San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-08-16

When life and the world is fair.
When at her worst, you understand,
She drives me to despair;
She holds the dagger in her hand
And tears her unbound hair.
Her eyes are bright
With fearful light
And her face is white,
Till | shun the sight
OF wrong / cannot repair.
From the German with the "Hos-
tess Daughter, ;" the case is similar.
1t treats of the love which strives to
reach beyond the grave. / noticed
that the audience, which had vainly
striven to find anything in" my
translation of the Lorelei, listened
with interest and approval to my sec
ond venture.
1t takes four lines of our English,
to give the subtle meaning conveyed
in Uhland's two-line stanzas.
THE HOSTESS DAUGHTER.
Across the swiftly flowing Rhine
Three students passed in merry
mood,
To where, renowned for beer and wine,
The ancient German ale-house stood.
The hostess met them at the door
With weary eyes and haggard air;
GOOD morrow, hostess" called they
all,
where is thy daughter young and
fair?n
She answered.: Wherefore are you
come?
The world is full of pain and gloom;
NV daughter lies upon her bier
Within the shade of yonder room"
They stepped into the silent place
None dared to lift his voice aloud;
They saw her pale and tranquil face,
Like snow above her sombre shroud.
The first one unused a little space,
Then turned his streaming eyes
away,
"Couldst thou but live, sweet maid, !"
he said,
II would have loved thee from to-
day.
The second spoke with sob and moan.
80! God, why art thou lying here?
My light has into darkness grown,
For / have loved thee many year. !"
The third approached with steady
calm,
And then as Que who honey sips,
He bent above her rigid form,
And kissed her on ner pallid lips.
My love before, my love today,
And mine alone in Heaven above,
Eternity is all too short,
To hold the measure of my love.
The French does not lend itself to
translation las readily as the German,
for between us, and our Gallo
brothers, there is the difference of
race.
No on, is broader than Victor Hugo,
when he leaves his mannerisms and
theories behind. His poem upon a
young girl is an echo of generous and
virile sentiment, which would be a
credit to any language.
"Ah! couldst thou but know, how
fair is thy girlhood
Dear, envy not us with our griefs and
fears.
Where the heart is by turns, a slave
or q rebel,
And often the laughter is sadder than
tears.
O! seek not too soon to develop thy
fancies,
The morning and springtime flow by
as In rhyme,
Thy hours are like blossoms that
cluster together,
o! let them not perish before it is
time.
Laugh then in thy joy, all undream-
ing of power,
No shadow of anguish upon thee
should lie,
May thine eyes shine forever, like
purity's mirror,
Revealing thy soul and rejecting the
sky.
The artificial lyrics of Horace, idly
chanted in the garden of his villa,
have never lost their hold upon US.
One that contains rare grain of raw
human nature glides readily into the
current of modern metre and thought.
II is the very ideal of masculine SYM
pathy," albeit written in Latin:
"Sweet love-" he said, thy face is sad ,
Its patient sorrow dwells with me,
Thy grief has almost made me mad,