1 No. LIX. LENOR A. GERMAN. This version of Bürger's well known ballad, was published in the Monthly Magazine, and I consider it as a master-piece of translation; indeed as far as my opinion goes, the English ballad is, in point of merit, far superior, both in spirit and harmony, to the German, which is written in a stanza, producing an effect very unsatisfactory to the ear; that my Readers may judge of this for themselves, I shall here add a stanza similar to that in which Bürger's "Lenora" is written: I rather imagine, that the effect made by it upon others, is the same with that which it produced upon me, since among the numerous translators of this ballad, not one has adopted the metre of the original. [Lenora wakes at dawn of day, Tears down her fair cheeks trickle: "Oh! why, my William, dost thou stay, And art thou dead or fickle?". With Fred'rick's host young William went, But since the fight of Prague he sent No word to tell his speeding, And soothe her bosom bleeding.] I cannot but think, that the above metre will be universally disapproved of, when compared with that adopted in the following ballad. Ar break of day, with frightful dreams Lenora struggled sore: "My William, art thou slaine," say'd she, "Or dost thou love no more?". He went abroade with Richard's host, But he no word to her had writt, An he were sick or well. With sowne of trump and beat of drum, His fellow soldyers come; Their helmes bydeckt with oaken boughs, And ev'ry roade, and ev'ry lane, To gaze at the rejoicing band, To hail with gladsome toung. "Thank God!" their wives and children saide ; "Welcome!"—the brides did say: But greete or kiss Lenora gave "To none upon that daye. She askte of all the passing traine, For him she wisht to see: But none of all the passing traine Could tell if lived he. And when the soldyers all were bye, And cast herself upon the growne In furious despaire. Her mother ran and lyfte her up, And clasped in her arme, My child, my child, what dost thou ail? "God shield thy life from harm!" "O mother, mother! William's gone! "What's all besyde to me? "There is no mercye, sure, above! 66 All, all were spared but hee!" "Kneel downe, thy paternoster saye, ""Twill calm thy troubled spright: "The Lord is wyse, the Lord is good; "What hee hath done is right." "O mother, mother! say not so; "Most cruel is my fate : "I prayde, and prayde, but watte avayl'd? "'Tis now, alas! too late!" ." Our Heavenly Father, if we praye, “Will help a suff'ring childe: "Go take the holy sacrament, "So shall thy grief grow milde.". "O mother, what I feel within, "No sacrament can staye, "No sacrament can teche the dead "To bear the sight of daye."— -"May be, among the heathen folk 66 Thy William false doth prove, "And puts away his faith and troth, "And takes another love.' "Then wherefore sorrow for his loss? “Thy moans are all in vain; "And when his soul and body parte, "His falsehode brings him paine." -"O mother, mother! gone is gone, My hope is all forlorn; 66 "The 66 grave mie onlye safeguarde is, O, had I neer been borne ! "Go out, go out, my lampe of life, "For ever let me lie." 66 Almighty God! O do not judge My poor unhappy childe; "She knows not what her lips pronounce, "Her anguish makes her wilde. My girl, forget thine earthly woe, "For so, at least, shall not thy soule "O mother, mother! what is blisse, "Go out, go out, my lamp of life, "In endless darkness die: "Without him I must loathe the earth, “Without him scorn the skye.”— |