 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
The Life of the Blessed.—Bryant.
From the Spanish of Luis Ponce de Leon.
Alma region luciente,
Prado de bien andanza, que ni al hielo, &c.
Prado de bien andanza, que ni al hielo, &c.
Region of life and light!
Land of the good, whose earthly toils are o'er!
Nor frost, nor heat, may blight
Thy vernal beauty; fertile shore,
Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore!
Land of the good, whose earthly toils are o'er!
Nor frost, nor heat, may blight
Thy vernal beauty; fertile shore,
Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore!
There, without crook or sling,
Walks the good Shepherd; blossoms white and red
Round his meek temples cling;
And, to sweet pastures led,
His own loved flock beneath his eye are fed.
Walks the good Shepherd; blossoms white and red
Round his meek temples cling;
And, to sweet pastures led,
His own loved flock beneath his eye are fed.
He guides, and near him they
Follow delighted; for he makes them go
Where dwells eternal May,
And heavenly roses blow,
Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.
Follow delighted; for he makes them go
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And heavenly roses blow,
Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.
He leads them to the height
Named of the infinite and long sought Good,
And fountains of delight;—
And where his feet have stood
Springs up, along the way, their tender food.
Named of the infinite and long sought Good,
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 modulated sound.
The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,
Reposing as he lies,
With all his flock around,
He witches the still air with modulated 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.
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, O love, in thee;
A wandering breath of that high melody,
Descend into my heart,
And change it, till it be
Transformed and swallowed up, O love, in thee;
Ah, then my soul should know,
Beloved, where thou liest at noon of day,
And, from this place of wo
Released, should take its way
To mingle with thy flock, and never stray.
Beloved, where thou liest at noon of day,
And, from this place of wo
Released, should take its way
To mingle with thy flock, and never stray.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |