HOROSCOPE
Ere he was born, the stars of fate Plotted to make him rich and great: When from the womb the babe was loosed, The gate of gifts behind him closed.
POWER
Cast the bantling on the rocks, Suckle him with the she-wolf"s teat, Wintered with the hawk and fox, Power and speed be hands and feet.
CLIMACTERIC
I am not wiser for my age, Nor skilful by my grief; Life loiters at the book"s first page,-- Ah! could we turn the leaf.
HERI, CRAS, HODIE
Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen, To-day slinks poorly off unmarked between: Future or Past no richer secret folds, O friendless Present! than thy bosom holds.
MEMORY
Night-dreams trace on Memory"s wall Shadows of the thoughts of day, And thy fortunes, as they fall, The bias of the will betray.
LOVE
Love on his errand bound to go Can swim the flood and wade through snow, Where way is none, "t will creep and wind And eat through Alps its home to find.
SACRIFICE
Though love repine, and reason chafe, There came a voice without reply,-- ""T is man"s perdition to be safe, When for the truth he ought to die."
PERICLES
Well and wisely said the Greek, Be thou faithful, but not fond; To the altar"s foot thy fellow seek,-- The Furies wait beyond.
CASELLA
Test of the poet is knowledge of love, For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove; Never was poet, of late or of yore, Who was not tremulous with love-lore.
SHAKSPEARE
I see all human wits Are measured but a few; Unmeasured still my Shakspeare sits, Lone as the blessed Jew.
HAFIZ
Her pa.s.sions the shy violet From Hafiz never hides; Love-longings of the raptured bird The bird to him confides.
NATURE IN LEASTS
As sings the pine-tree in the wind, So sings in the wind a sprig of the pine; Her strength and soul has laughing France Shed in each drop of wine.
[Greek: ADAKRYN NEMONTAI AIONA]
"A New commandment," said the smiling Muse, "I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach";-- Luther, Fox, Behmen, Swedenborg, grew pale, And, on the instant, rosier clouds upbore Hafiz and Shakspeare with their shining choirs.
TRANSLATIONS
SONNET OF MICHEL ANGELO BUONAROTTI
Never did sculptor"s dream unfold A form which marble doth not hold In its white block; yet it therein shall find Only the hand secure and bold Which still obeys the mind.
So hide in thee, thou heavenly dame, The ill I shun, the good I claim; I alas! not well alive, Miss the aim whereto I strive.
Not love, nor beauty"s pride, Nor Fortune, nor thy coldness, can I chide, If, whilst within thy heart abide Both death and pity, my unequal skill Fails of the life, but draws the death and ill.
THE EXILE
FROM THE PERSIAN OF KERMANI
In Farsistan the violet spreads Its leaves to the rival sky; I ask how far is the Tigris flood, And the vine that grows thereby?