To offer thee a diadem

Of every ruby, every gem.

When Spring leads on the joyous Sun,
He brightens on thy eyes, and takes
A nobler luster: when the dun

And darksome April first awakes,
And gives his better smiles to May,
He keeps for thee his fairest day.

There are some idle bards who dream
That they have seen, with raptured eyes,
The smiling field, the dimpled stream,

And (strange deceit!) the laughing skies:
My Sylvia! field, nor stream, nor sky
E'er smiled but when thy smile was nigh.

Translation of Edgar A. Bowring.

I

PRAISE OF LITTLE WOMEN.

FROM THE SPANISH OF JUAN RUIZ DE HITA.

WISH to make my sermon brief-to shorten my oration-
For a never-ending sermon is my utter detestation :

I like short women-suits at law without procrastination-
And am always most delighted with things of short duration.

A babbler is a laughing-stock; he's a fool who's always grinning; But little women love so much, one falls in love with sinning. There are women who are very tall, and yet not worth the winning, And in the change of short for long, repentance finds beginning.

To praise the little women Love besought me in my musing;
To tell their noble qualities is quite beyond refusing:

So I'll praise the little women, and you'll find the thing amusing; They are, I know, as cold as snow, whilst flames around diffusing.

They're cold without, whilst warm within the flame of Love is raging;
They're gay and pleasant in the street-soft, cheerful, and engaging ⚫
They're thrifty and discreet at home, the cares of life assuaging:
All this and more-try, and you'll find how true is my presaging.

In a little precious stone what splendor meets the eyes!
In a little lump of sugar how much of sweetness lies!
So in a little woman love grows and multiplies:
You recollect the proverb says-A word unto the wise.

A pepper-corn is very small, but seasons every dinner
More than all other condiments, although 'tis sprinkled thinner :
Just so a little woman is, if Love will let you win her-
There's not a joy in all the world you will not find within her.

And as within the little rose you find the richest dyes,
And in a little grain of gold much price and value lies,
As from a little balsam much odor doth arise,
So in a little woman there's a taste of paradise.

Even as the little ruby its secret worth betrays,

Color, and price, and virtue, in the clearness of its rays-
Just so a little woman much excellence displays,

Beauty, and grace, and love, and fidelity always.

The skylark and the nightingale, though small and light of wing, Yet warble sweeter in the grove than all the birds that sing:

And so a little woman, though a very little thing,

Is sweeter far than sugar, and flowers that bloom in spring.

The magpie and the golden thrush have many a thrilling note,
Each as a gay musician doth strain his little throat-

A merry little songster in his green and yellow coat:

And such a little woman is, when Love doth make her dote.

There's naught can be compared to her, throughout the wide creation;
She is a paradise on earth-our greatest consolation-

So cheerful, gay, and happy, so free from all vexation:
In fine, she's better in the proof than in anticipation.

If as her size increases are woman's charms decreased,
Then surely it is good to be from all the great released:
Now of two evils choose the less-said a wise man of the East;
By consequence, of womankind be sure to choose the least.

Translation from North American Review.

HOW FAIR THE MAIDEN!

FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF GIL VICENTE.

H

OW fair the maiden! what can be

So fair, so beautiful, as she?

Ask the mariner who sails

Over the joyous sea,

If wave, or star, or friendly gales,
Are half so fair as she.

Ask the knight on his prancing steed
Returning from victory,

If weapon, or war, or arrow's speed,

Is half so fair as she.

Ask the shepherd who leads his flocks

Along the flowery lea,

If the valley's lap, or the sun-crowned rocks,

Are half so fair as she.

Translation of Edgar A. Bowring.

AMANDA.

FROM THE SWEDISH OF ERIC JOHAN STAGNELIUS.

HERE sun and flower are beaming,

WHERE

Amanda's charms appear;

Her beauty's rays are streaming
Round all this earthly sphere:
The breeze, when gently blowing-
The rose that scents the grove-
The vine, when brightly glowing-
All tell of her I love.

I hear her song's sweet numbers,
When Zephyr's breezy wings
Sweep o'er the gold harp's slumbers,
And wake its tuneful strings.
All-all the charms of nature
Amanda's beauty bear,

And show, in every feature,

Her godhead imaged there.

The spirits of the dying

Must quit this clay's control;

But they to rest are flying

In regions of the soul

The floods, now onward striding,
Are foaming, fierce, and free;
Yet soon their waves, subsiding,
Will slumber in the sea.

But I must vainly languish
For joys I ne'er can know,

And wear a cureless anguish

In loneliness and woe! Fair goddess! I shall ever Behold thy beauty shine Like stars above-but never

Can hope to call thee mine! Translation from Foreign Review.