On the Ascension
Ah, holy shepherd, how can you leave your flock alone here weeping, deep in the valley, dark, while you break through the pure air of the sky home to eternity?
They were so blest, so happy: now they are stricken with sorrow. You were their nurse, their mother, now you have made them orphans: who is there left to turn towards for comfort?
They, whose eyes used to see the beauty of your face — what will not be dull to their sight? and what will not seem dead to their ears, after the music of what you said?
Who is there now to quell this riotous sea, or call the raging winds to order? Now you are clouded over, how can the north star guide the ship to harbour?
Why be so jealous, cloud — how can you grudge us even this little happiness! — must you fly up so fast? You with so rich a treasure, tr. from the Spanish by C. E. Ward
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