The Express.
London, England, 1859-01-03 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

Psalm and Ballads of Gootho. Translated by W.
EDMOND6TOUNE AYTOON, D.C.L., and Timmons
. ....

himatx.—Blackwood and Sons.

All who know anything of German literature are
well aware that the very quintessence of German
poetry in the ideal perfection of thought and form is
to be found in the minor poems and ballads of
Goethe. The Master is nowhere greater than in this
play field of his genius. As in the songs and
sonnets of Shakespeare we are sensible of a
charm tot elsewhere to be met with, so is
it in these minor pieces of the great German
poet. It is so, and yet not for the same
reason. The art of Shakespeare is latent • that of
Goethe is, if not paraded, at least manifest. Far
from indulging in any carelessness in these more
fugitive effusions, the labour of the great master is
nowhere more conspicuous. Many of them owe
their immortality more even to their form than to
their thought. Even in those where the thought is
deepest and highest. the form is wrought up care-
fully to a degree of excellence, worthy of the rich
load with which it is freighted. Cultured in all Art,
master of every Science, an adept in the most
recondite learning—this completest among mo-
dern writers, took infinite pleasure in always
'elaborating to the highest point of at-
tainable perfection the expression, not only of
every profound reflection, but of every evanescent
feeling. This necessity of clothing all the mani-
festauons of his spirit in forms of power and beauty
was a constituent portion of his genius. It was that
which detractors have carped at u the Pepin "
element to his character, but which to his admirers
is inexpressibly enchanting as a perennial source of
the highest pleasure which the highest art is capable
of conveying. To impart this pleasure—the fra-
grance of the fresh-plucked rose—the bloom of
the untouched fruit—through the medium of
translation, is obviously the most difficult feat
which literary faculty, even when combined
with poetic genius, can propose. to itself.
It is very high, but very deserved, •praues of these
translations by Professor Aytoun and Mr. Martin, to
say that in many instances they have succeeded where
success might fairly have been supposed impossible.
In metre, and in diction; in freedom and in freshness;
in that sense of unity between the thought end its
expression which is the most satisfactory test of a
perfect translation, many of these versions of the
"Poems and Ballads" are masterpieces of skill.
The workmen are well fitted for their work. Pro-
fessor Aytoen'e name speaks for itself. Mr. Theo-
dore Martin, less widely known to the general
public, has been long familiar to those conversant
with the
.gossip of literary London, as an admirable
artificer in moat forms of verification. It was for
some time supposed that he alone was to be credited
with the authorship of the clever and successful
" Bon Gushier" Ballads; but in the preface to the
" Poems and Ballads", those vigorous jeux-d'espet
are acknowledged to have been the joint composi-
tion of Mr. Martin and Professor Aytoun.
The present volume (some portion of whose con-
tents have already appeared in Blacktoood's
Magazine) is worthy of their high reputa-
tion. Tile translation of the " Bride of
Corinth"—the joint production of both writers
—is alone sufficient to prove their incontestable
superiority to all previous translations of Goethe. To
the merely English reader this weird, spectral, but
most beautiful poem reads like an original work ; to
those familiar with the German original, the English
version possesses the additional charm of close
fidelity nut only to the meaning, but to the strange,
creeping, serpentine rhythm, which gives such a spell
of unearthly fascination to the Master's magic tale.
The fidelity with which the original metre has been
adhered to is a great element of success in many of
these translations. We regret that it should have
been abandoned in any case—even in the series of
poems "in the manner of the antique." Many of
these latter, however, are exquisitely rendered. The
following specimens will show how admirably the
classic elegance and terseness of the original has
been preserved:

TKI BROTHERA.

Slumber, Steep—they were two brothers, servants to the
Gods above;
Kind Prometheus laid thus downwards, aver with
earthly love ;
But what Gods could bur to lightly, yrue'd too hard an
men beneath ,
Slumber dad hat broths?' duty—Sleep was deepered into
Death.

LOVE'S HOUROLAM.

Eros I wherefore do I see thee, with the glass in either
head?
flokle God' with double measure wouldst thou °omit the
shifting sand ?
This ono 8,111 for parted lovers—slowly drops each tiny
bead—
That is for the days of d.allianor, and it melts with golden

EXCULUATION.

Wat thou dare to blame the women for her seeming sudden
shangw,
Swanng rant end swaying westward, em the breezes shake

lha tree ?
Fool ! thy aelflab thought misguitko thee—find eh• man that

Woman warots but to Nook him—lo not then the fault in
thee I'

THE RWIR4 ALP.

Yesterday thy heed was brown, es are the sowing loch of

In the n;ight Line sky I wateh'd thee towering, giant-like,
above
Now thy summit, white and hoary, glitters all with silver

meow, _ _
Which ths Mormy night hath shakes' from Its robes upon
thy brow ,
And I bow that youth and age are bound with such

myatrrioua meaning,
As the dada am haled together, one abort dream but
intervening.

Of the " Ballads and Legends" one of the mat cha-
racteristic of the Master, and not the least creditable
to the translators, is that beautiful poem
THE 0013 AND TILE 15/TADI,IIt.-AX INDIAX LEOIND.

Wahadeh, earth's lord, descending,
To its mammies' comes spin,
That, lite man with mortals blending,
He may Mel their joy and pain ;
Stooge to try Idea varied changes,
And with human ere to see,
Ere M praises or avenges,
What their fitful lot say be.
He has paid thro' the city, has look'd on them all ;
Re has enacted o'er the great, nor forgotten the smell,
And at evening went forth on his journey so free.

In the outskirts of ties city,
Where the straggling hum are piled,
At • rummest stood a putty
Painted thing, almost a child.
° Orem Mar, maiden!" ° Thanks—art weary
Wait, and quickly ill appear :-
What art thou -" A Beyadere,
And the home of lota is here.-
Phe tits" ; tbe cymbals she strike. as she dances,
And whirling, and beading with grecs, she advances,
And offers him towers, as ohs undulates near.

O'a the threshold gliding lightly,
to she loses him to ha room.

Fear not, patio straspr ; brightly
Shall my lamp dispel the gloom.
Art thou weary? I'll relieve thee—
Bathe thy feet sad soothe their smut ;
All thou sAset I ma give time—
liest, or solar, or joy impart."
She lobouro to loathe him, she labours to plasm;
The Deity mink.; for vith plower., ho sees
Through deep degradaticm a right loving heart.

And he asks for rervioe
And she only strives the mars,
Nature's impales non is reniel,
W beer but art prevaird before.
As the fruit suomirle the blossom,
Serena and ripens day by d.y,
So where kindness Alla the bosom,
Love is weer far away.
But he, whose vest motive was deeper and higher,
Selected, more keenly and clearly to try her,
lama, follow'd by swish, madam* sod Meow.