A A = =^c= A^ ^ = =^ 3J S ^= 33 ^^ ?z- > 4 = 1 m =:^ ^ 6 m A ^^S 4 = =^=: -t 1 m == J> 2 1 ^^^ — f 5 = I •LATIONS s 1 M RSE ;tl....;"'i''all' i 111'"' Hi ■ ■ llli. •■•1!", '/ , "• „ -^VS"' '**'■ 1 -il '■"•1 ir'; .;l|,ii...' ' <*'\' .■'"' ,' .Ill . . .1' '. ' V'- 1 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD ENDOWMENT FUND n In 4 4^^/^/ TRANSLATIONS IN VERSE Translations in "^ erse FROM THE French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Swedish, German, and Dutch. BY COLLARD J. STOCK. LON^DON : ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.G. 1891. ^^H ^^m CONTENTS. FROM THE FRENCH. Sonnet. . . . FMx Arvers The Benediction . Francois Coppie PAGE • 3 FROM THE SPANISH. Sonnet, Cervantes . ■ 13 SONxNET , Gongora • 14 Epitaph Alarcoii • 15 SONETO BURLESCO Lope dc Vega . 16 Soneto Burlesco 1 J If • 17 Sonnet . Quevedo . 18 To Lope de Vega Calderon . • 19 Love and Glory Ramon de Camp oamor 20 Sonnet. Lope de Vega . 23 FROM TH E PORTUGUESE. Cantata Garfoo • 27 Sonnet . Camoens • 31 Sonnet. 32 7G5?G1 PAGE The Song of the Exile . Gottfalves Dias 33 The Song of the Tamoyo . ,, ,, 35 A Rhapsody .... ,■ .. 38 FROM THE ITALIAN. Sonnet Petrarch. . 41 Chorus Tasso . . 42 FROM THE SWEDISH. The Bkazili.'V.n Maid . . Count Snoilsky 45 Velazquez .... ,, ,, 47 Thorough .... ,, ,, 48 FROM THE GERMAN. To Petrarch .... Uhland . .51 The Forest Witch . . Von Boddien . 52 Philosophy of History . Paul Heyse . 54 FROM THE DUTCH. Sonnet P. C. Hooft . 57 Sonnet ,, ,. . 58 Appendix 61 FROM THE 1 RENCH SONNET. FROM THE FRENCH OV KKLIX ARVERS. MV soul its secret hath, my life its mystery ; A love eternal at a breath conceived : The ill is hopeless — silent I have lived, And she that wrought it ne'er has known of me. I shall pass near her — ah ! she will not see ; Still at her side yet lonely I must wend. And ser\'e my time on earlh until the end, Not daring aught to ask, ungucrdoned be. And she, whom God so tender made and sweet, Will go her way, absorbed, and will not hear This murmur of my love that tracks her feet ; But, faithful to her duty, calm, austere. Will say, if e'er these lines her eyes should greet, ' Who is this w oman ?' c\cr unaware ! THE BENEDICTION. FROM THE FRENCH OK FRANCOIS COFFEE. WE look Saragossa in the year eighteen-nine. I was sergeant : a terrible day's work was mine. The town was captured — the houses by storm we took That still closely shut up had a treacherous look. From their windows the shots in showers came rain- ing : ' 'Tis the fault of the priests ' the men muttered, com- plaining ; So that when in the distance we saw them in flight, Although hard we had fought from the first dawning light. With our eyes by dust blinded, mouths bitter and black From the cartridge's sombre kiss 'midst the smoke's rack, 4 We fired gaily and always more briskly disposed At all tliose long dark cloaks and broad hats dis- closed. My battalion followed a deep narrow lane ; I marched watching the roofs right and left, not in vain, In my rank as sergeant with the light infantrj'. Then I saw a swift, sudden red glare in the sky, That faded and glowed like a forge's hot breatli ; We heard loud shrieks of women butchered to death Afar off, 'midst the hoarse and funereal din. We strode o'er the dead at each moment ; within Dark hovels our men entered, lowering the head , Then came out with their bayonets reeking and red. And with the blood on their hands marked a cross on the wall ; For in these narrow passes we made sure before all That behind us we had not left one of our foes. We advanced without drum-beat, no war-march arose, And thoughtful our officers looked ; the veterans, too, Were anxious, keeping shoulder to shoulder all through, 5 For, as if we were mere raw recruits, our hearts sank. All at once, at the turn of a street deep and dank, Shouts for help from French voices were heard : rush- ing on We reached our friends in peril and straight fell upon A troop of gallant grenadiers in full retreat, Driven ingloriously out into the street From a convent's enclosure, only defended By a score of swart monks, who like demons de- scended With shaven crowns and black robes with white cross woven : Barefoot, with blood-stained arms, their sleeves all cloven, They struck our men down, each with a crucifix im- mense. It was tragic. We opened a platoon fire dense, I and the others there, and so swept clear the place. Coldly, cruelly — for the troops, worn out, felt base And butcherlike deahng around this hangman's fate — We killed that dreadful group of heroes at the gate : But when once consummated was this vile deed of war. And when the thick gray smoke had blown on high afar. We saw beneath the bodies that entangled lay Long rivulet;; of blood run down the steps away. Behind, with open door, the gloomy church loomed vast. The lights, like stars of gold, through dusk their radiance cast. The incense all around its languorous perfume shed, And deep in the choir low'rds the altar turned his head. As though no sound o{ battle had reached his ear at all, A white-haired priest whose figure towered grave and tall: The ottice of the day he was ending tranquilly. This evil memory comes back so clear to me. That while I tell you now I seem to see again The old convent with its high Moorish-fronted fane. The dead monks" great brown l)odies, the hot sun that shone. Making the crimson lilood smoke on the pavement stone, And through the l)lack frame of the low door's dark outline That priest and that aliar glittering like a shrine. And ourselves standing, fixed there, looking almost cowed. At that time of my life 1 was one who swore loud, 7 A godless young fellow, and still many can tell How once, when our troopers were sacking a chapel. Just to show off my pluck and my wit, I would dare Light my pipe at the high altar candles, nor care What I did — hard campaigner — in impudence sheer — But so white looked that old man he filled me with fear. ' Fire !' cried an ofticer. No one moved. The priest heard For certain, but of that not a sign once ajjpeared, And he faced us, with the sacrament in his hand ; I'or the mass now had reached the point, you under- stand, Where the priest turns to bless the faithful. O'er the head His arms raised high aloft almost like wings seemed spread, And each one backward shrank when with the gold monstrance He made the sign of the cross in the air. His glance Told that he no more feared than before flock devout ; And when his fine voice, chanting and lengthening out 8 The notes, as the priests all do in their Orcnnts, Said ' Betiedicat vcs omnipotens Deus,^ ' Fire !' cried again the fierce voice, ' or you reckon with me.' Then one of our men, a soldier — a coward was lie — At last levelled his musket and fired. The old man Turned very pale, but fearless once more began. Not lowering his gaze, flashing with courage stern ; ' Pater et Filius,^ he said. What rage could turn Or what bloodthirsty madness overwhelm man's liraiii Enough to send a shot then from our ranks again ? I know not ; and yet that infamous deed was done. The monk, with one hand grasping the altar, still held on, And trj'ing once more to bless us — it must be told — Raised with the other hand the great monstrance of gold. For the third time he traced the sign of pardon : now. With a voice that sounded far away and faint and low, But well we heard it, for deep silence came on us, I le said, with closing eyes, ' Et Spirit us Seznrtits,' 9 Then fell dead, having ended his last prayer. The monstrance thrice rebounded on the stone, and there Even we, the old troopers, were standing hushed, aghast. Gazing with gloomy eyes as we grounded arms at last, With horror in our hearts — forget it I ne'er can — Before the hideous murder of that martyred man. 10 FROM THE SPANISH SONNET. IROM THE SPANISH OK CERVANTES. T F from this seething gulf and raging sea, ■■- Where death the wild storm threatens in each wave, My life 'midst all these hard assaults I save And reach the land again, safe, glad, and free ; Then, while these hands are raised on high by me, With humble soul and mind content I'll crave That Love may know, and Heaven itself, that gave The sovereign good, my gratitude may see. My sighs then as thrice happy I shall deem And count as pleasurable all my tears. As cooling balm the fire that in me burns ; Given by Ixjve's hand the rudest blows will seem As help to soul and body each a]:ipears, That to no slender good, but greatest, turns. (See Appendix, Note A.) '3 SONNET. (••ROM THE SPANISH OF GONGORA. GOLD, no, 'lis lightning, crimson sky aglow, Shall best set forth the splendour of your morn, Like as your purple age doth show, whose dawn Now bears twin stars like suns upon its brow. Bird that is mute but emulous, although In vain, of the more tuneful who are born Of Art— from willow tree which leaves adorn, Leaves that are grey, indeed, but still that grow, Your radiance I will sing ; how far beyond All verse your sunrise and the hope to me Of the bright hours with which your day will shine. To such great beauty let my voice respond ; But though Apollo wills that may not be, For yours the beauty is, the voice is mine. (See Aripendix, Note E.) 14 DECIMA. FROM THE SPANISH OF AI.ARCON. Epitaph. BENEATH this stone .1 slanderer lies Who even spoke ill of himself ; His ashes thus laid on the shelf This tomb dolh immortalize. He left a memory to the wise Of living well and living ill ; With that he died against his will, C.iving all men to comprehend How an ill deed could make an end Of him, and all his ill words kill. (See Appendix, Note C) S ONE TO BURLESCO. FROM TilE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. P ROUD towers the lofty palaces between That once did crown those seven hills that rise, And now 'gainst bare horizons to our eyes Scarce give a sign that you have ever been ! Ye schools of Greece, the famed abodes serene Of Plutarchs, Platos, Xenophons— the wise : Theatre, where wild beasts fought mid Demos' cries : Olympiads, lustra, baths, the temple scene : Whr.t wondrous powers have to destruction hurled The greatest pomp of human glory known. With empires, arms, the wisdom of the world ? O solace great to my vain hope I own ! If you to such brief ruins Time has whirled, No marvel he has spoiled my threadbare gown ! (See Appendix, Note D.) I6 S ONE TO BURLESCO. FROM THE SPANISH OK LOPE UE VEGA. IT was the month when most the days are fair, I n which the flowery meads give most delight, When first I saw you, for whom now I write, Lady, so many fooHsh love-songs rare. Fruitless are all the pleadings that I dare ; And, as your favour is denied me quite, You triumph, cruel one, for in this plight The glory is all yours, mine all the care. That octave verse has not turned out so ill : But let the muses not cry lie on me If this great sonnet ere the end I praise. Now I have got that sentence out ; yet still, If, as I think, I do not end it, sec, I'll throw in a refrain of other days. 17 SONNET. FROM THE SPANISH OF QUEVEDO. THE brief year of our mortal life doth bear All things away, mocking the visage bold Of valiant steel and of the marble cold That its hard front 'gainst Time to raise w^ould dare. Before the foot can walk it straight must fare Along the way to death, whither is rolled My life obscure ; the dark sea will enfold That poor and turbid stream in its waves drear. Every short moment is one long step past Which on this march against my will I make ; At rest, asleep, I haste without reprieve. Then a short sigh — a bitter one — the last — Is Death, the heritage that we must take ; But if 'tis Law, not Penalty, why grieve ? (See Appendix, Note E.) i8 DECIMA. KROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON. To Lope de Vega. A LTHOUGH the persecuting tongue ^ ^ Of envy oft the wise may fear, No scath from it his fame shall Ijear, For 'tis as though his praise it sung. Those who most presume are stung By envy, Lope, against thee ; In their presumption thou wilt see What thy glories merit : so That those who most thy greatness show Are those most full of jealousy. (See Appendix, Note F.) 19 LOVE AND GLORY. KROM THE SPANISH OF RAMON DE CAMPOAMOR. UPON the sand and on the wind All things that are seem founded ! The world of earth is bounded Like the world of the nobler mind. Of Love and Glory aye we find The base is naught but air and sand : ' Castles with which illusion's wand The world and the heart doth fill — Those of the world of sand arc still, Those of the heart fade in cloudland ! (See Appendix, Note G.) 20 SONNET. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. OH, Christ divine 1 my Life through all these years, From Thy great beauty whither do I flee ? That I affront Thy face how can it be Which gazes on me bathed in blood and tears ? Filled am I with confusion and wild fears — Knowing myself and not amending me ; I should be shamed of so offending Thee, My guardian angel's voice cries in my ears. With those pierced hands hold back my wandering feet, Thou Heavenly Love ; but with what hope may I Pray for their help who nailed them with my own ? O (jod, where have my senses been to cheat My soul, turning my back on Thee ; and why ? Didst Thou not on the Cross for me atone ? 23 FROM THE PORTUGUESE CANTA TA. FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF GAR^AO. NOW in the red East afar yet faintly gleaming The proudly swelling sails of the swift Trojan fleet Amidst the azure billows of the sun-gilt ocean Flying on the wings of the winds are liid from sight. The wretched, hapless Dido Uoth wander through the royal palace loud lamenting, And still with tear-swoU'n eyes in vain she seeks The fugitive Eneas. Nought but deserted solitary streets and squares The new-built Carthage to her gaze reveals : Upon the naked shore with awful tumult breaking Rage through the livelong night the waves in solitude : And on the gilded pinnacles of lofty domes and temples Nocturnal birds do screech with harsli foreboding voice. (See Appendix, Note H.) 27 And from the marhle sepulchre with terror she imagines That from the cold ashes of the dead Sicheus A thousand times she hears a feeble voice arise, Crying with deep-drawn sighs, Elissa, Ellssa. Then to the awful deities of Orcus she The sacrifices due makes ready ; But suddenly she sees, affrighted, Around the altars smoking with fragrant incense A black scum boiling in the rich sculptured vessels : And the wine poured in libations Seems to her eyes transformed to crimson seas of blood. She raves in wildest frenzy ; Pallid is grown her lovely face. Her silken tresses flow down all dishevelled ; Unconscious and with trembling foot she enters The once delightful chamber Where from the now faithless lover She heard with deep emotion Sighs so heartbroken mingled with soft complaints. But there the cruel Fates did show to her The Ilian garments, that still hanging From the gilded couch with dazzling gleam re- vealed The glittering shield and the bright Teucrian sword. 28 With a convulsive hand she snatches suddenly From out its sheath the blade refulgent, And on the adamantine piercing steel Her tender breast snow-white and cr>stalHne she hurls : And in bubbles of foam plashing and murmuring Leaps the hot life-blood forth from the deadly wound : With the red-spouting gore bedewed and sprinkled Tremble the Doric columns of the hall. Thrice does she strive in vain to rise, And three times fainting back upon the couch again Her body falls, while unto Heaven she raises Her tortured dying eyes. Then gazing at the lustrous armour Of the fled Dardan chief, These her last utterances did she repeat. And the most pitiful and mournful accents Still floating through the golden arches of the roof Long afterwards were heard in plaintive sad laincnt. O ye sweet treasures Source of deep pleasures To my glad eyne. While Fate beguiled And the Gods smiled Consent benign : 29 Of Dido mournful The soul receive, From all these troubles My heart relieve. Unhapp)' Dido Has lived out her days : She of proud Carthage The high walls did raise. Now naked and bare Her shade alone In Charon's bark there, The hideous one, Goes ploughing the stream Black as night without gleam Of Phlegethon. 30 SONNET. FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF CAMOENS. LOVE is a fire whose flame cloth burn unseen A wound whose aching smart we do not fee Contentment discontent with its own weal ; A teasing pain, though neither deep nor keen : It is not liking more than liking e'en ; Wandering alone 'midst crowds that seem unreal ; Not to content one's self with Heaven's own seal ; A care that only gain by loss doth mean : 'TLs to be captured with one's own consent ; The victor to the vanquished here must sen'e ; Keep faith with one who on our death is bent : Mow can its fickle favour e'er preserve In human hearts consistence of intent, Since to itself contrarious Love doth swerve ? 31 SONNET. FROM THE PORTUGUESE OP CAMOENS. A S shepherd Jacob served seven weary years -^^- Laban for Rachel, fairest mountaineer, But not the father did he serve, 'twas her ; For her alone as his reward he cares. His days in hope of one sole day he bears, Himself with sight of her contenting there ; But using guile her father, trickster rare. Instead of Rachel's hand now gave him Leah's. The shepherd sad, seeing that with deceit His shepherdess was thus to liim denied, As were he undeserving of his wife. Began to serve seven other years complete, Saying : More would I gladly sen'e beside Were not, for love so long, so short our life. 32 THE SONG OF THE EXILE. FROM THE PORTUGUESE OK GONCALVES DIAS. MINE is the land where waves the palm And where the tuneful thrush doth sing : The birds that here make minstrelsy Have harsher note and duller wing. Our sky has more and brighter stars, Our fields are full of dazzling flowers, Our forests glow with richer life. More love breathes through our life's glad hours. And when at night alone I muse I find a deeper pleasure there. In my own glorious land of palms, Where the birds' music fills the air. (See Appendix, Note I.) 33 C My country has such varied charms, I ne'er can find aught like them here ; And when alone at night I muse I find a deeper pleasure there : Mine is the glorious land of palms, Where the thrush pours its music rare. God grant me that I may not die Until I home return again, Once more to gaze on beauties there Whicli here I ever seek in vain : Until again I see the palms And hear the thrush's flute-like strain. 34 THE SONG OF THE TAMOYO* KROM THE PORTUGUESE OF GONCALVES DIAS. WEEP thou not, little son, Oh, weep not, for life Is a desperate strife ; 'Tis a fight hard and long. If the combat unsparing Make the weak cower despairing, It can but inspirit The brave and the strong. We live but a day long ! The strong fears not dying, 'Tis the thought of base flying Alone he can fear ; And swift his bow bending, His shaft surely sending, He strikes down a foeman. Condor or tapir, f * The Tamoyos were the tribe of Indians who originally iii- habited the province of Kio de Janeiro in Brazil, t Tapir is pronounced tapper. 35 The strong man, the craven, Alike envy his daring, When they see him, uncaring, In the battle rejoice ; And their hoary heads bending, The old men attending, In solemn war councils, Shall list to his voice. If thou livest, be chief, If thou die well thou'lt sleep, And thy tribe still shall keep Thy fame bright and clear ; For thy life never caring, Be brave and be strong ! Till death 'tis not long. Then of death have no fear. Since thy forefathers fought, Let their spirit adorn thee ; A Tamoyo has borne thee, Thou shalt prove thy valour. Be a warrior peerless. Strong, hardy and fearless, The pride of thy people In peace and in war. 36 But if traitorous fortune, In some direful hour, Hurl thee into the power Of the treacherous foe ; When the last moment's near Be thou calm, without fear, Remember thy bold deeds, The warrior dies so ! And fall like some great tree When riven asunder Down crashes like thunder Its vast length on the ground ; So the strong man should die ! As life fades from his eye He triumphs, his glory Shall wider resound. Then trj- thou thine arms, Into life hew thy way, Whether gloomy or gay 'Tis a fight hard and lor.g ; If the combat unsparing Make the weak cower despairing, It can hut inspirit The brave and the strong. 37 A RHAPSODY. FKOM THE PORTUGUESE OF GON^ALVES DIAS. AH ! let mc not die without finding at least For a moment, it may Ije, in life's weary waste A love that is equal to mine : Grant, Heavenly Powers, that on earth I may meet An angel, a woman, your handiwork sweet, Whose feelings with mine may entwine. A soul that is sister to mine, and whose eyes Can read my heart's thought though unuttered, and rise Through joy's broad clear sunshine with me ; Then united, bound close, with a tie none may sever, To the heavens we will soar, leaving earth's gloom for ever. Rapt in love's endless ecstasy. FROM THE ITALIAN SONNET. FROM THE ITALIAN OF I'ETRARCH. I FELT already in my heart grow less The spirit that from you receives its life ; And since each earthly creature in its strife 'Gainst death doth naturally seek redress, I loosed Desire, now curbed with much duress, And sent it on the almost forgotten way Whither, indeed, it calls me night and day, But I lead elsewhere its unwillingness. Me shamefaced and lingering did it bring To see again those sweet eyes, which I fly For fear that I to them be wearying. Now I shall live awhile ; for there doth lie In but your glance such power o'er my life's spring ; Then, if I yield not to Desire, I die. (See Appendix, Note J.) 41 CHORUS FROM T]IE FOURTH ACT OF TASSO's 'AMINTA. ' WHAT Death would looiien thou, O Love, dost bind, The friend of Peace art thou, as he of War, And in her triumph dost triumphant reign : When round two gentle souls thy fetters wind Thou makest Earth seem as the Heavens are, While yet to dwell here thou dost not disdain. On high there is no anger : men regain P'rom thee tranquillity : and inward hate, Seignior, thou drivest from each gracious heart : A thousand Furies at thy glance depart : Thy force supernal can almost create From mortal things one glad eternal state. 4a FROM THE SWEDISH THE BRAZILIAN MAID. FROM THE SWEDISH OF COUNT SNOILSKY. NO, I shall ne'er forget the wondrous girl Who shone at the Seine Prefect's fete so bright ; Star of Brazil — a stray guest of the night 'Midst Europe's puppets deep in fashion's whirl. Fresh as South-West wind o'er Atlantic swirl, She calmly gazed around with great clear eyes : Each painted belle felt danger's keen surmise, Fluttered each heart in cage of silk and pearl. To stately grand-croix scarce a glance she threw, Daughter of ancient forests, in whose sky Glitters the Southern Cross the dusk night through. We all drew near with words of flattery. Then smiled America at Europe's crew With laugh unmoved that rang most silvery. (See Appendix, Note K.) 45 II. Once did I listen to a traveller old— A seaman, weather-beaten, rough, was he- Telling his tale of wanderings bold and free Through tropic forests which new worlds enfold ; A network grown for ages, uncontrolled, Of climbing plants which no steel may sever, Where nature's barrier mocks man's endeavour, Blunting his axe's edge and crying ' Hold !' Then, so 'tis said, resounds through leafy night A laugh defiant, of unmeasured scorn And challenge to the Old World's unequal might. That wondrous voice is of the forest born, And Pan through it of cultured man makes light. Fair maid, learn'dst thou that laugh from sylvan faun ? 46 VELAZQUEZ* FROM THE SWEDISH OF COUNT SNOILSKY. THE Beautiful in Art is but the True ? Then stands Velazquez, laurel - crowned alone : Each stroke he draws seems life and force to own, Limns he a princeling or a beggar crew. Each pikeman's face looks out with swarthy hue. As if well known, from misty Flemish days. When Breda's governor gives the city keys To brave Spinola— pledge of victory due. Look at ' The Topers !' blissful, rosy red. They reck not of their shirtless, sorry plight, While down the ivy-wreath slips round the head. So paints Velazquez and one other wight : Poet, 'of brow with melancholy spread,' Come not, I pray, with Raphael's name forthright. * The principal works of the great Spanish painter, Velazque^i are in the Museo in Madrid. The masterpieces referred to in the sonnet arc named respectively ' Las Lanzas ' (the surrender of Breda) and ' Los Fiorrachos.' 47 THOROUGH. FROM THE SWEDISH OF COUNT SNOILSKY. ONE and one only must thy purpose be, Whole and decided : From giant force but pygmy deed wouldst see Were it divided. Thou must at once thy choice for ever make, For strife or pleasure : Must choose the kernel or the husk to take — Repent at leisure. Some seek for pearls, others for bubbles mere, On life's sea cruising : Complain not if the bubble disappear— 'Twas thine ov/n choosing. 48 FROM THE GERMAN 49 TO PETRARCH. FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. IF truth of Laura thou hast sung indeed, Her saintly look, and gracious, heavenly mien- And far from me be doubt or question keen Of that which was thy soul's most inward creed ! Was she a flower sprung from celestial seed— An angel amidst toil and strife terrene — A gentle stranger on this earth's rough scene That homeward soon her winged flight did speed ? Then do I fear that on yon golden star Where thou, transfigured, now at last art come, Thou never wilt the longed-for one regain ; For she has flown meanwhile on high afar, In holier spheres received has found her home, And thou must sing thy love lament again. 51 THE FOREST WITCH.* FROM THE GERMAN OF G. VON BODDIEN. A HORSEMAN rides at wildest speed through ^ *- wood, o'er brier and bracken, Nor will he heed the hovering form that becks his course to slacken ; • My couch is not on sunny heath, nor in the forest gloaming. Afar from me my bright love waits, and Cease, she cries, thy roaming. ' Begone, begone, thou phantom shape, why dost thou vainly follow ? Too cold thy slender cloudy form, thine eyes are dead and hollow ! My love has whiter arms than thou, her eyes like stars are gleaming. Her kiss is warm, her laugh rings clear, thy threaten- ing is but seeming.' * Written for Rubinstein's music. Published by Stanley Lucas, Weber and Co., New Bond Street. 53 The heron screams, the charger's flanks 'neath Iiloody spurs are streaming, The woman's form towers giant high I Is this awake or dreaming ? On, on they fly through wood, o'er wold, till like a vulture stooping With clutch and dash the shape descends, upon the bridle swooping ; And now she has him by the arm, while through the darkness crashing, The air grows hot, the rider swoons, the witch's eyes are flashing. Two paces from the fallen steed there in the forest gloaming The horseman in her arms lies dead, and 'Cease,' love cries, ' thy roaming !' S3 PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY FROM THE GERMAN OK PAUL HEYSE. WIDER the world's delights are teeming, More deep or high they hardly seem, Though more good folks to-day are dreaming In pleasant guise this life's old dream. Yet he whose day began among The group on Plato's lips that hung. Who saw in Phidias' studio A godlike form from marble grow, Heard in the theatre at even Antigone with Greek chorus given, And with Aspasia and her coterie Might sup as a familiar votary, Has writ more pleasure on life's pages Than we have after all these ages. 54 FROM THE DUTCH SONNET. FROM THE DUTCH OF PIETER CORNELISZOON HOOFT. HOPE'S guiding stars, ye planets of my youth, Eyes that I know are lit from heaven's fire, Vou, when your windows close, from me retire My life's support, joys full of tender truth ; For you shut in a gladdening power, in sooth. And friendly gaiety : Love with all its quire. Wit, laughter, and each grace therein conspire, And a whole world of charm and pleasure both. Nature, who seems entombed in mists that lower, Wanting your brightness, mourns her richest dower. That you enshrine in space so narrow made ; Yet 'tis not narrow, as without it seems. But wide and wild enough to hold all dreams, ^^^lerein my fickle soul so far has strayed. (See Appendix, Note L. ) 57 SONNET. FROM THE DUTCH OF PIETER CORNELISZOON HOOFT. MY Lady, Love, and I— hard strife have we, Wherein all three may well be overthrown, For I and Love aye burn for her alone. And she loves but herself, spite Love and me. If she through her self-love her ruin see. Love without her will not long make his moan ; And if you die, O Love, I too must own My life, whose stay you were, will ended be. Yet if it so befall not, what wait I But grief from pain ? Lament from misery ? Woe from my smart ? Despair from all my fear ? Whilst Love himself my Lady comes to woo, Who loves herself : when were foes like these two In all the world so hard to lover e'er ? <;8 APPENDIX APPENDIX. WITH the exception of Cervantes and Calderon, probably verj' few of the Spanish poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are well known in this country ; and Camoens is almost the only Por- tuguese poet whose name is familiar to English ears. It may, therefore, not be out of place to add one or two brief notes on some of those writers from whom translations are given. Note A. Page 13.— Cervantes (1547-1616) is best known to us by his Don Quixote, but he wrote many plays, some of which remain, and various tales, as well as pastoral romances. The sonnet is from one of the latter, entitled Galatea. Note B. Page 14.— It was GONGORA (1561-1627) who first introduced the ' cultivated style ' into Spanish litera- ture. The poems written by him in his earlier period possess a certain simplicity and dignity, but as these did not succeed in attracting attention, he adopted 61 the affected and extravagant manner, which had many imitators and is classed as 'Gongorism.' He is too often unintelligible to the best critics among his countrymen, and commentaries have been written to elucidate his obscure meaning. Note C. Page 15. — ^JuAN Ruiz de Alarcon y Mendoza born in Mexico ; died in Spain, 1639) may be classed with the most eminent Spanish dramatists of that brilliant period of the National Theatre. This Decima ' (ten-line stanza) was written by him on a nobleman of unamiable reputation. Note D. Page 16. — The real founder of the Spanish theatre was Lope de Vega {1562- 1635). The fertility of his genius is astounding ; he is said to have written 1,500 plays, and these, with the epics, pastorals, odes, and sonnets, which he continually poured forth, gained for him the foremost place among his contemporaries. He took priest's orders about 1614. Note E. Page 18. — Quevedo (1570-1647) attained his cele- brity principally as a prose writer, by his theological and metaphysical works, and also by his satires. Naturally, however, his striking compositions in verse are more pop'alar, and from these the sonnet is taken. 62 Note F. Page 19. — Wilh great powers of imagination and invention, Caldero.x (1600-1681) yet takes rank below his master, Lope de Vega. Some two hundred plays and autos were written by him, and with Philip IV. as his patron he furnished numerous dramatic spectacles for the Court. Note G. Page 20. — This 'Decima' is from the Doloras of the eminent living Spanish poet Campoamor. Note H. Page 27. — The Cantata de Dido is introduced in a scene of the comedy entitled Assemblea on Fartida, by Pedro Antonio Correa Garcao {1724- 1772). A splendid edition de luxe of his works (sonnets> odes, satires, epistles, and dramatic pieces) has been published by the distinguished Brazilian delegate in London, the Conselheiro J. A. de Azevedo Castro, who has thus rendered a great literary service to- Portugal. Note L Page 33.— Antonio Goncalves Dias (1823- 1864) is regarded as the great representative poet of Brazil. The Caufdo do Exilio, written by him while at the University of Coimbra, in Portugal, is probably the best known of his compositions. He was a 63 journalist, a dramatist, and a Government official ; he visited Europe three times, and died on his last voyage home to Rio de Janeiro. Note J. Page 41. — Sonetto XXXIX. (in the Canzoniere, 32), In Viia di Madonna Laura. Note K. Page 45. — The poems translated from the Swedish are from an early volume of Count Snoilsky (who continues to write), published in Stockholm and entitled Dikter. Note L. fage 57. — HOOFT (1581-1647) is one of the most distinguished poets of the Republic of the Nether- lands. Besides his lesser productions he wrote several tragedies, and may be considered the founder of the Dutch stage. He achieved equal celebrity in prose, his History of the Netherlands being a model •of style. 64 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below wrr'n rn.nnr ij^ JUL 8 MAY 2 9 1 1)^ m'^ e ^n lOm-ll, '50(2555)470 SMIVB«£ITY OF CALiFORNU: LOS AnamjA^ UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 416 412 5 m