The earth was sown with early flowers,
  The heavens were blue and bright—­
I met a youthful cavalier
  As lovely as the light. 
I knew him not—­but in my heart
  His graceful image lies,
And well I marked his open brow,
  His sweet and tender eyes,
His ruddy lips that ever smiled,
  His glittering teeth betwixt,
And flowing robe embroidered o’er,
  With leaves and blossoms mixed. 
He wore a chaplet of the rose;
  His palfrey, white and sleek,
Was marked with many an ebon spot,
  And many a purple streak;
Of jasper was his saddle-bow,
  His housings sapphire stone,
And brightly in his stirrup glanced
  The purple calcedon. 
Fast rode the gallant cavalier,
  As youthful horsemen ride;
“Peyre Vidal! know that I am Love,”
  The blooming stranger cried;
“And this is Mercy by my side,
  A dame of high degree;
This maid is Chastity,” he said,
  “This squire is Loyalty.”

The love of god. deg.

From the Provencal of BERNARI Rascas.

All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away,
Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye. 
The forms of men shall be as they had never been;
The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green;
The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song,
And the nigthingale* shall cease to chant the evening long. 
The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills,
And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills. 
The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox,
The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks,
And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie,
And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die. 
And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no more,
And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore;
And the great globe itself, (so the holy writings tell,)
With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell,
Shall melt with fervent heat—­they shall all pass away,
Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.

(* sic)

From the Spanish of Pedro de Castro Y Anaya. deg.

Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave
  The lovely vale that lies around thee. 
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,
  When but a fount the morning found thee?

Born when the skies began to glow,
  Humblest of all the rock’s cold daughters,
No blossom bowed its stalk to show
  Where stole thy still and scanty waters.

Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,
  Usurping, as thou downward driftest,
Its crystal from the clearest brook,
  Its rushing current from the swiftest.

Ah! what wild haste!—­and all to be
  A river and expire in ocean. 
Each fountain’s tribute hurries thee
  To that vast grave with quicker motion.