TRANSLATIONS. Version of a Fragment of Simonides From the Spanish of Villegas Mary Magdalen. deg. (From the Spanish of Bartolome Leonardo de Argensola) The Life of the Blessed. (From the Spanish of Luis Ponce de Leon) Fatima and Raduan. deg. (From the Spanish) Love and Folly. deg. (From la Fontaine) The Siesta. (From the Spanish) The Alcayde of Molina. deg. (From the Spanish) The Death of Aliatar. deg. (From the Spanish) Love in the Age of Chivalry. deg. (From Peyre Vidal, the Troubadour) The Love of God. deg. (From the Provencal of Bernard Rascas) From The Spanish of Pedro de Castro y Anaya deg. Sonnet. (From the Portuguese of Semedo) Song. (From the Spanish of Iglesias) The Count of Greiers. (From the German of Uhland) The Serenade. (From the Spanish) A Northern Legend. (From the German of Uhland) LATER POEMS. To the Apennines Earth The Knight's Epitaph The Hunter of the Prairies Seventy-Six The Living Lost Catterskill Falls The Strange Lady Life deg. "Earth's children cleave to earth" The Hunter's Vision The Green Mountain Boys deg. A Presentiment The Child's Funeral deg. The Battlefield The Future Life The Death of Schiller deg. The Fountain deg. The Winds The Old Man's Counsel deg. Lines in Memory of William Leggett An Evening Revery deg. The Painted Cup deg. A Dream The Antiquity of Freedom The Maiden's Sorrow The Return of Youth A Hymn of the Sea Noon. deg. (From an unfinished Poem) The Crowded Street The White-footed Deer deg. The Waning Moon The Stream of Life NOTES ( deg.) * * * * * POEMS. THE AGES. deg. I. When to the common rest that crowns our days, Called in the noon of life, the good man goes, Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, lays His silver temples in their last repose; When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows, And blights the fairest; when our bitter tears Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close, We think on what they were, with many fears Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming years: II. And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by,-- When lived the honoured sage whose death we wept, And the soft virtues beamed from many an eye, And beat in many a heart that long has slept,-- Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped-- Are holy; and high-dreaming bards have told Of times when worth was crowned, and faith was kept, Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed cold-- Those pure and happy times--the golden days of old. III.