those joys, too quickly flown!
Those eyes, that with unrivalled lustre shone!

*

*

Luis de Camoens. Tr. William Herbert.