English

[ TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH .]

Francesca.

Crush'd and throng'd are all the places
In our amphitheatre,
'Midst a sea of swarming faces
I can yet distinguish her;
Dost thou triumph, dark-brow'd Nina?
Is my secret known to thee?
On the sands of yon arena
I shall yet my vengeance see.
Now through portals fast careering
Picadors are disappearing;
Now the barriers nimbly clearing

I

I sat by the fig-tree,
Inkoos, in the sunlight,
And talked of the crops with my father, Makumbo.
And up to the fig-tree came slowly a stranger
And sat at some distance, and clapped, and gave greeting,
And said, " I would speak with Makumbo Rashumba."
A tall man and thin, with a face full of cunning
And covered with pock-marks. His youth was still on him,
A dandy was he, with his knife ivory-handled —
His teeth filed to points — with his comb and his wash-stick,

Sweeter to me than Life seems sweet at Death,
When the last gradual decrease of breath
Shows that the end is near — Ah, sweeter far
Than the shimmering silv'ry radiance of a star
Is to the chaste white waves so long unwed;
More dear than Heav'n is to the lonely dead,
More sweet than sunshine to the famished flow'r,
Fairer than a rainbow after a sharp shower,
Lovelier to me than Amphion's melodies,
Than rare, fine wine that soothes the soul to ease
Sweeter than all else in the world thou art,

Love is a passion, by no rules confin'd,
The great first mover of the human mind:
Spring of our fate! it lifts the climbing will ,
Or sinks the soften'd soul, in seas of ill:
Science, truth, virtue, sweetness, glory, grace,
All are love's influence, and adorn his race;
Love, too, gives fear, despair, grief, anger, strife,
And all th' unnumber'd woes, which tempest life,

 Fir'd with a daring wish, to paint him right,
What muse shall I invoke to lend me light?
Something divine there lives in love's soft flame,

The Eternal hills are green in tropic lands,
And snowy white in temperate zones;
At seasons of the year, when nature speaks,
Most changes come, as ocean sands:

The planets and their suns betray a force
That rules o'er mighty changing time —
That time that had no beginning of day —
The time that runs its fullest course.

Almighty God is Master over all —
The crowning hills and valleys, too;
The oceans move at His eternal will,
And thus the terrestrial ball,
When nature changes from her mood to mood

A Native Legend from the Senna

So, Senhor, having spoken with the dead,
And having learned from them that he must go
Without molesting any of the men
Of giant size and strength incredible
That he might meet, he took his magic knife,
And, cold and gloomy as his manner was,
He turn'd his steps to Senna of the East;—
With this long-known intent: that he would cut
A channel through the swamp that bound his town
And kept his people stricken with disease
And all the ills that haunt a marshy place.

Slow-rising night had her black flag unfurl'd ,
And spread her sooty mantle o'er the world;
The waning moon shed pale, a sickly light,
And stars scarce twinkled , to th' enquiring sight .
Half the lost earth, by darkness, over-run,
Wept , in cold dews, the absence of the sun .
The waves were hush'd; the winds forgot to roar,
And storms , detach'd, in breezes, cours'd the shoar .
Now back'ning, aweful, nerv'd, erect, serene,
Asserted musick swells her heighten'd mien .
Fearless, with face oblique, her formful hand

When time shall cease, in moving hour,
And Nature's laws revert to plan,
The beasts and insects, with the flower,
Shall pass in order with vile man.

The sinners will, in grouping file,
In human Autumn's ordered spell,
Go speeding on in mournful style,
Right to the flooded gates of Hell.

With wonder and amazement then,
The rich will look upon the poor;
But none shall be the same old men
Who often closed the Saviour's door.

By sins and virtues firm, each one
Shall have his rightful final pay;

When Afric's sun was setting fast
The Prophets told the tale,
But Psalmists said she'd win at last
And pass beyond the vale. Chorus:

Come sing the song of Afric's love
The love of God so dear,
The Father great in realms above,
The greatest when so near.

The day has come for us to see
The glory of our name,
The hour of our jubilee
Will crown our greatest fame.

The fight is on to-day,
The glory is at hand;
No more must we delay,
But join the marching band. Chorus:

The field is ever open,
For those of courage great,
For Heav'n has sent its token,
So march to glorious fate.

The Prophets told us when
The time would come to speak,
And through the greatest men
God's help, in faith, to seek.