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, surnamed the Divine, was a Spanish Poet, who lived in the reign of Charles V., and is still considered by the Castilians as one of their classic writers. He aimed at the introduction of a new style into Spanish Poetry, and his lyrics are distinguished by the sustained majesty of their language, the frequent recurrence of expressions and images, derived apparently from a fervent study of the prophetic books of Scripture, and the lofty tone of national pride maintained throughout, and justified indeed by the nature of the subjects to which some of these productions are devoted. This last characteristic is blended with a deep and enthusiastic feeling of religion, which rather exalts, than tempers, the haughty confidence of the poet in the high destinies of his country. Spain is to him, what Judea was to the bards who sung beneath the shadow of her palm trees; the chosen and favoured land, whose people, severed from all others by the purity and devotedness of their faith, are peculiarly called upon to wreak the vengeance of heaven upon the infidel. This triumphant conviction is powerfully expressed in his magnificent Ode on the Battle of Lepanto.

The impresssion of deep solemnity left upon the mind of the Spanish reader, by another of Herrera's lyric compositions, will, it is feared, be very inadequately conveyed through the medium of the following translation.

A voice of woe, a murmur of lament, A spirit of deep fear and mingled ire; Let such record the day, the day of wail For Lusitania's bitter chastening sent! She who hath seen her power, her fame expire, And mourns them in the dust, discrowned and pale! And let the awful tale With grief and horror every realm o'ershade, From Afric's burning main To the far sea, in other hues arrayed, And the red limits of the Orient's reign, Whose nations, haughty though subdued, behold Christ's glorious banner to the winds unfold.

Alas! for those that in embattled power, And vain array of chariots and of horse, O desart Libya! sought thy fatal coast! And trusting not in Him, the eternal source Of might and glory, but in earthly force Making the strength of multitudes their boast, A flushed and crested host, Elate in lofty dreams of victory, trod Their path of pride, as o'er a conquered land Given for the spoil; nor raised their eyes to God; And Israel's Holy One withdrew his hand, Their sole support;—and heavily and prone They fell—the car, the steed, the rider, all o'erthrown!