Where shepherd youths and maids in secret bowers, In song and feast unite In joyful band, to pass the sultry hours Of their siesta light. The sturdy hunter, bathed in moisture well, Beneath an oak-tree's boughs, Beside his faithful dog, his sentinel, Now yields him to repose. All, all is calm, is silent. O how sweet, On this enameled ground, At ease recumbent, from its flowery seat, To cast your eyes around! The busy bee, that round your listening ear Murmurs with drowsy hum; The faithful turtles, perched on oak-trees near, And ever in the distance her sweet song Murmurs lorn Philomel; While the hoar forest's echoing glades prolong Her love and music well. And 'midst the grass slow creeps the rivulet, In whose bright limpid stream The blue sky and the world of boughs are met, Mirrored in one bright gleam. And of the elm the hoar and silvery leaves, The slumbering winds scarce blow, Which, pictured in the bright and tremulous waves, Follow their motion slow. These airy mountains, and this fragrant seat, Bright with a thousand flowers; These interwoven forests, where the heat Is tempered in their bowers! The dark umbrageous woods, the dense array Like crystal light appears! These cooling grottoes! O retirement blest! Within thy calm abode My mind alone can from her troubles rest, With solitude and God. Thou giv'st me life, and liberty, and love, And all I now admire, And from the winter of my soul dost move O bounteous Nature, 'tis thy healing womb Thither all ye, the weary, laden, come, From storms of life secure. Anonymous Translation. JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES, 1754-1817. SUMMER Ꭰ Ꭱ Ꭼ Ꭺ Ꮇ . FROM THE GERMAN MINNESINGERS. 'Twas summer; through the spring grass The birds in all their different tribes Loud in the woodlands sang: Then forth I went, and wandered far The wide, green meadow o'er Where cool and clear the fountain play'd— Roaming on, the nightingale And by the greenwood's shady side, A dream came to me there. Fast by the fountain, where bright flowers Of sparkling hue we see; Close sheltered from the summer heat, That vision came to me. All care was banished, and repose And kingdoms seemed to wait on me, Yet while it seemed as if away, My spirit soared on high, And in the boundless joys of heaven Was rapp'd in ecstasy ; E'en then my body revel'd still In earth's festivity; And surely never was a dream So sweet as this to me. Thus I dreamed on, and might have dwelt Still on that rapturous dream, When hark! a raven's luckless note (Sooth 'twas a direful scream!) O had a stone but met my hand, Translation of E. TAYLOR. WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE, about 1150. SUMMER. The spring's gay promise melted into thee, In the blue sky thy voice is rich and clear; The gales that wander from the unclouded west Are burden'd with the breath of countless fields; In such a scene the sun-illumin'd heart Bounds like a prisoner in his narrow cell, When through its bars the morning glories dart, Thus, gazing on thy void and sapphire sky, And the bland air with its soft melodies; I long to cast this cumbrous clay aside, And the impure, unholy thoughts that cling WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, 1810-1841. |