Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79. | | | | Spain: Ocaña | | Rodrigo Manrique | | Don Jorge Manrique (c. 1440–1479) |
| | (From Coplas de Manrique)
Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
AND when so oft, for weal or woe, | |
| His life upon the fatal throw | |
| Had been cast down; | |
| When he had served, with patriot zeal, | |
| Beneath the banner of Castile, | 5 |
| His sovereign’s crown; | |
| |
| And done such deeds of valor strong, | |
| That neither history nor song | |
| Can count them all; | |
| Then, on Ocaña’s castled rock, | 10 |
| Death at his portal came to knock, | |
| With sudden call, | |
| |
| Saying, “Good Cavalier, prepare | |
| To leave this world of toil and care | |
| With joyful mien; | 15 |
| Let thy strong heart of steel this day | |
| Put on its armor for the fray, | |
| The closing scene. | |
| |
| “Since thou hast been, in battle-strife, | |
| So prodigal of health and life, | 20 |
| For earthly fame, | |
| Let virtue nerve thy heart again; | |
| Loud on the last stern battle-plain | |
| They call thy name.” * * * * * | |
| “My soul is ready to depart, | 25 |
| No thought rebels, the obedient heart | |
| Breathes forth no sigh; | |
| The wish on earth to linger still | |
| Were vain, when ’t is God’s sovereign will | |
| That we shall die. | 30 |
| |
| “O thou, that for our sins didst take | |
| A human form, and humbly make | |
| Thy home on earth; | |
| Thou, that to thy divinity | |
| A human nature didst ally | 35 |
| By mortal birth, | |
| |
| “And in that form didst suffer here | |
| Torment and agony and fear | |
| So patiently,— | |
| By thy redeeming grace alone, | 40 |
| And not for merits of my own, | |
| O, pardon me!” | |
| |
| As thus the dying warrior prayed, | |
| Without one gathering mist or shade | |
| Upon his mind, | 45 |
| Encircled by his family, | |
| Watched by affection’s gentle eye | |
| So soft and kind, | |
| |
| His soul to Him, who gave it, rose; | |
| God lead it to its long repose, | 50 |
| Its glorious rest! | |
| And, though the warrior’s sun has set, | |
| Its light shall linger round us yet, | |
| Bright, radiant, blest. * * * * * | | | | |
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