BLACKWELL FAMILY ALICE STONE BLACKWELL SUBJECT FILE Spanish-American Poems: Translations by Alice S. Blackwell Towers By Roberto Brenes Meson of Honduras. Trans - lated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Holy hands a Tower erected In great Babylon of old; In Ionia too men built them, And among the Romans bold. If in Cerete or Patagonia; If in Africa or [Ind?], Every colony constructed Towers to kiss the sun and wind. Under different names and phrasing, They are temples of men's raising, Builded towards the sky's blue height: For, by sacred yearnings driven, These men lift their souls toward heaven In a rapt idea of flight. metre, first two stanzas. 7 lined stanza[Sam Downing?] Porfirio Herrera The Fountain. Like a spinning nymph, the fountain keeps on spinning, and leaps, merry and laughing, while her thread lengthens out. Mocking the twining plants, the sun shows his eye, and sees her, slumberous and dreamful, asleep in the basin. She breaks out in murmurs, crimsoned with blushes on perceiving that the sun sees her; She springs shyly into the mist, and scantily clad in foam, she goes fleeing through the forest.LA FUENTE. [*Porfirio Herrera*] Como una ninfa hilandera la fuente, hila que hila, salta alegre y risotera mientras su hilo destila. Burlando la enredadera asoma el so la pupila y adormilada y sonera la ve dormida en la pila. Ella prorrumpe en rumores carminada de rebores al ver que el sol la esta viendo; salta esquiva entre la bruma, y mal vestida de espuma se ve por la selva huyendo.Full moon Fabio Fiallo Through the green poplar grove we were going in silence, she and I; the moon was rising behind the mountains; the nightingale was singing among the leaves. And I said to her-- I know not what my trembling voice said to her. The moon stood still in the ether, the nightingale interrupted its song, and my fair sweetheart, agitated and mute, questioned the sky. Do you know of those mysterious questions which are an answer? Keep, O moon! the secret of my soul; Be silent about it, O nightingale! Plenilunio Fabio Fiallo Por la verde alameda, silenciosos, ibamos ella y yo; la luna tras los montes ascendia, en la fronda cantaba el ruisenor. Y la dije......No se lo que la dijo mi temblorosa voz..... En el eter detuvose la luna, interrumpio su canto el ruisenor, y la amada gentil, turbada y muda, al cielo interrogo. [?]Sabeis de esas preguntas misteriosas que una respuesta son?...... Guarda !oh luna! el secreto de mi alma. !Callalo, ruisenor! ---Canciones de la Tarde.Honduras Restlessness. By Roberto Brenes Mesen of Honduras. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Yearnings repressed I feel within my being, As feels a branch in spring about to flower; The golden thoughts astir in me resemble Songs of an ardent lark in dawn's bright hour. My soul now holds a murmur of the future, As in the grain the wheat-ears whisper low-- As in the buried acorns is the verdure The coolness of the oaks that are to grow. My being is all restless like the ocean, And storms seem gathering, dark and broodingly, And thoughts within my mind are going, coming, Like the swift stir of ships upon the sea. Inquietud Roberto Brenes Mesen Siento las ansias comprimidas dentro, como la rama a florecer ya pronta; siento bullir los pensamientos de oro como los cantos de una ardiente alondra. Hay un rumor de parvenir en mi alma, como en el trigo un murmurar de espigas, como hay en las bellotas enterradas el futuro frescar de las encinas. Hay mi ser una inquietud de ponto, como una incubacion de tempestades; hay un ir y venir de pensamientos como en el mar hay un hervir de naves.The Soul's Beloved. Through all the paths of this silent forest I have seen thee pass, O Beloved of the lord, whom I worship! Everywhere the charm of thy presence lingers, like the brightness of a star burning among the trees. I seek thee, and if I find thee, I follow thee and can- not overtake thee; but to have seen thee pass, even afar off, is a sweet reward to my soul, that searches for thee to spread its whole self before thee, like a carpet of flowers, to receive thy footsteps and to gather thy shadow. Through all the paths of this silent forest I keep follow- ing thee, Beloved Master of my life, to stretch myself some day before thy footsteps like a pure rivulet, which sings for joy, hearing on its banks a murmur of doves and a trembling of the branches of palm trees. Amado del Alma Roberto Brenes Mesen Por todos los senderos de esta callada selva pasar te he visto. !Amado del Alma, a quien venero! Por doquiera el encanto de tu sombra se queda, como el fulgor de un astro, ardiendo en la arboleda. Te busco, y si te encuentro te sigo y no te alcanzo; mas el haberte visto pasar, aun a distancia, es dulce recompensa a mi alma que te inquiere para tenderse entera, como florida alfombra, a recibir tus pasos y recoger tu sombra. Por todos los senderos de esta callada selva te voy siguiendo, Amado Maestro de mi vida, para tenderme un dia delante de tus pasos como un riachuelo puro que canta de alegria sintiendo en sus riberas un rumo de palomas y un temblas de palmeras. ---Voces del Angelus Happy Creatures The young mother laughs. She is so [innocent] pure, so young and so beautiful that I sometimes think the whole universe is in an agreement to favor her. With smiles as bright and joyous [around her] two little children are laughing [who have] around her because there are happy conjunctions of the stars in the sky to bring them good fortune. The kindness of the good, and the wisdom of the wise, and the destiny of kings and nations, weigh less in the eternal scales then the pure, the [transparent] [??lucid] transparent gladness of those three [inocent] innocent hearts SONG OF THE CONDOR AND THE EAGLE. By Mario Bravo of Argentina. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Towards the far zenith they set fort to soar, Hearing the news that filled the rout with fright. They sought the limit of the unknown height, To see the earth, to see the world, no more. The fearless condor, the keen eagle there, In the mute hush of the unchanging sky, Facing the sun, flew haughtily on high, Like a victorious war-flag on the air. Safe in that realm which no one can attain, The exiled heroes of the mount and plain Surveyed the fields of space with eager eye. With what affright they saw in other clear Man crossing the impossible frontier, Triumphant o'er the [sombre] shadowy mystery! Cancion Del Aguila Y Del Condor Mario Bravo Levantaron su vuelo hacia el cénit profundo Al annuncio que llena de pavor la derrota Y fueron hacia el límite de la altitud ignota Para no ver la tierra, para no ver el mundo! El intrépido cóndor y el áquila certera En el silencio inmóvil del uniforme cielo, Frente al sol desplegaron su dominante vuelo Como el flamear triunfante de una marcial bandera. Firmes ya en ese imperio de inalcanzable altura, Los héroes expatriados del monte y la llanura Registraron con ávidas miradas el vacio. Y cuál no fué su espanto en esa hora indecible, Al ver que atravesaba la frontera imposible El hombre, triunfador del misterio sombrío! --- Canciones Y Poemas.REMEMBER. [Daniel de la Vega.] It is sweet to talk sometimes of the women who have died, who went away leaving us a faint fragrance. Their sad names have dim echoes, and fill our souls with snowy memories. And those pale memories are open windows, through which our brief life looks at the sky; while above their worshipped, unmoving hands [fall] earth and forgetfulness [>fall], the years pass, and it rains. And we all say: "Yes. There was something far off and sad in her smile. Do you remember? So much grace in her walk!" We are mute. A silence has fallen from heaven, something like a light or a shadow or a flight; and all of us have lost the wish to speak. REMEMBER [Daniel de la Vega.] Es dulce hablar a veces de las mujeres muertas, que al irse nos dejaron una fragancia leve. Sus nombres tristes tienen resonancias inciertas y nos [l]lenen el alma de recuerdos de nieve. . . Y esos recuerdos lívidos son ventanas abiertas por donde mira al cielo nuestra existencia breve; mientras sobre sus manos adoradas y yertas [c]ae tierra y olvido, pasan los anos, llueve. . . Y todos comentamos:- Sí. . . Ne sé qué tenía de lejano y de triste cuando se sonreía. . . [¿] Te acuerdas? Tanta gracia en el modo de andar. . . Callamos. Ha caído un silencio del cielo, algo como una luz o una sombra o un [v]uelo; y a tod[o]s se nos quitan los deseos de hablar. . . -Los Momentos.SONG OF THE POOR CHILDREN. By Mario Bravo of Argentina. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. We came without wishing to, and we keep on going without knowing where [why], as the wind knows not when and where it is to stop. We came without wanting to! How did our lives begin? In the city or in the country? [Were we the payoffs from debauchery? Are we matius of Argentina?] Is our ancestry French? Is our escutcheon Argentine? How did our lives begin? Who rocked our cradle? Was it Love or was it Sorrow? Are we the misfortune of Poverty? Are we the misfortune of Fate? Who rocked our cradle? Were we born without stain? Did we come from the multitude? Was our mother a good woman who left us forsaken? Who rocked our cradle? We came without wishing to, and we keep on going without knowing where [why], as the wind knows not when and where it is to stop. We came without wanting to! II Blessed be the doors that have sheltered our cries in the winter night! Blessed too be the Hospitals! Blessed be the doors! 2 Today, to give us pleasure, sentimental society offers a complete change, which is to last only one day. Today, to give us pleasure! And our day is all the year! And our life is the same year! We go along a dark path of rough disillusionment. And our day is all the year! Today the iron of charity will make silks and jewels glitter, to throw us the crumbs of its wealth and magnificence. The irony of charity! Charity that has arrived at an unseasonable time to save Humanity! It would be like giving brightness to the dawn with a lamp. We came without wishing to, and we keep on going without knowing where [why], as the wind knows not when and where it is to stop. We came without wanting to! III Our parents never had such a day in security, and they died in a doorway, as we were born. Our fathers never had! Perhaps they were kind, they could not see us suffer, and they flung us away to live - - but to live at least! Perhaps they were kind! Who rocked our cradle? Was it Love or was it sadness? Are we the misfortune of Poverty or the misfortune of Fate? Who rocked our cradle?3 Indeed, then, we are not responsible to honorable society for having no parents and being miserable children! Indeed, then, we are not responsible! We came without wishing to, and we keep on going without knowing [where] why, as the wind knows when and where it is to stop. We came without wanting to! Cancion De Los Niños Pobres Mario Bravo I Hemos venido sin querer Y sin saber vamos andando, Tal como el viento ignora cuándo Y dónde se ha de detener. Hemos venido sin querer. ¿Cómo empezó nuestro destino? ¿En la ciudad o en la campaña? ¿Nuestro abolengo es de champaña? ¿Nuestro blasón es argentino? ¿Cómo empezó nuestro destino? ¿Quién ha mecido nuestro cuna? ¿Fué el Amor or fué la Tristeza? ¿Somos el mal de la Pobreza? ¿Somos el mal de la Fortuna? ¿Quién ha mecido nuestra cuna? ¿Hemos nacido inmaculados? ¿Venimos de la multitud? ¿Es nuestra madre una virtud Que nos dejara abandonados? ¿Hemos nacido inmaculados? Hemos venido sin querer Y sin saber vamos andando, Tal como el viento ignora cuándo Y dónde se ha de detener. Hemos venido sin querer!II Sean benditos los portales Que han amparado nuestros gritos En la noche invernal! Benditos Sean también los Hospitales! Sean benditos los portales! Hoy. . . para darnos alegría La sociedad sentimental Abre un paréntesis cabal Que ha de durar tan sólo un día. Hoy, para darnos alegríá! Y nuestro día es todo el año! La irónica beneficencia Hoy lucirá sedas y alhajas, Para arrojarnos las migajas De su esplendor y su opulencia. La irónica beneficencia! Caridad llegada a deshora, Para salvar la Humanidad! ¡Fuera como dar claridad Con una lámpara a la aurora! ¡Caridad llegada a deshora! Hemos venido sin querer, Y sin saber vamos andando, Tal como el viento ignora cuándo Y dónde se ha de detener. Hemos venido sin querer. III Nuestros padres nunca han tenido Seguramente un día tal, Y han fallecido en un portal Cual nosotros hemos nacido. ¡Nuestros padres nunca han tenido! Ellos han sido acaso buenos, No nos pudieron ver sufrir, Y nos lanzaron a vivir. . . Pero a vivir la vida al menos! Ellos han sido acaso buenos! Quién ha mecido nuestra cuna. Fué el Amor o fué la Tristeza? Somos el mal de la Pobreza, Somos el mal de la Fortuna? ¿Quién ha mecido nuestra cuna. Fué el Amor o fué la Tristeza? Somos el mal de la Pobreza Somos el mal de la Fortuna? ¿Quién ha mecido nuestra cuna. Fué el Amor o fué la Tristeza? Somos el mal de la Pobreza, Somos el mal de la Fortuna? ¿Quién ha mecido nuestra cuna? Sí, pues, no somos responsables Ante la honesta sociedad, De no tener paternidad, Y se los niños miserables! ¡Sí, pues, no somos responsables! Hemos venido sin querer, Y sin saber vamos andando, Tal como el viento ignora cuándo Y dónde se ha de detener! Hemos venido sin querer! - - - Canciones Y Poemas.BLOOD. Eduardo Talero Nuñez. Blood-purple liquor, noble, rich and bright! It sparkles in the proud glance of the eye; It leaps, and boils, and throbs; 'tis genius high, Movement, and life, and warmth, and joy, and might, Within the brain of man 'tis thought and light; In battle, courage that can death defy; Passion and fire when love breathes out its sigh On the deep lute, from feeling's depth and height. 'Tis the red Burgundy the tyrant vain Wrings from the suffering people round about, And drinks [drains] it from his crimson cup of crime. But when men from the despot crush it out, 'Tis the one balsam sovereign and sublime To heal the wound that was their honor's stain. SANGRE Eduardo Talero Nunez. Sangre! Licor purpúreo y opulento Que en la mirada altiva centellea, Salta, hierve, palpita y es idea, Vida, fuerza, calor y movimiento. En el cerebro es luz y pensamiento, Es valor y heroísmo en la pelea, Fuego, pasión y amor cuando chispea, En el hondo laúd del sentimiento. Es el rojo borgoña que el tirano Hace brotar del pueblo soberano, Y en su copa de crímenes apura. Mas si el hombre del déspota la exprime, Es el único bálsamo sublime Con que la herida del honor se cura. Manuel José Othon THE FOREST [Manuel Jose Othon] Beneath the foliage, trembling murmurously, Of my basilica, the winged prayer Alone must be breathed forth upon the air- - Not here the poet's sweet, impassioned cry. The Druids' shelter in old time was I; The hermits used to beat their foreheads bare Against my trees' rough bark; the prophets there Hung up their harps, in centuries gone by. And once, upon a dread, momentous day, The vagrant wind paused, breathless, in its flight, On hearing from my depths of shadow gray Come forth, with woe and sorrow infinte, The greatest [grandest] prayer that ever found its way From this low earth of ours to heaven's height.[130] EL BOSQUE. Bajo las frondas trémulas é inquietas que forman mi basílica sagrada, ha de escucharse la oración alada, no el canto celestial de los poetas. Albergue fuí de druidas. Los ascetas en mís troncos de crústula rugada infligieron su frente macerada y colgaron sus arpas los profetas. Y en tremenda ocasión, el errabundo viento espantado suspendió su vuelo, al escuchar de mi interior profundo brotar, con infinito desconsuelo, la más grande oración que desde el mundo se ha alzado hasta la cúpula del cielo. -Noche Rustica de Walpurgis.IN EXCELSIS. [From the Spanish of Manuel Jose Othon.] By its far heights, the mountain To heaven lifts a prayer, White as its glea[n]ming snow-fields, Vast as its peak in air. So near the sky its summit. That [witness] whiteness, lone and bright, Changed to a supplication, Soon reaches heaven's height. What does the noble mountain Ask of the heavens in prayer? Always to have its snow-crown, Its peak far up in air. And calmly, if the sunshine Should melt its [stainless] unstained snow, To join its tears, a torrent, To the abyss's woe! [Alice Stone Blackwell.] [Dorchester, Mass.][132] IN EXCELSIS. [Manuel Jose Othon.] Por sus excelsitudes Eleva la montaña una oración, Como su cumbre, inmensa, Como su cumbre, blanca. Y como está del cielo Tan cerca la mantaña, Llega muy pronto á Dios eso blancura Conve[n]rt en plegaria. Qué pedirá á los cielos La divina montaña? Tener siempre su nieve por corona Y su cima muy alta. Y cuando el sol derrita Su nieve inmaculada Al donor pavoroso de las simas Unir serena, su raudal de lágrimas. [106] TO THE CZAR OF ALL THE RUSSIAS (Nicholas II) [Salvador Diaz Miran.] Now you have been blessed and crowned, consecrated magnificently amid umpar[-]alleled pomp. Give ear to me, then; listen to the coun[c]sels of one who came to the festivities without your leave. I am Liberty! You command a hundred mill[oi]n servants; ten thousand cannon, vomiting lightings, break into thunder at your triumphant voice; four seas, slaves of your sword, kiss your imperial feet; but- I am Liberty! Be kind and just, for the wrath of God is growing. [He] Love[s] this people that stirs at your feet with the latent boiling of a volcano. Persecute me no more, stretch out you hand to me; if not 0 tremble, tyrant! I am Liberty![107] AL CZAR DE LAS RUSIAS. (Nicholas II) Ya fuiste bendecida y coronado, esplendorosamente consagrado, en medio de una pompa sin igual; óyeme, pues, escucha los consejos de quien fué sin tu venía a los feste[a]jos: ¡Yo soy la Liberdad! Tú mandas cien millones de lacayos; diez mil cañones que vomitan rayos rompen en truenos a tu voz triunfal; cuatro mares, esclavos de tu acero, besan tus plant[o]as imperiales, pero..... ¡Yo soy la Liberdad! Sé bueno y justo porque Díos se irrita, ama a ese pueblo que a tus pies se agita con latentes nervores de volcán; no me pérsigas más, dame la mano, tiéndemela, si nó.....tiembla, tirano, ¡Yo soy la Liberdad! INTO THE BLUE SEA. Froylan Turcios. In a foreign bazar I found this amulet: it holds a wonderful power. Its profound secret has a sacred virtue, which a dreaming fakir taught me. He that owns this rare sapphire medal will not suffer from the sorrowful pain of love. Therefore I see tranquilly the merry throng of damsels passing before my eyes. What shall I do with my treasure if your lips so pure tell me that you love me with deathless tenderness? I place my destiny at your feet, in the presence of the sea and sky! Into the blue sea I throw my amulet, and, in knightly fashion, I surrender myself, disarmed, to your sweet innocence and your divine charm![FROYLÁN TURCIOS] En el piélago azul En un bazar exótico encontre este amuleto: encierra en su estructura un poder milenario. Tiene un valor dagrade su profundo secreto que conocer me hiciera un fakir visionario. Quien posee el extraño medallón de zafiro no sufrirá de amores la amarga pesadumbre. Por eso ante mis ojos serenamente miro pasar de las doncellas la alegre muehedumbre. ¿Qué hacer con mi tersoro si tu boca tan pura me dice que me amas con inmortal ternura? ¡Pongo ante el mar y el cìelo á tus piés mi destino! Arrojo mi amuleto al piélago azulado y á tu dulce inocencia y á tu encanto divino caballerosamente me entrego desarmado! 63 [*-Floresta Sonora*] [*Salvador*] ETERNAL STRUGGLE. Jose Maria Gomar. Smite, Grief! I go through the world resigned to suffer, without bemoaning my lot; for it was worse when I looked upon the lifeless body of my mother in her shroud. What suffering has been equal to that? Smite, Grief! for you will not be stronger than he who could see so sad a death without dying also in despair. Your implacable go[o]ad does not subdue me, and it is impossible for my existence to be [overthrown] overwhelmed, although the world offers me no joys. I have always struggled against ill fortune, and the strong man does not cease to struggle until God [takes away] deprives [his] him of life. ETERNA LUCHA. José María Gomar. ¡Hiere, Dolor! Sufiendo resignado voy poe el mundo, sin llorar mi suerte por cuando fué peor, fué cuando inerte ví de mi madre el cuerpo amortajado. ¿Qué sufrimiento a ese fué igualado?... ¡Hiere, Dolor! que no serás más fuerte que quien pudo mirar tan triste muerte sin morirse también desesperado. Tu aguijón implacable no me rinde y es imposible que mi sér se abata, aunque dichas el mundo no me brinde. Siempre lunché con la Fortuna ingrata y de luchar el fuerte no prescinde hasta que Dios la vida le arrebata. [*Fabio Fiallo*] Half Moon The silver half moon, which the sea mirrors, sailing in the middle of the blue sky, is she perhaps a pirate ship, with the Turkish flag flying from her mast? The bride of [gazing] my soul is gazing at her enthusiastically, in a silent hieratic attitude; my [speech] words interrupt her: Why do you look at her in ecstasy, if she will never be yours? Tonight it is the same moon that [stops,] pauses, at an unseasonable time, to look at my graceful beloved, and counts the threads of her dark hair one by one, and gives them a thousand times a thousand kisses. And a crystalline orchestra is heard, playing in low tones [on] in the blue [causes] changing of the sea, as if upon its keys the delicate and nimble hand of a [water nymph] mermaid were interpreting Mozart. 2 Meanwhile a prophetic cloud, after the silent fashion of a treacherous black vulture, rises in the blue sphere, creeps to the moon, and, without ruth, dexterously extinguishes her. Where is the pirate ship with the Turkish flag flying at her masthead? Alas! of that silver planet the broad sea mirrors only a fantastic bier. The coffin is broken, and a [skull] skull shows its fleshless profile. O Selene, who would have said that within you eye-sockets a [repile] reptile had its hidden nest! But, with her empty socket, under the dark cloud, she begins again to [look] gaze at us obstinately. Cease your persistency, O moon! The bride of my soul will never be yours!MEDIA LUNA (Balada) [Fabio Fiallo] [Para Jose Lebron Morales] La media luna de plata que la onda del mar retrata navegando en pleno azul, ¿ acaso es nave pirata en cuyo tope remata el pabellón de Stambul? Contemplándola fanática, en muda actitud hierática la novia del alma esta, interrúmpela mi plática: --¿ por qué la miras extática si tuya nunca será? Ahora es la misma luna que se detiene importuna al ver mi amada gentil, y en su cabellera bruna las hebras cuenta una a una, las besa mil veces mil. Y se escucha a la sordina una orquesta cristalina en la clave azul del mar; cual si en sus teclas, la fina y ágil mano de una Ondina interpretara a Mozart. En tanto, nube agorera, en la callada manera de negro buitre traidor, álzase en la azul esfera, trepa a la luna, y artera la ahoga sin compasión. ¿ Do está la nave pirata en cuyo tope remata el pabellón de Estambul? . . . . ¡ Ay! de aquel astro de plata la ancha mar sólo retrata un fantástico ataud. Rómpese el féretro y fuera asoma una clavera su descarnado perfil; ¡ oh, Selene, quién dijera que en tus órbitas tuviera su oculto nido un reptil! Mas, con su cuenca vacia bajo la nube sombría vuelve a mirarnos tenaz; -- cesa ¡ oh, Luna! en tu porfía, la novia del alma mía no será tuya jamás. --- Canciones [De La] Tarde. [*San Domingo*] AUTUMNAL. R. Augusto Sanchez. A garden in autumn. Sadness mutters in the water of the fountain, and hovers in the calm of the silent evening, that shows its graceful beauty. The garden is in ruins. The [branches] brambles reach up to the columns. [One feels weakness in the silence of the air,] Something like [the] a vapor of languid [sloth.] indolence is felt in the silence of the atmosphere. In the nights, so lonely, in the tranquil nights when the eyes of the pale stars open, like a blossoming of the blue [m] -, only by night the flowers open their closed buds to receive the kiss of the [morn.] moon.R. Augusto Sanchez AUTUMNAL. Un jardín en otoño. La tristeza musita con el agua de la fuente, y flota en la quietud de la silente tarde, que ostenta su gentil belleza. El jardín está en ruinas. La maleza alcanza ya los mármoles. Se siente diluido en el silencio del ambiente como un vaho de lánguida pereza. En las noches tan solo. En las tranquilas noches, cuando se abren las pupilas de las estrellas pálidas, cual una floración de lo azul . . . solo en las noches, las flores abren sus cerrados broches a recibir el beso de la Luna. [Dream] [THE COLOR OF A DREAM.] Dream Color [Julio Herrera y Reissig.] She came to me by night, clad in velvet; fire was bleeding from her open wound. She was as plae as a poor corpse, and there was no consolation in her hopeless eyes. Above her bare and faded brow languished a flower of funereal asphodel; and a dog was howling in the wide frost, under the double horn of the hazy moon. She laid her finger on her lip, fixed as if by a charm of witching enchantment; and when, moved by her weeping, I at last asked her who she was, she said to me: "Son, perhaps you do not even know me now. I am your soul, that has suffered so much!" Color de Sueño Anoche vino a mi, de terciopélo; Sangraba fuego de su herida abierta, Era su palidez de pobre muerta Y sus náufragos ojos sin consuelo. . . Sobre su mustia frente descubierta, Languidecía un fúnebre asfodelo, Y un perro aullaba en la amplitud del hielo Al doble cuerno de la luna incierta. Yacia el índice en su labio, fijo Como por gracia de hechicero encanto Y, luego que, movido por su llanto, Quién era, al fin, la interrogué, - me dijo: - Ya ni siquiera me conoces, hijo, ¡ Si soy tu alma que ha sufrido tánto! [Julio Herrera y Reissig.]LIVE-FOREVERS. Juan Zorilla de San Martin. The flowers that are the emblem of death they call Live-Forevers! Or may it be because the vapor of the tomb does not wither their leaves, which are withered already? When they cannot weep, men laugh; and they awaken envy in those who see them pass. Live-Forevers! [Of] If happiness has its tears, grief also has its bitter laughter. SIEMPREVIVAS. Juan Zorilla de San Martin. ¡ A las flores, emblema de la muerte, Las llaman siemprevivas! . . . ¿O será[s] porque el vaho de las tumbas Sus ya marchitas hojas no marchita? Al no poder llorar, rien los hombres Y, al mirarlos pasar, causan envidia. ¡ Siemprevivas! si el bien tiene su llanto, Tambien tiene el dolor su amarga risa. Poesias Líricas. AND DO YOU NOT FEEL? [Juan Zorilla de San Martin.] The repressed tear clouded the transparent sky of your eyes. How beautiful are the stars when they tremble reflected in the crystal of the lake! Now you will not deceive me, for now I have seen trembling, hidden under your eyelashes, the precious wealth of your tenderness, condensed, as it broke forth, into a tear. ¡ Y NO SENTIAS! [Juan Zorilla de San Martin.] El cielo trasparente de tus ojos El llanto detenido encapotaba . . . . ¡ Qué hermosas se estremecen las estrellas Sobre el cristal de un lago reflejadas! Ya no me engañarás, porque ya he visto, Temblando recatado en tus pestañas, El precioso caudal de tu ternura, Condensado, al brotar, en una lágrima.[*Bolivia*] OLYMPIAN SPEECH. Franz Tamayo I was pride, as is the peak, and my youth was the sea that sings. Is not the star now rising over the peak? Why am I like a sea that now does not sing? Do not laugh, Marvio, to look at the peak, nor spit upon the sea because now it does not sing. If the lightning went forth, not in vain was I the peak; and my silence is more than the sea that sings. HABLA OLYMPIO. Franz Tamayo Yo fuí el orgullo como se es la cumbre, y fué mi juventud el mar que canta. ¿ No surge el astro ya sobre la cumbre? ¿ Porqué soy como un mar que ya no canta? No rías, Marvio, de mirar la cumbre, ni escupas sobre el mar que ya no canta. Si el rayo fué, no en vano fuí la cumbre, y mi silencio es más que el mar que canta.ASCENSION From the Spanish of Luis G. Urbina of Mexico All things climb a starry stair By a law that no man knows. What was yesterday a thorn Shall tomorrow be a rose. What was once a chrysalid Soon shall soar, free fluttering; What was yesterday a wish Will tomorrow be a wing! HYMN TO THE TREE From the Spanish of Gabriela Mistral of Chile O brother tree, fast fixed in earth By brown hooks 'neath the soil that lie, Yet raising thy clean brow aloft With fervent yearning for the sky! Pitiful make me towards the dross Whose dark more feeds me, low and dumb, Yet never let the memory sleep Of that blue land from which I come! Thou to the traveller dost announce, O tree, thy gentle presence near, By thy refreshing, far-flung shade, And by thy fragrant atmosphere. So let my presence be revealed, Amid life's fields, where'er I be, By my warm, gentle influence Shed over others silently. O tree, productive ten times o'er Of rosy fruit thy leaves between, Of wood for building, perfumed airs, And sheltering foliage, dense and green! Thou tree of soothing, healing balms And wondrous resins gracious treem Full of wild wines that weigh thee down, And throats athrill with melody! Oh, make me rich in giving forth, To equal thee in fruitfiulness! Tree, let my heart, my thought, become Wide as the world, to help and bless! Thou art a woman's gentle womb, Naught else; thy boughts with nests are rife, And every branch, soft swaying, rocks In each light nest a tiny life. Give me a leafage great and thick, To meet the need of all who roam who in the human forest vast Have found no branch to be their home! Tree that, where'er thy strong trunk stands, On hill or plain, in every place Takest the selfsame attitude Of sheltering and protective grace! So may my soul, in each estate_ Youth, age, joym grief, whate'er befall_ Still hold the self-same attitude Of love unchanging, love for all! O ragged mother, holding out thy hand Forever at the doors, in sorrow deep. And seeing aleways bare and empty chests, And human conscience fast looked in sleep. O thou that goest gathering in the bag Of thy sore poverty forevermore Leavings that in the shipwreck of each day Follies and voices cast u on the shore. Daughter art thou to him who went to war, Marched in the ranks and shed his blood unbought Fell in the conflict, sank to earth and died_ And no one now remembers that he fought. Sister art thou to him who fell one day Among machinery's teeth, which crush and kill. The Wheels were all indifferent to his fate. An d human hearts wr were more indifferent still. Thou art the daughter and the sister poor,- The window, always left with child unborn ; Thou art the mother who of every rag Will make flag, whe n breaks tomorrow's morn. Still, as a consolation, in thy womb A son of thy dead husband thou dost bear. A cloud of rags_ its thought are of the sky, But of a sky where tempest fills the air. Thy son will be no gentle cherub fair, No honey-cup, no mayflower soft of bloom. O ragged mother. Lo, thou art the cloud, And thou dost bear the lightnoing in thy womb. IF A THORN ME From the Spanish of Amado Nervo of Mexico I f a thorn wounds me, I draw back from it ; I do not hate the thorn. if, hating me. Some base hand pierces me with malios blind, Silent I turn away, and go to find A purer sir of love and charity. Rancor? For what ? Has good e'er sprung from it? No wound it stanches, puts no evil right. Scarce has my rose' - tree time to bear its flowers ; It wastes no vital sap on thorns of spite. And if my foe should near my rose-tree pass, lie shall pick from it many a fragrant bud ; And if he sees in them a vivid red, The tint will be the redness of my blood_ Blood drawn by his ill will of yesterday, In hatred that it seemed could never cease, And which the rose-tree now in perfume sweet Returns to him, changed to a flower of peace.TO Cervantes From the Spanish of Ru ben Dario of Nicaragua Though heavy hours I pass and mournful days In solitude, Cervantes is to me A faithful friend. He lightens gloom with glee; A restful hand upon my head he lays. Life in the hues of nature he portrays; A golden helmet, jewelled brilliantly, He gives my dreams, that wander far and free. He suits my moods; he sighs, he laughs, he prays. The Christian and the lover and the knight Speaks like streamlet clear and crystalline. I love and marvel at his spirit bright, Beholding how, by mystic Fate's design, The whole world now drinks mirth and rich delight From deathless sadness of a life divine. SUN AND MOON From the Spanish of Jose Santos Chocano of Peru Between my aged mother's hands gleam bright Her grandson's locks; they seem a handful fair Of wheat, a golden sheaf beyond compare_ The sun's gold, stolen from the dawn's clear light. Meanwhile her own white tresses in my sight Shed brightness all around her in the air_ Foam of time's wave, a sacred glory rare, Like spotless eucharistic wafers white. O flod flood of gold and silver, full and free. You make my heart with gladness overrun. If hatred barks at me, what need I care? To light my days and nights, where'er I be, In my child's curls I always have the sun, The moon in my dear mother's silver hair.TO THE CHILDREN From the Spanish of Gabriela Mistral of Chile Many years hence, when I am a little heap of silent dust, [play] play with me, with the earth of my heart and of my bones. If a mason gathers me up, he will make me into a brick, and I shall remain fast forever in a wall; and I hate quiet niches. If they can make a brick in a prison, I shall grow red with shame when I hear a man sob; and if I am a brick in a school, I shall still suffer, because I cannot sing with you in the early mornings. I would rather be the dust with which you play, on the country roads. Clasp me, for I have been yours; unmake me, for I made you; trample upon me, because I did not give you the whole of beauty an and the whole of truth. Or only sing and run above me, so that I may kiss your beloved feet. When you hold me in your hands, recite some beautiful verse, and I shall rustle with delight between your fingers. I shall rise up to look at you, seeking among you the eyes, the hair of those whom I used to teach. And when you make any image out of me, break it every moment, for every moment the children broke me, with tenderness and grief. ASCENSION From the Spanish of Luis G. Urbina of Mexico All things climb a starry stair By a law that no man knows. What was yesterday a thorn Shall tomorrow be a rose. What was once a chrysalid Soon shall soar, free fluttering; What was yesterday a wish Will tomorrow be a wing.