BLACKWELL FAMILY ALICE STONE BLACKWELL SUBJECT FILE Spanish-American Poems: Translations by Alice S. BlackwellLA CANCION DE LOS PINOS Oh Pinos, Oh hermanos en tierra y ambiente! Yo os amo. Sois dulces, sois buenos, sois graves. Diriase un arbol que piensa y que siente, Mimado de auroras, poetas y aves. Toco vuestras frentes la alada sandalia; Habeis sido mastil, proscenio, curul, Oh pinos solares, oh pinos de Italia, Banados de gracia, de gloria, de azul! Sombrios, sin oro del sol, taciturnos, En medio de brumas glaciales y en Montanas de ensuenos, oh pinos nocturnos, Oh pinos del Norte, sois bellos tambien! Con gestos de estatuas, de mimos, de actores, Tendiendo a la dulce caricia del mar Oh pinos de Napoles, rodeados de flores, Oh pinos divinos, no os puedo olvidar! Cuando en mis errantes pasos peregrinos, La Isla Dorada me ha dado un rincon Do sonar mis suenos, encontre los pinos. Los pinos amados de mi corazon. Amados por tristes, por blandos, por bellos. Por su aroma, aroma de una inmensa flor, Por su aire de monjes, sus largos cabellos, Sus savias, ruidos y nidos de amor. Oh pinos antiguos que agitara el viento De las epopeyas, amados del sol! Oh liricos pinos del Renacimiento, Y de los jardines del suelo espanol! Los brazos *** eolios se mueven al paso Del aire violento que forma al pasar Ruidos de pluma, ruidos de raso, Ruidos de agua y espumas de mar. Oh noche en que trajo tu mano, Destino, Aquella amargura que aun hoy es dolor! La luna argentaba lo negro de un pino, Y fui consolado por un ruisenor. Romanticos somos ... Quien que Es, no es romantico? Aquel que no sienta ni amor ni dolor, Aquel que no sepa de beso y de cantico, Que se ahorque de un pino: sera lo mejor... Yo, no. Yo persisto,. Preteritas normas Confirman mi anhelo, mi ser, mi existir. Yo soy el amante de ensuenos y formas Que viene de lejos y va al porvenir. HONDAS A. Pichardo. Yo Sone Que era un hondero Mallorquin. Con las piedras que en la costa Recogi, Cazaba aguilas al vuelo, Lobos, y En la guerra iba a la guerra Contra mil. Un guijarro de oro puro Fue al cenit, Una tarde en que en la altura Azul vi Un enorme gerifalte Perseguir A una extrana ave radiante, Un rubi Que rayara el firmamento De zafir. No torno mi piedra al mundo. Pero sin Vacilar vino a mi el ave - Querubin. Partio herida - dijo - el alma De Goliat, y vengo a ti. Soy el alma luminosa De David! LAS ESTRELLAS. Quién dice que los hombres nos parecen _________________ ? desde el profundo mar del firmamento, átomos agitados por el viento, gusanos que se arrastran y perecen? ______________________ ? No! Sus cráneos que heroicos se estremecen son el más grande asombrador portento: fraguas donde se forja el pensamiento y que más que nosostras resplandecen! Bajo la estrecha cavidad caliza, las ideas, en ignea llamarada contemplamos arder, y es, ante ellas, toda la creación polvo y caniza... Los astros son materia inanimada y las humanas frentes son estrellas!Manuel Flores p 72 Beneath the [holy] church's holy vaulted roof Where the sweet censer spreads its mist abroad, And where gold glitters richly - if I there [Lift] Raise into heaven my solitary prayer Then in the temple the soul speaks to God. But in the forest, in the desert [wide] wild Where the tall palm-tree lifts its mighty bole, Or on the shore where sea-waves break with power, Where Nature's glory shines, in sun or shower - There it is God who speaks unto the soulThe Woman's Journal 585 Boylston Street, Boston, Massachusetts Telephone: Back Bay 4717 Contributing Editors Mary Johnston Stephen S. Wise Josephine Peabody Marks Zona Gale Florence Kelley Witter Bynner Ben B. Lindsey Caroline Bartlett Crane Ellis Meredith Mabel Craft Deering Eliza Calvert Hall Reginald Wright Kauffman Assistant Editor Henry Bailey Stevens Editor-in-Chief Alice Stone Blackwell Manager Agnes E. Ryan A purple bloodstain on three pages lies A tint (shot) of death + grief their whiteness dyes. Life nipped in flower, strong column from its place Hurld not by mighty time, but pickaxed base! O graceful life, like to a laurel bough! No hand with reverence plucked it for the brow Of the A proud conqueror; it fell beneath The jaws of the mean ass; his nibbling teeth! Oh, what a fate! To be an oak, nor fall By lightning bolt, or in the storm wind's path , But by the clownish woodman's axe of steel Chopping + rending thee! O sacred wrath! He sleeps beneath the gentle earth they say He rests in peace upon her tender breast. Not so! That utterance is vain + false Nay, that rebellious dead man does not rest! Over the gray garment [veil] of foul dust today That for a covering men to gim have given His hand is raised in imprecation still Demanding justice of the earth + heavenThe lovely Springtime, like a woman fair Will give it her caress: [yet] but raised on high Clenched + implacable, that hand of [the??e] lies [Silently] watching, in silence Justice! Yet still will cry. The sun will bathe it with the comfort sweet Of his warm gleams, + from the [tranquil] brooding sky. The drops of [the light] [gusty] misty showers will render ge[??] with dew moist The blades of grass that crushed + trampled lie Justice! And human selfishness in vain May say, "He sleeps [with????earth's][in] on Natures [gentle] [?????] quiet breast Below the kindly earth he rests in peace." Ah, no! It is not true. He does not rest!EL CANARIO DE DORILA. A Tamiro Miceneo. Que sufres? No es verdad. Cuando la aurora inunda el horizonte de fulgores, Dorila, dulce imán de los pastores, llega a ti sonríendo halagadora. Con flébil voz te dice que te adora, te acaricia, te besa en sus ardores y suspende tu jaula entre las flores que perfuman su estancia encantadora. Que de la esclavitud te abruma el peso y anhelas verte al aire, soberano? Que no puedes volar, que vives preso? Mi grata libertad trocara ufano por gozar de Dorila el casto beso y recibir alpiste de su mano! [*Mark Delgado*] AL ESPIRITU DEL ARBOL Oh, tu quietud vibrante, tu magnanima calma sonora, la que enraiza en el hondo corazon de la tierra bendita, y tus hojas que fingen, en un rapto de sed infinita, la vision insaciada, la pupila que todo lo explora! Somos signos fraternos; es la misma la queja que llora en tu arrullo y mi canto; es el mismo el afan que se agita en tu savia y mi sangre; y el identico anhelo gravita tan tenaz, que no extingue ni perturba el correr de la hora. Ah, ser firme y sereno con el ansia tendida a lo ignoto, y afianzado a la vida, ir buscando en un vuelo remoto, el animico rastro de las aves, las notas y el viento; allagarse a lo humilde, ascender con el ala que sube y ser sombra a la fuente, paz al nino, sonrisa a la nube, y a la vez ser inmoble, majestuoso como un pensamiento! ...Verses by DelgadoA Protest José Santos Chocano. Who and where are they, that have done their best To stain my honesty with falsehold's blight? Snows and not mire are found upon my height; Eagles, not serpents, dwell within my nest! Those that have wounded me and pierced my breast Have crowned me with immortal honor bright; For when our foes with such foul weapons fight, Rather defeat than victory is blest! Let cowards rejoice! Upon my peak of snow, (over)When they pursue me, though my blood may drip, Mine entrails 'neath their claws reborn shall be. If some day their designs to shipwreck go, Then I shall cross the sky line like a ship, Heeding no calls, no signals from the sea! Our Race By the Reverend Miguens Parrado (Argentina) On this day, O mournful musings, Let there be a truce to weeping! Refuge take in the asylum Of your lineage illustrious. Harken how the soul's outgushings Echo, while the notes are welling From the singer's throat in music - Notes of sweetness, notes enchanting, Of our race the song and story! God has given it for cradle Of a continent the limits, Which the sea with purest waters And the sun with fire the purest Bathe in concert soft together Is it much, then, O my brothers! That our race should be the boldest, The most epic in achievements, In its graces the most lyric,2 In religion the most ardent, In its work and deeds the bravest? That from birth it was a conqueror, And of such a gift was worthy? Long ago with fire it proved this In [Sagentum] Saguntum and [Numantia] Numantia. Even if Rome's conquering eagles In the flesh once made it captive, Yet the soul of Rome it [conquered] vanquished. As this race of ours is dreamful, Is adventurous, romantic, So ideals bloom and flourish Wheresoe'er its foot is planted. As it is of iron, tempered In adversity's grim forges, It cannot be but by danger, Neither can misfortune break it. And as the Eternal Father Gave to it the kingly mission To remove horizons farther, To bring distant places nearer, So the desert smile upon it, And the mountains bow before it, And all join in one grand union Its heroic deeds to hallow- Skies with their inclement weather, And the oceans with their tempests, And the earth with all her poisons, And the air with its miasmas, Men with treacheries + falsehoods, God with sharp + bitter trials. And meanwhile, although its virtues All these crucibles are testing,4 'Tis of life a bountious river, Which runs on in lavish fulness, Overflows, advances, waxes, Moulds, creates & fertilizes; And its blood new blood forever Within virgin wombs engenders; And its genius is a herald Of celestial, heavenly dawnings, And its tongue a golden harpstring Of new, lovely, unheard concerts, And its faith is hope's own balsam Unto those who to the Sermon On the Mount have never [not yet] listened. All its plans & undertakings Are so gracious, so large minded, 5 With such pure enthusiasm And such noble pride 'tis gifted, So much good it has accomplished, That throughout all history, never In the present or past ages Was a country so much hated As has been fair Spain, our cradle. My high race, to thee be glory, Flower or all to the chosen races! Of her pride Castilia gave thee, Aragon her rock-like firmness, And her enterprising spirit [genuis?] Catalina, and Cantabria Will unbending; dreams, Asturias, And Galicia, wings upsoaring, And old Tyre her gorgeous fancies, And her gipsy [salt] gave Betis, Even Spric's blood has fired thee With its flower intense & glowing.6 Glory to thee, alma mater, Flower of all the chosen races! O my race, to thee be glory, That thou from thy home didst sally To make great and ever greater, Great as thou thyself, thy country! That thy Queen won back Granada [To thy rule] From thy Moors did not suffice thee. Nay: and what would have sufficed thee? Neither Flanders, nor Italia[n], No, not even all of Europe; No, not Tunis, and not Oran - Naught of all this, nothing, nothing! These were old homes, known already; It was new homes thou wast seeking. [Destiny was pressing] [And, as Fate weighed hard upon thee] And, as Destiny was urgent, 7 And as God and Glory called thee From the distance, the far distance, And the ships were lying ready, Thou didst launch thee on the ocean, Steal its secret, calm its augers, And bear off its choicest treasure - That new home which thou hadst need of To make great and wide thy country - Great and grand as thou thyself art!8 'Tis because, O race of Spaniards, Ear of wheat [its] thy grains dispersing! Thou hast settled in new countries Where new races found their birthplace. They are one, & form together That great fatherland long dreamed of, The ideal, vast, eternal Country of our race, the beauteous And harmonious race of Spaniards To America transplanted! On this day, O mournful musings, Let there be a truce to sorrow! This is not a day for weeping, 'Tis the day that shall forever Celebrate our race's glory! [*Version by Alice Stone Blackwell*]Spanish poem-Winter.- Laura Mendez de Cuenca. The mountains sink in the mists; Of the sonorous reeds Only dry stubbles remain standing; The green fields of yesterday, are now desolate and dead, the only signs of former life. The wind hisses thru the bare trees; None of the dumb birds lifts a flight, Warm, loving nests, Fallen from the branches, Roll among icicles. A tepid sickly sun Crosses the boundless sky Breaking its light in the crystal of the river; The leaves torn away from mountain, valley and dale, Are the playthings of the wind. The mysterious sound of the Angelico's breaks forth from the majestic Temple and the soul seeks peace with God; In every cottage of the village The flaying hearth speaks of home and family life.Winter inclemencies increase There are no birds, no flowers, Silence solitude reign everywhere The fogs envelop mountains and dales Only sparkling icicles & dead leaves meet the eye. But cheerful spring will come again Again the meadows will appear in full array; The brook will have silvery voices, The earth will bear fruits, The woods will have nightingales The sky beautiful sunsets. But the sorrowful heart has its frozen winter And vainly hopes for the cheerful season; For the heart that mourns its woes There are no meadows, no dawn, No golden mists, no sun, no spring. Húndeme entre las nieblas las mountañas; De las sonantes cañas Sólo quedan, en pie secos rastrojos: Los campos, antes de verdos cubiertos, Desolados y yertos, De la vida de ayer son hoy despojos.On this day, O mournful musings Let there be a truce to weeping! [I und] Shelter Refuge take in the sanctuary asylum of your lineage illustrious [Hearken] [Listen how the souls deep fountains] Hearken how the souls outgushings Echo while the notes are [ringing] welling From the singer's throat in music! Notes of sweetness, notes enchanting, Of our race the song & story! God has given it for cradle Of a continent the [margen] limits Which the sea with purest waters And the sun with fire the forrest Bathe[s] in concert soft together Is it much, in such a setting That our race should be the boldest The most epic in achievements 2 In its graces the most lyric In religion the most ardent In its work & deeds the bravest That [from birth] from birth it was a conqueror And of such a grace gift was worthy That [with ardent] of old with fire [she] it proud[est] this In Saguntum & Numantia And Even if Rome's conquering eagles In the flesh [then] once [& loot] made it captive Yet the seal of Rome it mastered [It in turn] Of Rome's soul it took possession As [thes] [our] this race of ours is [full of resolve] dreamful, [As] Is adventurous, romantic, So ideals bloom & flourish Weresoe'er ti foot its planted As it is of iron, forged strong On adversity's grim forges, [So] It cannot be bent danger3 Neither our misfortune break it And as the Eternal Father Gave to it the kingly mission To remove horizons farther To bring distant place nearer So the deserts smile upon it And the mountains bow before it And all join in one grand union [joining] Its heroic deeds to hallow____ Heaven above, with better weather Skies with mild unclement [with wild] weather, And the oceans with their tempests And the earth with all her passions And the air with its miasmas Man with treacheries and falsehoods God with sharp & bitter trials And man while, although its virtues All these crucibles are testing 'Tis of life a bounteous river 4 Which goes[runs on], runs over in lavish [flows in] fulness Overflows, advances, waxes, [Fertilizes] Moulds, creates, & fertilizes And its blood new blood forever Within virgin wombs [begetteth](?) And its genius is a herald Of celestial, heavenly dawnings And its [speech] tongue a golden harpstring of new, lovely unheard concerts And is faith a balm of hop is Unto those [who have not bestowed] whose ears have never Heard the Sermon on the Mountain All its plans and undertakings Are so gracious, so large minded With sure pure enthusiasm And such noble pride 'tis gifted [It has done such good] So much good it had accomplished That throughout all history, never 5 In the present or past ages Was a people so much hated As has been fair Spain, its our cradle. My high race, to thee be glory, Flower of all the choice, chosen fine races! [Proud leatlile her] [Lordliness] Of her pride Castilia gave thee Aragon her skill in [pivels?] Catalina [, honest dialing,] also gave thee Probity; [and Cantabria] to thee Cantabria Gave her enterprising spirit And [a] her neck unbent, Asturia's And Galicia wingid visions And old Tyre her gorgeous Janais And her gipsy salt gave Betis Even Afrie's blood has firid thee With its [fire] flames intieise & glowing! Glory to thee, alure mater, Flower of all thee chosen races! 6 [Unto thee] O very race, to thee be a glory That they house house [Araer?] didst abandon For thy house one dry forsaking To make great & ever greater Great as thou thyself, thy country! Not at all did it suffice thee That thy [green?] was by Granada Given back. What would suffice thee? Neither Flanders, nor Italia, No, not even all of Europe! No, not Turins, & not Oran! Naught of all this, nothing, nothing! These were old [seiers?], see already It was new [seers?] than was [sneaky?] And as Destiny was pressing And as God & glory called thee From the distance, the distance far And thee shifs were crying ready Thou didst launch thee on the stial its secret, [soothe] calm its [raging] anger And bear off its choicest treasure That broad-shining + wide sun thou needest To make great [as thou] thy country Great and grand as thou thyself art! Tis because, O race of Spaniards, Ear what wheat its grains that scatters, Thou hast settles in new countries came to being Where new races found their birthplace They are one, + form together That great fatherland [l??y] dreamed of The ideal [great] vast eternal Country of [the beautiful] our race, the beauteous And harmonious race of Spaniards who flowereth In America that settled. On this day, O mournful [??s?ys] Let there be a truce to sorrow! This is not a day for weeping, Tis [our races great Fiesta] the day that shall be forever Celebrate our race's glory! On the Death of a Child By Caroline Freire [(P??????)] O flower, scarcely [ofe???] To life's morning bright! [Pure] Clear water-drop, shed From a cloud in the height! Maiden framed of pure joy, Who with beauty didst teem! New rose, stripped of leaves At the sun's earliest beam! Thou wast so sweet and fair, The same sky, looking on, Thought this earth was not worthy So heavenly a dawn; And the pure drop returned To the gold cloud above, And the balm-breathing flower To the country of love.Office of The Woman's Journal, No. 3 Park Street Boston, Mass., 190Non omnis monar. Manuel Gutiérrez Nájera I shall not die wholly, my friend! Something of my [undulating] flitting, [scattered] departed (lit.) spirit, faithful poetry shall preserve in the transpartent [casket] urn of verse. I shall not die wholly! When I fall, wounded by the blows of mortal[gre] [suffering] woe, Thou, [lightly] swiftly from the darkened field, shalt [rise before][bear] raise thy dying brother. [These] Maybe from my helpless ( ) lips which [mutely] (dumb) [aspires to] longs for the infinite calm, thou [shalt hear] wilt perceive the voice of all that sleeps "with the opened eyes of my soul." Deep-stored recollections of fleeting days, sad [tendernesses] (or affectns) which sigh alone, pallid and feeble joys sobbing to the measure of [violins] music. All that the timid [tearful] man hides, shall escape, vibrating, from the poet, in a golden rythm of secret prayer which invokes thy name at each clause. Mayhap thou wilt mark how strangely fall my verses upon thy listening ear - and upon (ire) the mirror which I cloud with my breath, shalt thou behold my thoughts appear.* *We take this to mean that in the printed page (mirror) which I have created by speaking the words of my poem, you will perceive my true thoughts.Maybe then you will be able to hear the voice of inanimate nature (through my poetry) through the dumb [?] that always longed for infinite calm with the open eyes of my soul. [upside down] Exit Joan--enter Lucille CHAPTER III. 29. Newspaper Girl. [/upside down] LOS HOMBRES LOBOS R. Arevalo Martinez. Primero dije "hermanos," y les tendi las manos; despues en mis corderos hicieron mal sus robos; y entonces en mi alma murio la voz de hermanos y me acerque a mirarlos; y todos eran lobos! Que sucedia en mi alma que asi marchaba a ciegas, mi alma pobre y triste que suena y se encarina? Como no vi en sus trancos las bestias andariegas? Como no vi en sus ojos instintos de rapina? Despues yo, tambien lobo, deje el sendero sano; despues yo, tambien lobo, caí no se en que lodos; y entonces en cada uno de ellos tuve un hermano y me acerque a mirarlos, y eran hombres todos!20. The peasant boys their hearts beating would seek their homes, And a poor old woman, with her neck like a turtle about to shed its scales, Muttering would hastily bolt the cottage door. The shepherd would come from beyond: - The entire herd obeyed His stick which was completely covered half way up with yellow mud. 25. On his head he had a gray hat of Prukian felt, Under which he had thrust a blue bunch of yellow flowers; With short sleeves his long robe of black bear's skin Was thrown over his left arm and hung down, under which was his bag. 30. The strong odor of the brooks, and the fresh scents of the mountains, He would enter the yard. With a kiss he would take me down from the ass. A kiss in which my soul drank the magnificent nature. 2. Behold 'tis winter... Calmness reigned in the house. Calmness also there was in the warm fold joining the house. From where there came to us the ruminating voice of the herd, 5. Or the stern voice of the sheep about to bear a little lamb. The brave old man would hang his bag on the wall opposite him From where a strong odor of old cheese spread all around;COMO UN SUSPIRO DE CRISTAL Al borde llego de la fuente -- ¡qué mansamente el agua va! -- y oigo el rumor de la corriente como un suspiro de cristal. Guardo las dudas en mi seno bajo el sereno atardecer, y abrigo un ansia de ser bueno como en la hora que se fue. ¡Oh, ser el agua que murmura sin una impura sensación; ir en un lecho de verdura bajo la noche o frente al sol! ¡Oh, ser arroyo que camina en argentina castidad sobre la arena blanca y fina y sin aber a dónde va! Suena en la torre la campana con su lejana y triste voz mientras un pájaro desgrana para mi vida su canción Cogen mis dedos de la orilla una sencilla viola azul en que el rocío tiembla y brilla como una lágrima de luz. Sobre las linfas las deshojo, y aquel despojo funeral se va alejando frente al rojo do la agonía vesperal. Y mientra huye la corriente y mansamente el agua va, oigo el murmullo do la fuente como un suspiro de cristal.Una mancha de sangre la blancura de estas cándidas hojas empurpura y da su no ta de dolor y muerte... Vida segada en flor, columna fuerte no por el prócertiempo derruda, mas por la vil piqueta ... Grácil vida que era como un laurel ... No reverente mano lo deshojo para la frente de altivo triunfador, sino la innoble mandíbula del asno hincóle el diente... !Qué destino! ...Ser roble y no caer al rayo y la tormenta, sino al hacha violenta de zafio lenador...! Oh, santa ira!... Dicen: descansa en paz bajo la mansa ternura de la tierra..! no, mentira!... Ese muerto rebelde no descansa... Por sobre el pardo velo de sucio polvo que lo encubre ahora, ha de alzarse la mano imprecadora demandando justicia a tierra y cielo... El sol la banará con el consuelo de sus vislumbres cálidas... Las gotas de la llovizna mojarán las rotas y holladas hierbas.,. Le dará la amable femenil primavera su caricia... Mas la mano crispada e implacable dirá en su muda expectación: !Justica!... !Justica!... Y es en vano que el egoísmo humano diga: descansa en paz bajo la mansa ternura de la tierra... !No descansa!... México, Julio 26 de 1911¿TE ACUERDAS DE LA TARDE?... ¿Te acuerdas de la tarde en que vieron mis ojos de la vida profunda el alma de cristal?... Yo amaba solamente los crepúsculos rojos, las nubes y los campos, la ribera y el mar... Mis ojos eran hechos para formas sensibles; me embriagaba la línea, adoraba el color; apartaba mi espíritu de sueños imposibles; desdeñaba las sombras enemigas del sol. Del jardín me atraían el jazmín y la rosa, (la sangre de la rosa, la nieve del jazmín) sin saber que a mi lado pasaba temblorosa hablándome en secreto el alma del jardín. Halagaban mi oído las voces de las aves, la balada del viento, el canto del pastor, y yo formaba coro con las notas suaves, y enmudecían ellas y enmudecía yo... Jamás seguir lograba el fugitivo rastro de lo que ya no existe, de lo que ya se fue... Al fenecer la nota, al apagarse el astro, ¡oh, sombras, oh, silencio, dormitábais también! ¿Te acuerdas de la tarde en que vieron mis ojos de la vida profunda el alma de cristal?... Yo amaba solamente los crepúsculos rojos, las nubes y los campos, la ribera y el mar... La Canción de Rosalia. Rafael Cabrera. Para embellecer el dia asómate a la ventana; y al mirarte, Rosalia, como una rosa lozana, te cantará la mañana una canción de alegria. Sal, que te espera impaciente un coretejo esplendoroso, que de paises extranos llego con el sol naciente, para rimar bullicioso la risa de tus quince anos... ¿Lo ves? ... apenas saliste arde el sol como una pira, perfuma el campo y se viste con las flores que tu abriste, y el aire blando suspira, y nada puede estar triste; canta el agua de la fuente que aprisiona dulcemente todo el cielo en sus cristales, y en las distantes colinas se desplegan las neblinas como azules almaizales... ¡Rosalia! ... Rosalia! alza tu rostro moreno, mira el cortejo sonoro que el pasar, con su alegria va dejando el aire lleno de una polvareda de oro... Por alli viene, ligero, en noble potro enjaezado, un pálido caballero: es el Ensueno, y airado tiembla en su casco guerrero un penacho immaculado; ¿no los sabes? él te jeja suspirando pensativa cuando la tarde se aleja, mientras to canta a la reja la música fugitiva de una canción ya muy vieja; 2. él te hace mirar el cielo por la noche, y te tortura con un impreciso anhelo de amar algo con locura, y de tender en la altura y a todas hpras el vuelo .... Pero? ?ves? .. pr esa quiebra, como una enorme culebra de pausados contorsiones, entre violentos carmines se acercan los palanquines de las locas Ilusiones; y allá lejon, espumantes los corceles generosos, vienen otros caballeros; y en pos de ellos, deslumbrantes. más palanquines vistosos, y más allá, más guerreros ... Sólo una vez, Rosalia, pasarán por tu ventana; ya pasaron por la mia, y aun oigo su gritería, como una canción lejana llena de melancolia .... Acoje á los peregrinos, que vivan en tu alma bella !blanca rosa sin abrojos!, que si no caben en ella, con resplandores divinos se asomarán a tue ojos.... Mas..? qué dices? ..? Saber quieres de aquél joven triste y ciego que amarga nuestros placeres con tenaz desasosiego, y que suele con su fuego inflamar a las mujeres?.... ? No ha llegado a tu ventana?.. Pues aguárdale, manana, quizá más tarde ... algún dia, de tristeza tu alma llene; nunca dice cuándo viene, pero vendrá .... Rosalia .... A Gloria Rafael Cabrera. Si arcaso he de perderte y he de escuchar tu amarga despedida, antes quiero morirme de no verte, que viéndote, morir toda la vida .... Y es que me inflamo en ardoroso fuego desda esa trade que murió arropada entre celajes rojos, cuando tus ojos me dejaron ciego y me encontró la noche perfumada bendiciendo el martirio de tus ojos; desde esa tarde en que el Abril florido pasó por tu jardín abriendo rosas, mientras en cada nido se arrullaban con risas misteriosas las aves, esponjando sus plumones, y el aire suspiraba mansamente, y el desmayado chorro de le fuente cantaba la mejor de sus canciones. Desde entonces, quisiera ser luz, la luz que viene de la altura, el rayito de sol que en la manana, por mirar tu hermosura se detiene en la verde enredadera esperando que le abras tu ventana; ser el aire, y jugar con tus cabellos; ser un suspiro entre tus labios rojos, y lo que miras con tus nrgros ojos para mirarme sin cesar en ellos; ser tristeza, si quieres estar triste; ser todo lo que suenas y no existe por mitigar tus ansias de quimeras, y ser, para tí sola, eternamente, un pájaro que canta dulcemente en esa tarde azul de tus ojeras.A. Gloria R. Cabrera. COSAS DEL CID. Cuenta barbey, en versos que valen bien su prosa Una hazana del Cid, fresca como una rosa, Pura como una perla. No se oyen en la hazana Resonar en el viento las trompetas de Espana, Ni el azorado moro las tiendas abandona Al ver al sol alma de acero de Tizona. Babieca, descansando del huracán guerrero, Tranquilo pace, mientras el bravo caballero Sale a gozar del aire de la estación florida. Rie la Primavera, y el vuelo de la vida Abre lirios y sueños en el jardín del mundo. Rodrigo de Vivar pasa, meditabundo, Por una senda en donde, bajo el sol glorioso, Tendiendole la mano le detiene un leproso. Frente a frente, el soberbio principe del estrago Y la victoria, joven, bello como Santiago, Y el horror animado, la viviente carrona Que infecta los suburbios de hedor y de ponzoña. Y al Cid tiende la mano el siniestro mendigo, Y su escarcela busca y no encuentra Rodrigo. - Oh, Cid, una limosna! -- dice el precito. - - Hermano, Te ofrezco la desnuda limosna de mi mano! -- Dice el Cid, y, quitando su ferreo guante, extiende La diestra al miserable, que llora y que comprende. Tal es el sucedido que el Condestable escancia Como un vino precioso en su copa de Francis. Yo agregare este sorbo de licor castellano: Cuando su guantelete hubo vuelto a la mano El Cid, siguio su rumbo por la primaveral Senda, Un pájaro daba su nota de cristal En un arbor. Eu Cielo profundo desleia Un perfume de gracia en la gloria del dia. Las ermitas lanzaban en el aire sonoro El alma de las floers iba por los caminos A unirse a la piadosa voz de los peregrinos. Y el gran Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, satisfecho Iba cual si llevase una estrella en el pecho. Cuando de la campina, aromada de esencia Sutil, salió una nina vestida de inocencia, Una nina que fuera una mujer, de franca Y angelica pupila, y muy dulce y muy blanca. Una nina que fuera un hada, o que surgiers Encarnacion de la divina Primavera. Y fue al Cid y le dijo: Alma de amor y fuego, Por Jimena y por Dios un regalo te entrego, Esta rosa naciente y este fresco laurel.The Water I see it and my spirit with tranparency is filled; (?) that from a desert I arrive & find it sweet. The house is an oasis in the sands, [around the hush] and is the calm Of burning noon that [sch] scorches the garden with its heat. It is so deep a water, the water of the house! There [It holds] is a human feeling in its tranquil clarity. It is not, like the fountain, are emotion, fleeting fast-- And therefore it refreshed, more than the life, the eye! Chilmark, Mass. July 14, 1923 Dear Howards: Your letter from E. Orange reached me Friday night, after the last mail had gone; so my most recent letters have gone to you at Rockfort. They just reported Kitty still in bed, but unproving: + 4 copies The Water I see it, and my spirit with transparency is filled. Meseems that from a desert I arrive, and fins it sweet. The house is an oasis in the sands, and in the calm Of burning noon that scorches the garden with its heat. It is so deep a water, the water of the house! There is a human feeling in its tranquil clarity. It is not, like the fountain, and emotion, fleeting fast - And therefore it refreshes, more than the lip, the eye.3 copies To Cervantis (subhead) Though heavy hours and of past and mournful days In solitude, Cervantis is to me a [good, true] faithful friend. He lightened gloom with [me] 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. It is for me he sighs, he laughs, he prays. The Christian and the lover and the knight Speaks like a stream lit clear and crystalline. I love and marvel at his spirit bright, Beholding how by mystic Fate's design, The whole [earth] world now drinks mirth and rich delight From deathless sadness of a life divine! Stars Jose Asuncion Silva, Columbia Stars that in the shadowy darkness Of the Vast and the unknown seem like pallid bits of [incense ?] Through the empty spaces blown! Nebulae, so distant, burning In the awful infinite That by the reflection only Of your light the earth is lit! Stars that in unknown abysses with vague brightness overflow! Constellations that the Mage Worshipped long & long ago! Far off worlds in millions, blossoms cover Of fantastic flowers and bright! shining isles in the unsounded, shoreless oceans of the night stars, ye thoughtful divine splendor eyes that flickering glory shed! if ye live, why are you silent? Wherefore shine if ye be dead! But when they look in each others eyes, they will soon join hand in hand the mothers will come out to seek them they will meet on the heights i know when they see that living garland fair their tears in a flood will flow the mum will come out to seek them and so wide the dance will he they will feel ashamed to shake it if and will join in laughingly then they will go down to their glamoring floors and make break without a sigh Of fantastic flowers & bright! Shining isles in the unsounded, Shoreless oceans of the night! Stars, ye thoughtful, pensive splendors! Eyes that flickering glory shed! If yet live, why are ye silent? Wherefore shine, if ye be dead? But when they look in each others' eyes They will soon join hand in hand. The mothers will come out to seek them; They will meet on the heights; I know [That] when they see that living garland fair Their tears like a spring in a flood will flow. The [?] will come out to seek them And so wide the dance will be, They will feel ashamed to break it up, And will join it laughingly Then they will go down to their Threshing floors [?eaths to make] And make [their] bread without a sigh;And the circling dance, when the evening falls, Will keep go on still, on high.on threshholds The mothers sit in their doorways Telling of many a fright The children long gone to the fall [?] to gather red poppies bright At the foot of their German mountain The children at the [?] play The children who dwell on the French side, too, Break into a merry lay, The song went all through the forests The world seems a crystal clear- And with every song the dancing groups To each other have drawn more near, They will meet ere long: the words of the song They do not understand,Am Forestry Assin Simplify your Christmas Shopping -- Use This Form The American Forestry Association 1523 L Street N. W. Washington, D.C. Date Gentlemen: Please enroll the following people as members of our Association and send the American Forestry for 1924. Remittance of $4 for each new member is enclosed. Name of New Member Address It is understood that, in addition to the twelve issues for 1924, each person will receive a complimentary copy of the Christmas number (December, 1923) and an engraved Christmas card signed with my name as donor. Amount Enclosed, $ From Address Save the amount of your dues by purchasing your books through your association Date Order From: Mail this order to Book Department The American Forestry Association 1523 L Street N. W. Washington, D. C. Number of Copies Title of Book and Author Publisher Price Take Full Advantage of Your Membership Your membership in The American Forestry Association entitles you to purchase any book or magazine published in the United States at a discount of 10 per cent from the publisher's list price, provided your order is placed through the association. Make Nine Dollars Do The Work of Ten Total $ Less 10 Per Cent Amount Enclosed $ INFORMACION, PRENSA, PROPAGANDA Y BIBLIOTECA SECRETARIA DE RELACIONES EXTERIORES CORRESPONDENCIA DEL JEFE DE LA SECCIÓN LA QUERELLA DE PIERROT. --- ---Bajo mi alegre faz enharinada es un macabro gesto el dolor mío, y ante la estulta muchedumbre río con mefistofelina carcajada. ¿Qué sabes tú de lo que oculto? Nada. Soy ataúd, mas no ataúd sombrío. pues delata mi virgen atavío que llevo muerta la ilusión soñada. ¿Estás lejos? Y qué! Seré el amante de un imposible, amante sin fortuna más desdeñado cuanto más constante. ¿Quién me ha inspirado como tú? Ninguna. Por luminosa y pálida y distante, ¿no fué la novia de Pierrot la Luna? JUAN B. DELGADO. Este soneto forma parte de un libro intitular "Paris" [ese?to] la aquella Ciudad el año 1912A MARGARITA DEBAYLE by Ruben Dario Margarita, esta linda la mar Y el viento Llega esencia sutil de azahar; Yo siento En el alma una alondra canter: Tu acento. Margarita te voy a contar un cuento. Este era un rey que tenia Un palacio de diamantes, Una tienda hecha del dia Y un rebano de elefantes, Un kiosco de malaquita, Un gran manto de tisu, Y una gentil princesita, Tan bonita, Margarita, Tan bonita como tu. Una tarde la princesa Vio una estrella aparecer; La princesa era traviesa Y la quiso ir a coger. La queria para hacerla Decorar un prendedor, Con un verso y una perla, Y una pluma y una flor. Las princesas primorosas Se parecen mucho a ti: Cortan lirios, cortan rosas, Cortan astros, Son asi. Pues se fue la nina bella, Bajo el cielo y sobre el mar, A cortar la blanca estrella Que la hacia suspirar. Y siguió camino arriba, Por la luna y mas alla; Mas lo malo es que ella iba Sin permiso del papa. Cuando estuvo ya de vuelta De los parques del Sonor, Se miraba toda envuelta E un dulce resplandor.A Margarita DeBayle, page 2. Y el rey dijo: Que te has hecho? Te he buscado y no te halle; Y que tienes en el pecho, Que encendido se te ve? La princesa no mentia. Y asi, dijo la verdad: Fui a cortar la estrella mia A la azul inmensidad. Y el rey clama; No te he dicho Que el azul no hay que tocar? Que locura! Que capricho! El Senorse va a enojar. Y dice ella: No hubo intento; Yo me fui no se por que; Por las olas y en el viento Fui a la estrella y la corte. Y el papa dice enojado: Un castigo has de tener: Vuelve al cielo, y lo robado vas ahora a devolver. La princesa se entristece Por su dulce flor de luz, Cuando entonces aparece Sonriendo el Buen Jesus. Y asi dice: En mis campinas Esa rosa le ofreci: Son mis flores de las ninas Que al sonar piensan en mi. Viste el rey ropas brillantes, Y luego hace desfilar Cuatrocientos elefantes A la orilla de la mar. La princesita esta bella, Pues ya tiene el prendedor En que lucen con la estrella, Verso, perla, pluma y flor. Margarita, esta linda la mar, Y el viento Lleva esencia sutil de azahar; Tu aliento. Ya que lejos de mi vas a estar, Guarda, nina, un gentil pensamiento Al que un dia te quiso contar Un cuento. AVES Y ALMAS. Manuel Gutierrez Najera Quiso Dios Que abran las almas el vuelo; Mas sólo llegan al cielo Las que van de dos en dos. Las otras vagan errantes, En el espacia perdidas... Pero, muertos ó inconstantes, Ya no vendrán los amantes De esas blancas prometidas! Busca, busca á la mujer Que da paz al pecho herido, Y, en llegándo á tener, Forma un nido! ¡Los pájaros son muy sabios! Huye la risa de prisa, Y cuando se va la risa, ¡Qué secos quedan los labios! No vuelan las ilusiones Ni ostentan sus ricas galas, Sino teniendo por alas Dos alas de corazones! Haz pues lo que te aconsejo; Como la hermosa un espejo, Así el alma busca ansiosa Otra alma tierna y amada, Y sólo se mira hermosa Si en elle está retratada! Intranquilo cazador Que marchas entre las flores, Sabe que huyen los amores Y que es eterno el amor! Y mientras oara él no existe, Pierde el mirto su follaje Y aparece enfermo y triste; Mas ya verás cual se viste En Mayo, con rojo encaje. Impacientes las palomas Vuelan por valles y lomas, De libres haciendo alarde, Con caprichoso volar, Pero, cuando cae la tarde, Regresan al palomar.Cinegética Montañesa: entré á cazar en tu bosque y me perdí. Por tres noches no dormí, caminando sin cesar y pensando sólo en tí, La primera noche yo ví un extraño no sé qué, que en el musgo resbaló; era un boa que pasó restregándose en mi pié. La segunda noche ví el revuelo de un condor, y en las sombras distinguí que, sin duda para tí, en su pico iba una flor. La tercera noche fué la que me hizo suspirar, cuando menos lo pensé, sin zarpazo de jaguar: en el pecho se me ve. Montañesa: herido estoy. La heridas son por tí. Tres amantes tienes hoy; y, de celos; ya no soy ni la sombra del que fuí. ¡Ah! No vayas á pensar que á tu bosque he de volver. ¡Mas terrible suele ser que una zarpa de jaguar una mano de mujer!I swear it to thee by my [wavery] flame & by my sword swear I That oft are wont to speak with me Of noble things & high The murmurs of thee eventide afternoon The snowpeaks undefiled The birds that the ough the heaven soar, My soul's own fanais wild Thous sWe wrote to the Leslie Commission, [offering them two alternative their choice of two alternatives] laying before them two propositions for them to choose between - first, that [they should] the Commission should buy from Miss Blackwell [should sell them 210] 201 shares of the W. J. stock at $248 per share instead of [$240] 200, [a share] all the other features of the transfer to [be as laid down] remain as already outlined by the Leslie Commission [or if they did not wish to do this,] [we would This was a price] This amount would about cover some additional debts and expenses [that neither the Commission] [nor Miss Blackwell had known about, at the] [time of the meeting in New York] which had been overlooked at the time of the meeting in N. Y. [Or secondly, if the Leslie Commission did not wish to do this, the Directors of the W. J. agreed to accept the Commission's proposition first as it stood.] [had] how [we] others cherish thee Thy fragrance! and the [?] Stored in they parted hair Thy fragrance! They brows innocence As of a lily fair! Thy lips, a red net where doves cow With gentle murmurings [*And all the lovely blossoming of dry 20 springs!] Thou saidst [that] thou wouldst [come again] return to me And thou wilt come, I know [close to the door I wait & sigh] My love waits always at the door [And ever at the door I wait] And sighs with heart aglow. Yes, thou wilt come, + I shall hear Thy laughter sweet + low. See, Stow in my cup they violets fade And they prolong their pain Putting off death, to look on thee When thou shalt come again [*3 2 1*] Smiling thou wouldst; kind + gay Thou will return to bless With more of kisses + of flowers Thy grieving loneliness Thus Hope my sole companion may [Oft] [Squalls?] to my thoughts that years [?] in mine ear doth say. "With [they] her bouquet of violets She will return; return [Come back some day!"][???rique] Alvary [He?a?] [?] + Lucia With order [?] loved her And she held him dear But only sighs by night + day You from [?] could hear [One day [?]] [?] once kissed her [rosy lips] on the mouth With rapture + with bliss - Yet, thou the [s?????d] she still breathed out A sigh at every kiss [She] Lucia also gave [?] A kiss the other day [?] them, [Lucia] her sighs are heard no more They all have flown away. For sighs (except when they are feigned, And play a treacherous part) Are only kisses ill suppressed Escaping from the heart!Love me as thou mightest love a book, A thy work of sage or poet A refuge for the flame in thee that burns, though none can know it, And for the fear all that may befall hereafter sweet; A book of dreams and secrets, the unknown future shaping; A book that with a wrench, out of thine hands escaping, Leaves all the scattered pages low lying at thy feet[!] An Oblation Jose Santos Chocano [Love me not] Thou shouldest not love me as a [m???]. [my friend], into thy life who enters, But love me rather as a book that sinks into thine heart A book that with its glowing touch can bring thy wound a cautery, Or [?aply] offered thee a song to [wake] bid thy grief depart Yes, love me rather as a book (a soul which, clad in letters, Like some fantastic vision rises before thine eyes). And it may be that thou wilt have a favorite page within it, Speaking to thee of man things which are not [??th] the skies (over)What do I see? That in your eyes Which know me guile, my child, [Rises] there flits a flock of doves, [thy] your dreams - the [[?]] [spotless] happy dreams of youth; What do I see? That [in] on your life, fragrant and silken smooth, Larks dwell that sing, our [?] [d?wns] [fair] bright [shi??ing], [soft] [dear] soft + mild. What do I see? That on your face, like [Pari??] marble fair, There are the earliest roses of [?] gardens sweet. What do I see? That you have shed your dainty little feer With [those straig[?]] magic boots whereof we read in fairy stories rare. Your steps are steps of 7 leagues. Triumph - [a?tly] you go, Your face turned always towards the sun, no thorns your feet below, For childhood's garden has noThe Woman's Journal and Suffrage News Edited by Alice Stone Blackwell 15 Boutwell Street, Dorchester, Boston, Massachusetts What do the suffrage planks say? What is the Susan B. Anthony Amendment? What is the war doing to women? Who is "Hi" Gill? What did the Boston and Maine do? What is the matter with Colorado? What is the good of a vote? Why were windows broken in England? How can a girl live on $6 per week? How would suffrage help the farm? Hughes or Wilson -- Which? Why did Iowa lose? What happened to Rose Livingstone? How did a vote bring good milk? What suffrage states are dry? What does Mrs. Catt want? Who stole Michigan? Why isn't Reno different yet? How did New Zealand save babies? Why should farmers' wives vote? Would women serve on juries? Who bought girls at a $1 a pound? What countries have woman suffrage? Is there a Negro woman menace? What churches stand for suffrage? What does State Rights mean? How does the rotten egg traffic work? Was Dickens a suffragist? What have the women's clubs done with the vote? [?] emeralds, fragmants fair Of [?] country's soil, on high! [proudly [cl??k]] rear yourselves Ye who [rise with pride] above, proudly fall, to So that ye' may rise with love The vast sapphire of the sky! Ye who saw the soldier fall, too brave to yield Our last man, with mortal wound, [??lled] him piously to rest And remained with lefty crest, fold Standing on the bloodstained ground In a language mystical Now that ye have risen so high [?ell] Teach the secret sad + stern Of the song ye had to learn To the blue + shining sky! Tell it [what how much!] what a mighty grief Your sweet murmur holds, what [?ool] In its softness infinite And repeat that [?] in the height what you heard on earth belowFor there came to you one day On the mournful wind a thrill in the wind a mournful thrill Waking in the wind a thrill The first wounded [?] cry, His lament when death drew nigh And your [braves?] repeat it still] Indians would soon be fleeced of their property and thrown upon the states as paupers and mendicants and public protest against neglected conditions would surely and shortly follow. Such procedure would be unwise, unjust and indefensible. The Indian Service has been aided by sincere and sane criticism, for which it is grateful, but its work is too often seriously impeded through misrepresentations to the public by speakers and writers of superficial knowledge or excessive zeal, and what is more unfortunate, by selfish adventurers of both the white and Indian races who are chiefly concerned for personal gain and who seek a condition that would enable them to profit at the expense of those who, if unprotected, would be duped by their clever rapacity. These go to the people, perhaps with imposing testimonials, and with ready-made resolutions to be presented in fluent and picturesque rhetoric, probably followed by a collection to cover "necessary expenses". They should meet with a conservative reception. The public should be led by no one to draw conclusions from less than careful and impartial inquiry. The Indian is moving forward. He is progressing numerically. His population is greater than at any time in the last half century. He is improving in health and knowledge of how to keep well. He is accepting hospital facilities that have been more than doubled in the last seven years, as shown by an increase of 10,000 patients treated annually. His medicine men are retiring from practice. Fifty thousand Indian families live in permanent homes and take an interest in sanitation. The women are becoming better housekeepers; their babies are better cared for, and infant mortality is decreasing. The Indians are growing in knowledge and general intelligence. Three-fourths of their children eligible for attendance are enrolled in some school, federal, state or mission. Nearly two-thirds of their entire population speak English and about one-half read and write English. Their gain in the use of civilized speech has been remarkable in the last seven years. - 4 -A Song of Black Bread By Jaime Torres Bodet. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell [sub????] A Song of Black Bread O black bread, the bread of the Indian! Of my race and my sun you are – Bread that smells of the land of waters, And of a cool, fresh water jar! You have the color, the self-same color As the breast that suckled me long ago– The breast of a Mexican Indian woman, Warm from the heart, with its tender glow. You have the color of that sweet woman Who knows my songs as their rhythms run, A woman with arms that are brownly tinted, Who lives with her face on the beaming sun. You are of grain that is dark in color, Though sweet of savor, from fertile soil– Bread of the prisoner and of the soldier, Bread of the poor and of those who toil. You give yourself unto all in [co????] So does the sun in heaven as well. Dark are your entrails, but bright your savor– Clean, so clean are your taste and smell! (over) Your color recalls the breast that nursed me; A friend of my childhood and youth you are. Black bread, you smell of the land of waters, And of a cool, fresh water-jar! (subhead) The Well I know not why, but in the night I hear mysterious footsteps, Some sorrowful women, with a look of pain, are filling the well. In the depth of night, I hear their tragic sobbing. They are filling the well! [When,] on bright nights, when there is a moon among the leaves, and pearls in the mist, I come to the window to see how the garden is filled with the shadows of those wonderful women. They have never spoken to me, and yet I feel that they are filling with their weeping the well from which I drink. That is why every day there is a new taste every day in its waters, salty and of a bitter savor! Fullness of Life [?] In the peace of the distant sunset, your heart takes on a noble interest, like a broken vessel. You discover, upon the vine of your labors, as when in a story there are two sisters, the that the clusters are red and [black] dark. The fountains weep, you pearls of love, [for] and what is easier to attain than a star when the windows are near the sky? If your life is beautiful with such abundance, it is because she is in everything that you love, and because everything becomes beautiful in her. To Thee Leopolde Lugones Our love, without shadows or reproaches, like damsels in the flower of their charm, now [com] counts fifteen years by its, springs; and this, [is] in my belief, is the age of love. Keep on happily along [your] its [flowery blossoming path] blooming path, letting Time, fleeting as gauze, compose the lovely dream of your life out of a little cloud and a little azure, HIMNO NACIONAL. Words by G.F. Gonzalez Bocanegra. Music by Mexicanos, al grito de guerra. El acerro aprestad y el bridon. Y retrenible en sus centros de tierra Al sonoro rugir del cañon. Y retrenible en sus centors de tierra Al sonoro rugir del cañon si Ciña oh patria, tus sienes de oliva De la paz el arcangel divino, Que en el cielo tu eterno destino Por el dado de Dios se escribio. Mas si osare un estraño enemigo Profanar con su planta tu suelo. Piensa, oh patria querida! que el cielo Un soldado en cada hijo te dio, Un soldado en cada hijo to dio. Em sangrientos combates los viste, uno Por tu amor palpitando sus senos; Arrostrar la metralla serenos, Y la muerte o la gloria buscar. Si el recuerdo de antiguas hazañas De tus hijos inflama la mente, Los laureles del triunfo tu frente Volverán immortales á ornar. Coro.--2-- III. Como el golpe del rayo la encina, Se derrumba hasta el hondo torrente; La discordia venada, impotente, A los piés del arcangel cayo, Ya no mas de tus hijos la sangre Se derrame en contienda de hermanos; Solo encuentre el acero en sus manos Quien tu nombre sagrado insulto. Coro. IV. Del guerrero inmortal de Zempoala Te defiende la espada terrible; Y sostiene su brazo invencible Tu sagrado pendon tricolor. El sera del feliz Mexicano En las paz y en la guerra el caudillo; Porque el supo sus armas de brillo Circundar en los campos de honor. Coro. V. Guerra, guerra sin tregua al que intente, De la patria manchar los blasones! Guerra, guerra, los patrios pendones El las olas de sangre empapad. Guerra, guerra; en el monte, en el valle, Los cañones horrisonos truenen, Y los ecos sonoros resuenen Con los voces de Union! Libertad! Coto. --3-- VI. Antes, patria, que inermes tus hijos Bajo el yugo su cuello dobleguen, Tus campiñas en sangre se reguen, Sobre sangre se estampe su pié. Y sus templos, palacios y torres, Se derrumben con hórrido estruendo; Y sus ruinas existen diciendo; De mil heroes la patria aquí fue. Coro. VII. Si ála lid contra hueste enemigo Nos convoca la trompa guerrera: De Iturbide la sacra bandera Mexicanos! Valientes seduid. Y á los fieros bridones les sirvan Las vencidas enseñas de alfombra; Los laureles del triunfo den sombra A la frente del bravo adalid. Coro. VII. Vuelva altiro a los patrios hogares El guerrero á contar en victoria; Ostentado las palmas de gloria Que supiera en la lid conquistar. Tornararanse sus lairs sangrientos En guirnaldas de mirtos y rosas; Que el amor de las hijas y esposas Tambien sabe a los bravos premiar. Coro.-- [3] 4 -- IX. Y el que al golpe de ardiente metralla De la patria en las aras sucumba; Obtendrá en recompensa una tumba Donde brille de gloria la luz. Y de Iguala la enseña querida A su espada sangriente enlazada; De laurel inmortal coronada Formará de su fosa la cruz. Coro. X. Patria, patria, tus hijos te juran; Exhalar en tus ares su alianto; Si el clarin con su belico acento Los convoca a lidiar con valor. Para ti las guirnaldas de oliva! Un recuerdo para ellos de gloria! Un laurel para ti de victoria! Un sepulcro para ellos de honor! Coro.LIKE THOSE CRAFTSMEN. By Rafael Lozano, Jr., of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Give me your fair white tands, dear; let me submerge within them The impulses that stir me, as in two rivers bright. Within that silent refuge let them grow calm and gentle, The voices of my ancestors, those warriors fierce in fight. Let all that still revives in me out of the ancient epics -- Wherein keen swords and arrows, beneath the bending skies, With wondrous might went crashing and breaking like red lightnings -- Grow shadowy in the heavenly peace which reigns in your kind eyes! That, like those Indian craftsmen who wrought in gold and silver, Chiselling out their precious things with endless pains and care, Repolishing the goldwork of a dream with labor tireless - Or as the Sevres artists toil o'er their porcelains rare - I o'er my Indian flute may toil, that thus, revealed to sight, You may rise beatific, melodious, calm and bright! BARCAROLE. Manuel M. Gonzalez. Ye Fishers who, in hours of azure calm, Leaving the beach, put forth upon the flood -- Ye who, without a fear or care afloat, Still singing, singing in your swift sailed boat, Ask from the sea an easy boon of food! A laughing breeze impels you as you go; The sleeping wave, that has forgot to foam, Without resentment lets your nets be spread, And free from woe you earn your daily bread, Close to the shore, close to your hearth and home. Ye are not seamen, fishers of the calm! He is the sailor, in his soul who knows Struggles as fierce as on the sea prevail In times of tempest wild and stormy gale; He is the sailor who with vigor rows! To you the sea gives fish already dead, That, prisoned in the mesh within the wave, Your hand can without effort grasp and keep. It grants the sailor, in its bosom deep, Pearls and red corals, glory and a grave: