COPLAS DE MANRIQUE.

FROM THE SPANISH.

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.

Onward its course the present keeps,

Onward the constant current sweeps, Till life is done;

And, did we judge of time aright,

The past and future in their flight
Would be as one.

Let no one fondly dream again,

That Hope and all her shadowy train Will not decay;

Fleeting as were the dreams of old,

Remembered like a tale that 's told,

They pass away.

Our lives are rivers, gliding free

To that unfathomed, boundless sea,

The silent grave!

Thither all earthly pomp and boast
Roll, to be swallowed up and lost
In one dark wave.

Thither the mighty torrents stray,
Thither the brook pursues its way,
And tinkling rill.

There all are equal. Side by side

The poor man and the son of pride
Lie calm and still.

I will not here invoke the throng

Of orators and sons of

The deathless few;

song,

Fiction entices and deceives,

And sprinkled o'er her fragrant leaves

Lies poisonous dew.

To One alone my thoughts arise,

The Eternal Truth, the Good and Wise;

To Him I cry,

Who shared on earth our common lot,

But the world comprehended not

His deity.

This world is but the rugged road

Which leads us to the bright abode
Of peace above;

So let us choose that narrow way,

Which leads no traveller's foot astray

From realms of love.

Our cradle is the starting-place,

In life we run the onward race,

And reach the goal;

When, in the mansions of the blest,

Death leaves to its eternal rest

The weary soul.

Did we but use it as we ought,

This world would school each wandering

To its high state.

[thought

Faith wings the soul.beyond the sky,

Up to that better world on high,

For which we wait.

Yes, the glad messenger of love,

To guide us to our home above,

The Saviour came;

Born amid mortal cares and fears,

He suffered in this vale of tears

A death of shame.

Behold of what delusive worth

The troubles we pursue on earth,

The shapes we chase,

Amid a world of treachery!

They vanish ere death shuts the eye,

And leave no trace.

Disastrous accidents, and change,

That come to all;

Even in the most exalted state,

Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate;

The strongest fall.