Postulates, that to thee are so conclusive,

Why dost thou take them for the word divine ?" And I: "The proof, which shows the truth to me, Are the works subsequent, whereunto Nature Ne'er heated iron yet, nor anvil beat." 'Twas answered me: "Say, who assureth thee That those works ever were? the thing itself We wish to prove, nought else to thee affirms it." "Were the world to Christianity converted," I said, "withouten miracles, this one

Is such, the rest are not its hundredth part; For thou didst enter destitute and fasting

Into the field, to plant there the good plant, Which was a vine, and has become a thorn!" This being finished, the high, holy Court

Resounded through the spheres, "One God we praise!"

In melody that there above is chanted.

And then that Baron, who from branch to branch,
Examining, had thus conducted me,

Till the remotest leaves we were approaching, Did recommence once more: "The Grace that lords it

Over thy intellect thy mouth has opened, Up to this point, as it should opened be, So that I do approve what forth emerged;

But now thou must express what thou believest, And whence to thy belief it was presented." "O holy father, O thou spirit, who seest

What thou believedst, so that thou o'ercamest,
Towards the sepulchre, more youthful feet,"
Began I, "thou dost wish me to declare

Forthwith the manner of my prompt belief,
And likewise thou the cause thereof demandest.
And I respond: In one God I believe,

Sole and eterne, who all the heaven doth move,
Himself unmoved, with love and with desire;
And of such faith not only have I proofs

Physical and metaphysical, but gives them
Likewise the truth that from this place reigns down
Through Moses, through the Prophets, and the Psalms,
Through the Evangel, and through you, who wrote
After the fiery spirit sanctified you;

In Persons three eterne believe I, and these
One essence I believe, so one and trine.
They bear conjunction both with sunt and est.
With the profound conjunction and divine,
Which now I touch upon, doth stamp my mind
Ofttimes the doctrine evangelical.

This the beginning is, this is the spark
Which afterwards dilates to vivid flame,

And, like a star in heaven, is sparkling in me."

G

Even as a lord, who hears what pleases him,
His servant straight embraces, giving thanks
For the good news, as soon as he is silent;
So, giving me its benediction, singing,

Three times encircled me, when I was silent,
The apostolic light at whose command
I spoken had, in speaking I so pleased him.

TRANSLATIONS.

THE GOOD SHEPHERD.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA.

SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous, sylvan song
Hast broken the slumber which encompassed me—
Thou mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree,
On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long!
Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains;

For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be;
I will obey thy voice, and wait to see

Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.
Hear, Shepherd !--Thou who for thy flock art dying,
O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou
Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow.

O, wait!--to thee my weary soul is crying-
Wait for me!-Yet why ask it, when I see,
With feet nailed to the cross, thou'rt waiting still for
me!

THE IMAGE OF GOD.

FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA,

O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height,
Centred in one the future and the past,

Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast
The world obscures in me what once was bright!
Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast given,
To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays;
Yet, in the hoary winter of my days,
For ever green shall be my trust in Heaven.
Celestial King! O let thy presence pass
Before my spirit, and an image fair
Shall meet that look of mercy from on high
As the reflected image in a glass

Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there,
And owes its being to the gazer's eye.

COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.

FROM THE SPANISH.

DON JORGE MANRIQUE, the author of the following poem, flourished in the last half of the fifteenth century. He followed the profession of arms, and gave brilliant proofs of his valour. He died young-having been mortally wounded in a skirmish near Cunavette, in the year 1479. The following extract is from a majestic poem written by him on the death of his father. It is a great favourite in Spain, and four commen. taries have been published upon it.

O LET the soul her slumbers break,

Let thought be quickened, and awake;
Awake to see

How soon this life is past and gone,

And death comes softly stealing on

How silently!

Swiftly our pleasures glide away,

Our hearts recall the distant day
With many sighs;

The moments that are speeding fast

We heed not, but the past-the past—
More highly prize.