NOT ALL SWEET NIGHTINGALES.

"No son todos ruiseñores."

THEY are not all sweet nightingales,
That fill with songs the flowery vales;
But they are little silver bells,

Touch'd by the winds in the smiling dells;

Magic bells of gold in the grove,
Forming a chorus for her I love.

Think not the voices in the air
Are from the winged Sirens fair,
Playing among the dewy trees,
Chanting their morning mysteries:
O! if you listen, delighted there
To their music scatter'd o'er the dales,

They are not all sweet nightingales,
That fill with songs the flowery vales;

But they are little silver bells,

Touch'd by the winds in the smiling dells;

Magic bells of gold in the grove,

Forming a chorus for her I love.

O! 'twas a lovely song-of art

To charm-of nature to touch the heart;
Sure 'twas some shepherd's pipe, which play'd
By passion fills the forest shade:

No! 'tis music's diviner part

Which o'er the yielding spirit prevails.
They are not all sweet nightingales,
That fill with songs the flowery vales;
But they are little silver bells,

Touch'd by the winds in the smiling dells;
Magic bells of gold in the grove

Forming a chorus for her I love.

In the eye of love, which all things sees,
The fragrance-breathing jasmine trees—
And the golden flowers-and the sloping hill-
And the ever melancholy rill—

Are full of holiest sympathies,

And tell of love a thousand tales.

They are not all sweet nightingales,

That fill with songs the cheerful vales ;

But they are little silver bells,

Touch'd by the wind in the smiling dells;

Bells of gold in the secret grove,

Making music for her I love.

Silva de Romances.

COME, WANDERING SHEEP, O COME!

"Oveja perdida, ven."

COME, wandering sheep, O come!
I'll bind thee to my breast,
I'll bear thee to thy home,
And lay thee down to rest.

I shield thee from alarms,

And wilt thou not be blest?

I bear thee in my arms.

Thou bear me in thy breast!

O this is love—come, rest

This is a blissful doom.

Come, wandering sheep, O come!

Obras. Madrid, 1654, p. 78.

VIRGIN, that like morn appears,
With her babe-a flow'ret too,
Sprinkled with the sparkling dew
Of his pure and holy tears.

When across the mountain's height
Lovely day-break flings her robe,
And with smiles of love and light
Decorates the awakening globe;
Joy and gladness fill the heaven,

When night's curtains are withdrawn :
Virgin! thou those smiles hast given,
Thou-earth's brightest, fairest dawn.

All the rainbow's tints are spread
Over clouds, and fields, and bowers-

Lo! the proud carnation red,
Lo! that royal king of flowers,
Fragrant as 'tis glorious-sweet
As 'tis stately-ever true

To the dawn—an emblem meet
Of this babe-a flow'ret too.

Yes! that heavenly flow'ret fell
From its father's breast-conceal'd
In its mother's breast to dwell;
In a mortal vestment veil'd,-
Heavenly image-earthly mould-
Beautiful as bright to view,
O what charms its leaves unfold,
Drench'd with suffering's sparkling dew!

In the valley see it sleep,

On its brow the death-sweats lie; O'er its wreck the tempests sweep, And the herds pass careless by. Know that though its darken'd orb

Dimm'd in earth's low valley lies, Every tear earth's clods absorb

In a dew of paradise.

Libro de Santa Ines, Braga, 1611, p. 171.