"THE HEART RUNS BACK O'ER LIFE'S BEWILDERED MAZE, AND PANGS LONG LAID TO SLEEP AWAKE ANEW :-(GOETHE) 64 'WHAT I POSSESS SEEMS FAR, FAR OFF TO BE,-(MARTIN's Goethe) THE NOTHINGNESS OF LIFE. 287 One-but the type of all Rolling the dreadful ball [From "Studies from the Antique," edit. 1864.] heodore Martin. [THIS successful translator and graceful writer was born at Edinburgh in 1816, and educated at the High School. He practised as a solicitor in his native city until his removal to London in 1846. His first literary essays were made under the nom de plume of "Ben Gualtier;" and conjointly with Professor Aytoun he produced the "Book of Ballads," and the "Poems and Ballads of Goethe" (1858). He has also translated " King Rene's Daughter," from the Danish of Henrik Hartz; and the dramas of "Corregio" and "Aladdin " from Oehlenschläger; the "Odes" and "Satires" of Horace, the "Vita Nuova" of Dante, the "Faust" of Goethe, and the poems of Catullus. As a translator, he is singularly felicitous; rendering both the form and spirit of his original with equal grace and accuracy.] AND NAME THE LOVED ONES LOST, BEFORE THEIR DAY SWEPT, WHILST LIFE WAS BEAUTIFUL, AWAY."-MARTIN'S GOETHE. TRANSLATIONS FROM GOETHE. I. THE NOTHINGNESS OF LIFE. In the world's turmoil and ignoble strife Are seared and paralyzed. AND WHAT HATH PASSED AWAY BECOMES REALITY."-MARTIN'S GOETHE. "HOW HARD IT IS, ALMOST BEYOND BELIEF, TO GET AT KNOWLEDGE IN ITS FOUNTAIN HEAD!-MARTIN'S GOETHE) "AY, BUT THE WORLD! THE HEART AND SOUL OF MAN,-GOEthe If Fancy, for a season flushed with hope, Through boundless ether soars with wing unchecked, When in Time's quicksands joy to joy lies wrecked. Marring our joy and peace; and evermore As fire and flood, as knife and poisoned bowl. No! Like the worm that writhes in dust am I, For what but dust, mere dust, is all On books by thousands, but to learn [From "Faust," a metaphysical and lyrical drama, founded on the SOMETHING OF THESE MAY BE LEARNED BY ALL."-MARTIN'S GOETHE. AND ERE A MAN IS HALF-WAY ON THE ROAD, HE'S VERY SURE, POOR FELLOW, TO BE DEAD."-MARTIN'S GOETHE. "AND WHAT YOU CALL THE SPIRIT OF THE TIME, I'VE LONG SUSPECTED (THEODORE MARTIN'S GOETHE) WE LONG TO USE WHAT LIES BEYOND OUR SCOPE, GOETHE, REED from the ice are river and hill By the quickening glance of the gracious spring; Green with promise are valley and hill. Old Winter, palsied and shivering, Back has crept to his mountains bleak, YET CANNOT USE EVEN WHAT WITHIN IT LIES."-MARTIN'S GOETHE, IS BUT THE SPIRIT OF THE MEN IN WHICH THE TIMES THEY PRATE OF ARE REFLECTED."-MARTIN'S GOETHE. THEY GIVE A BEAUTY TO THE WINTER'S NIGHTS, A CHEFEFUL GLOW THAT CAN ITS CHILL ASS AGE.- MARTIN'S GOETHE UNANIYE. WHH VOU UNHOLL, AH, THEN ALL HEAVEN DESCENDS INTO YOUR SOUL!"-MARTIN'S GOETHE. And look, the last departing now, Laden so deeply it scarce can float. Far up on the hills as the pathways run, Gay dresses are glistening in the sun. Is the people's true heaven. With hearty glee [From "Faust." The reader may compare this with the prose version of Mr Hayward, and the poetical version of Lord Leveson Gower.] HE water plashed, the water played, And marked, as to and fro it swayed, And as he sits and watches there, He sees the floods unclose, She sang to him with witching wile,— To die in scorching air? Who dwell in waters clear, Thou wouldst come down And rest for ever here. "The sun and ladye-m Their tress And, breath at once to m WAFT "THE SHOWY LIVES ITS LITTLE HOUR; THE TRUE- GOETHE MIGNON'S SONG. The deep blue sky, so moist and clear, Hath it for thee no lure? Dost thine own face not woo thee down Unto our waters pure?" The water rushed and bubbled by- It lapped his naked feet; He thrilled as though he felt the touch Of maiden kisses sweet. She spoke to him, she sang to him— Resistless was her strain Half-drawn, he sank beneath the wave, And ne'er was seen again. [From "Ballads of Goethe."] "WHO OF SOME CHANCE GREEN LEAVES DOTH CHAPLETS TWINE OF GLORY FOR DESERT IN EVERY FIELD,-(GOETHE) 291 MAN'S POWER IMMORTAL IN THE BARD REVEALED!"-MARTIN'S GOETHE, K IV. MIGNON'S SONG.* NOWEST thou the land where the pale citron blows A soft wind flutters from the deep blue sky, Oh there, with thee! Oh that I might, my own beloved one, flee! Knowest thou the house? On pillars rest its beams, Oh there, with thee! Oh that I might, my loved protector, flee! * This has been set to a fine melody by Beethoven. TO AFTER-TIMES BEARS RAPTURES EVER NEW.". -MARTIN'S GOETHE. ASSURES OLYMPUS, GIVES THE STAMP DIVINE. |