IF SHE FROWN MY HEART WOULD BREAK.

"Mil veces voy a hablar."

A THOUSAND, thousand times I seek

My lovely maid;

But I am silent still, afraid

That if I speak

The maid might frown, and then my heart

would break.

I've oft resolved to tell her all,

But dare not-what a woe 'twould be
From doubtful favour's smiles to fall
To the harsh frown of certainty.
Her grace her music cheers me now;
The dimpled roses on her cheek,

But fear restrains my tongue, for how,
How should I speak,

When, if she frown'd, my troubled heart would break?

No! rather I'll conceal my story

In my

full heart's most secret cell:

For though I feel a doubtful glory,

I 'scape the certainty of hell.

I lose, 'tis true, the bliss of heaven

I own my courage is but weak;

That weakness may be well forgiven,
For should she speak

In words ungentle, O! my heart would break.

Idem, p. 143.

PAULINO DE LA ESTRELLA.

HE WHO SAVES HIS SOUL IS WISE.

"Quien se sabe salvar sabe."

ALL the wisdom ever taught

By the world is vain and drear,
When before God's presence brought:
Him to love, and serve, and fear,
Is true wisdom. By His hand
He supports the world: who tries
To obey His high command,
Spurning all the vanities

Worldly wisdom ever plann'd ;-
He who saves his soul is wise.

Thou ungrateful world! the scene
Of deceit, and want, and woe;
Folly's stage, delusion's screen,
And affection's overthrow :
'Neath thy flattering, flowery years,
Many a hidden poison lies:

Like a dream of doubts and fears,
Life glides by-and man, he dies!
Wisdom then her standard rears:

He who saves his soul is wise.

Flores del desierto, Madrid, 1779, p.

220.

FERNANDEZ DE ALMEYDA.

THE TIMBREL.

"Tango vos el mi pandero.”

WHEN I strike thee, O my timbrel !
Think not that I think of thee.

Couldst thou know, ungentle timbrel,
Couldst thou know my misery,
All thy notes of mirth and gladness

Soon transform'd to gloom would be.
Couldst thou know that when I strike thee

"Tis in sorrow's agony,

To escape the recollection

Of the woes that visit me.

Sirs! my heart is now the mansion

Of a clamorous misery:

Timbrel! dost thou hear my sadness?

Think not that I think of thee!

Cancionero General, Lisboa, 1517, p. 190.