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Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant
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And fountains of delight;
And where his feet have stood
Springs up, along the way, their tender food.
And when, in the mid skies,
The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,
Reposing as he lies,
With all his flock around,
He witches the still air with numerous sound.
From his sweet lute flow forth
Immortal harmonies, of power to still
All passions born of earth,
And draw the ardent will
Its destiny of goodness to fulfil.
Might but a little part,
A wandering breath of that high melody,
Descend into my heart,
And change it till it be
Transformed and swallowed up, oh love, in thee!
Ah! then my soul should know,
Beloved! where thou liest at noon of day,
And from this place of woe
Released, should take its way
To mingle with thy flock and never stray.
FATIMA AND RADUAN.[18 - This and the following poems belong to that class of ancient Spanish ballads, by unknown authors, called Romances Moriscos– Moriscan Romances or ballads. They were composed in the fourteenth century, some of them, probably, by the Moors, who then lived intermingled with the Christians; and they relate the loves and achievements of the knights of Granada.]
FROM THE SPANISH
Diamante falso y fingido,
Engastado en pedernal, etc.
"False diamond set in flint! hard heart in haughty breast!
By a softer, warmer bosom the tiger's couch is prest.
Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as the wind,
And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard to bind.
If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few would be
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me.
Oh! I could chide thee sharply – but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.
"Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Granada's maids,
Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades;
And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to every one
That what thou didst to win my love, for love of me was done.
Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know,
They well might see another mark to which thine arrows go;
But thou giv'st me little heed – for I speak to one who knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.
"It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and bear
What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my own with care.
Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah! thou know'st I feel
That cruel words as surely kill as sharpest blades of steel.
'Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart with pain;
But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again.
I would proclaim thee as thou art – but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."
Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan,
Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran.
The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was,
He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause:
"Oh lady, dry those star-like eyes – their dimness does me wrong;
If my heart be made of flint, at least 'twill keep thy image long.
Thou hast uttered cruel words – but I grieve the less for those,
Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."
LOVE AND FOLLY.[19 - This is rather an imitation than a translation of the poem of the graceful French fabulist.]
FROM LA FONTAINE
Love's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science – but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;
So take of me this little lay,
A sample of its boundless lore.
As once, beneath the fragrant shade
Of myrtles fresh in heaven's pure air,
The children, Love and Folly, played,
A quarrel rose betwixt the pair.
Love said the gods should do him right —
But Folly vowed to do it then,
And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,
So hard he never saw again.
His lovely mother's grief was deep,
She called for vengeance on the deed;
A beauty does not vainly weep,
Nor coldly does a mother plead.
A shade came o'er the eternal bliss
That fills the dwellers of the skies;
Even stony-hearted Nemesis,
And where his feet have stood
Springs up, along the way, their tender food.
And when, in the mid skies,
The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,
Reposing as he lies,
With all his flock around,
He witches the still air with numerous sound.
From his sweet lute flow forth
Immortal harmonies, of power to still
All passions born of earth,
And draw the ardent will
Its destiny of goodness to fulfil.
Might but a little part,
A wandering breath of that high melody,
Descend into my heart,
And change it till it be
Transformed and swallowed up, oh love, in thee!
Ah! then my soul should know,
Beloved! where thou liest at noon of day,
And from this place of woe
Released, should take its way
To mingle with thy flock and never stray.
FATIMA AND RADUAN.[18 - This and the following poems belong to that class of ancient Spanish ballads, by unknown authors, called Romances Moriscos– Moriscan Romances or ballads. They were composed in the fourteenth century, some of them, probably, by the Moors, who then lived intermingled with the Christians; and they relate the loves and achievements of the knights of Granada.]
FROM THE SPANISH
Diamante falso y fingido,
Engastado en pedernal, etc.
"False diamond set in flint! hard heart in haughty breast!
By a softer, warmer bosom the tiger's couch is prest.
Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as the wind,
And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard to bind.
If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few would be
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me.
Oh! I could chide thee sharply – but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.
"Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Granada's maids,
Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades;
And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to every one
That what thou didst to win my love, for love of me was done.
Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know,
They well might see another mark to which thine arrows go;
But thou giv'st me little heed – for I speak to one who knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.
"It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and bear
What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my own with care.
Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah! thou know'st I feel
That cruel words as surely kill as sharpest blades of steel.
'Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart with pain;
But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again.
I would proclaim thee as thou art – but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."
Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan,
Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran.
The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was,
He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause:
"Oh lady, dry those star-like eyes – their dimness does me wrong;
If my heart be made of flint, at least 'twill keep thy image long.
Thou hast uttered cruel words – but I grieve the less for those,
Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."
LOVE AND FOLLY.[19 - This is rather an imitation than a translation of the poem of the graceful French fabulist.]
FROM LA FONTAINE
Love's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science – but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;
So take of me this little lay,
A sample of its boundless lore.
As once, beneath the fragrant shade
Of myrtles fresh in heaven's pure air,
The children, Love and Folly, played,
A quarrel rose betwixt the pair.
Love said the gods should do him right —
But Folly vowed to do it then,
And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight,
So hard he never saw again.
His lovely mother's grief was deep,
She called for vengeance on the deed;
A beauty does not vainly weep,
Nor coldly does a mother plead.
A shade came o'er the eternal bliss
That fills the dwellers of the skies;
Even stony-hearted Nemesis,
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