BLACKWELL FAMILY ALICE STONE BLACKWELL SUBJECT FILE Spanish - American Poems: Translations by Alice S. Blackwell1 Have you ever seen the drawbridge, In the busiest part of town? Between houses, under bridges Runs the river up & down. When you lean upon the railing You can see [watch] it as it goes - How around black piles, moss-covered, Oily green the water flows! O'er the bridge with roar & rattle Go the big trucks driving by From the railroad to the warehouse Piled with bales & boxes high. Every sort of goods they carry As they hurry to & fro Coal & wool & clattering piping - All day long they come & go. {The Complaint}["The tangle in [?] "One thing comes out clearly from the four days' struggle in Congress over woman suffrage. That is the great growth of the movement," said Miss Alice Stone Blackwell, [when interviewed on the recent fight - events of the last when interviewed in a re] in commenting on recent events. "The last time woman suffrage came up in Congress it was lost by a large majority in the House, and had only a bare majority of one vote vote in the Senate [This time it p] - nowhere near the needed two thirds. This time it passed the House by a more than a two thirds vote, and it is on the very verge of having two thirds in the Senate. We have almost arrived. The only question [**] now is whether it will go through in this Congress or the next."[**]2 river Hark! from somewhere on the low a choky growl we hear -- A tug's whistle; Another a bell rings And they leave the drawbridge clear. On each side a line stands waiting And the drivers rest and smoke And they call to one another With a [question:] greeting or a joke. Or they watch the dark red tug boat Staring at it while they wait. Pushing through the thick green water [Weary] Slowly nearer to the gate. And the horses shake their collars Rub their noses, stamp their feet, And they sniff each other quietly, Waiting in the sun and heat.October 1, 1918. Notice to Members The enclosed bill is for dues and contribution to the Massachusetts Single Tax League for the year October 1st, 1918 -- September 30th, 1919 inclusive and indicates what you have contributed in the past with the hope that you will do as well this year. Please do not lay this aside but attend to it as promptly as possible. To be obliged to send out duplicate bills is a useless waste of our meagre funds for stamps and stationery, to say nothing of the time of your officers, which is contributed free and in addition to their money contributions. The mere maintenance of a headquarters and someone in daily attendance costs money and is well worth the little it costs ($384.00 per year). Several hundred people per annum visit the headquarters and are able to get from Mrs. Cossette single tax literature and information; and through the headquarters speakers on single tax are furnished to many church clubs, community clubs, societies, associations and organizations of various kinds during the year. The larger our funds the more effective will be our propaganda and your executive committee will see that nothing is wasted. It is hoped that every one will at least pay dues of $1.00 and contribute whatever else they can. Edmund J. Burke, Treas. 101 I come to the brink of the flowering spring How gently the water goes gliding by And I hear the current that murmurs low It seems like the breath of a crystal sigh I keep my doubts in my silent breast Under the tranquil evening light I yearn within to be kind and good As in the hour that is taking flight. The murmuring water I fain would be That knows no stain as its rippled run Would glide o'er a bid of verdure fair Under the night or facing the sun Oh, night I be the [benevolent] [powerf] humbling stream [let clear] [by the] In silvery purity that flows Over the sand so fine & whatere And knows not, journeying, whither it goes! The church bell sounds from the darksome town While a bird the notes of her song lets fall Over my life like a chaplets bellsMy fingers pluck on the brooklet's brink An innocent violet blue and bright In which a tremulous dew drop shines Gleaming and pure, like a tear of light. I scatter its leaves on the waters clear And those mournful relics drift away Farther and farther toward the red That marks the end of the dying day. And while the current glides fleetly on And quietly the water wanders by I hear the voice of the murmuring spring It seems like the breath of a crystal sigh.4 copies In My Cell By Fabio Fiallo. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. The prison? [Very gloomy, yes,] It is very sad, As every place must be In which, beloved of my soul, Thou dost not dwell with me. But if within this prison dark Thy form should greet mine eyes - My love, the very thought doth make My cell a paradise!Duerme, hijo mío. Mira, entre las ramas Está dormido el viento; El tigre en el flotante camalote, Y en el nido los párajos pequeños; Hasta en el valle Duermen los ecos. Duerme. Si al despertar no me encontraras, Yo te hablaré á lo lejos; Una aurora sin sol vendrá á dejarte Entre los labios mi invisible beso; Duerme; me llaman, Concilia el sueño. Yo formaré crepúsculos azules Para flotar en ellos; Para infundir en tu alma solitaria La tristeza más dulce de los cielos. Así tu llanto No será acerbo. Yo empaparé de dulces melodías Los sauces y los ceibos, Y enseñaré a los pájaros dormidos a repetir mis cánticos maternos . . . El niño duerme, Duerme sonriendo. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . L La madre lo estrechó; dejó en su frente Una lágrima inmensa, en ella un beso, Y se acostó á morir. Lloró la selva Y, al entreabrirse, sonreía el cielo.Delgado - Solis - Davalas [Julio] Freyre? [*Me*] Duque Joaquín Casatlanos Blanca C de Hurra María Blono Gustavo A Ruíz Revés Dula María Porto Rico[Ah,] seldom fraught & [do] [go] example [And teaching] Go together side by side St. Paul preached matrimony [*advocated marriage*] And a bachelor he died A star art thou, a cloud am I That cannot reach thy place [*sphere*] on high If affection unrequited makes thee ill with sick distress Go for cure [*healing to the doctor*] to the physician who is named Forgetfulness He knows how to work a cure Slow, perchance, but very sure Mighty rivers and wise men are silent Needing not to fling [*toss*] Abroad their spray Garrulous are Revivalists and pedants both are noisy For within themselves no depth have theyPalma In the great name of Christianity Such streams of blood have flowed, poured out like wine, That they upon the cross, with revision flood, Have blotted out the works of precious blood Shed there of old time by the Man divine.CONDORS' EYES. [By Roberto Brenes Mesen of Honduras, Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell.] A Dream is into lily-water pouring Sweet sap of tuberoses and myrtles fair; Light-shafts their weft are weaving, and the water Like to a leopard's coat is dappled there. A wizard dark, with white beard flowing, chooses The condors with the broadest wings of might, And by the water's edge he plucks their eyes out -- Eyes that have seen the Andes' peaks of light. He sinks them in the water; those clear eyes then Kindle the spring, like bright stars molten there, Making it flash with flames of red and azure. A Destiny with brown of brightness rare Prepares that water stranger, a bath with gems imperiled, For some new Caesar bold, lord of our Western world!BROKEN WINGS Fabio Fiallo ?La cárcel?_Si; muy triste, como cualquier recinto en donde tú, mi amada, no estés siempre conmigo. ?Que si a la oscura cárcel vinieras?_Amor mío, ! solo el [pensario] pensarlo cambia mi celda en paraíso! THE LAST SUNSET Luis G. Urbina Topazes, [amethysts and] emeralds, [deep] sapphires, amethysts, Are fused in the imperial sunset's light; And, black [amid] against the vivid hues of gold, A royal pine stands out upon the height. Upon the other side comes up the moon, A marble globe half darkened, over head, Where in capricious folds the mountain brows Their dense, luxuriant tropic verdure spread. Like some rich fabric with a border white Of pearls and diamonds, now the sea lies fair; Reflecting all the sky's bright, [mingles] changeful hues, It spreads its dark blue mantle to the air. And in those deep and silent solitudes, Far, far above us, in the heavens o'er head, Pensive and sad the evening star shines out, Fastened in flowing lace of ruby red. ULTIMA PUESTA DE SOL Topacios y amatistas zafiros y esmeraldas se funden en la hoguera de un ocaso imperial; y, en negro, se dibuja sobre las vivas gualdas al filo de la cumbre, una palma real. Al lado opuesto sube, del monte a las espaldas _semiborrada esfera de mármol sideral_ la luna. Y de los cerros las caprichosas faldas extienden su lujosa verdura tropical. Rico tisú bordado de perlas y [dian] diamantes, el mar copia del cielo los vividos cambiantes, y entrega al viento libre su manto de turquí. Y arriba, en las profundas soledades de arriba, la estrella de la tarde, doliente y pensativa, se clava en un ardiente celaje de rubí.152 [To María Altagracias] Enrique Juan Palacios. Scarce had I parted from thy charms, with woe, Sweet loadstone of my life, so dear to me, When the day lost its bright transparency, The path grew dark and steep where I must go, Vain was the garden's carpet, all ago, The water's music, full of murmurous glee; From buds whence heavenly fragrance floated free Into my breast no magic balm could flow, My soul, gone back to thee, its one desire, Was near to death, by absence wounded sore; For even pleasures wore of pains the guise. I see no more life, light, the great sun's fire. Except as I may bathe myself once more, Yearning in the caress of thy sweet eyes! A María Altagracia. [Enrique Juan Palacios] Apenas de tus gracias alejado me sentí, dulce imán de mi existencia, perdió el río su clara trasparencia y el sendero fué oscuro y escarpado [X] Del carmen el tapiz engalanado vano qué, y del las ondas la cadencia; ! ni los capullos de divina esencia dieron al pecho bálsamo encantado! [X] El alma vuelta a tí, por tí anhelante, iba presto a morir, de ausencia herida: ! que aun los deleites parecían abrojos! . . . . Y no vi más el Sol, la luz, la vida, sino al sentirme ! arrollador instante! otra vez bajo el beso de tus ojos. [Juan Palacios]BODY AND SOUL Rafael Pombo From the new sun a ray of quivering light Striking a waterfall's dark, thunderous flow, Makes it a fleece of silver and of snow, And rests unharmed on its tumultuous might. Not one but myriadfold the rud rushing stream; The drops forever form, and break, and fly; Yet in their very dizziness doth lie Proof of the power of that ethereal beam. Such is the soul, ungraspable, strong, free, And one forever. It unharmed doth shine 'Mid whirl of renovation and of death. When stops the mill, when ends this life of mine, Be lost then in the mire, ye ashes dead. Return, light, to they source, the sun divine.Juan Zorilla de San Martin ¿Qué un pulso las condujo a la salvaje tierra americana? ¿Quién sabe! Acaso el mismo misterioso que une las notas que en el aire vagan, en prolongado acorde de transparentes arpas, que suenan en el viento, en los recuerdos, en los vagos crepúsculos del alma; que en las noches serenas, y en los rayos de luna columpiades, se acercan, y se alejan y en los aires, las lentas trovas del dolor ensayan; ese impulso secreto que, aun de entre las sonrisas como luces que rielan en las aguas; que el polen encendido lleva de palma á palma, y hace nacir las lirios en las tumbas, y en el dolor abriga la esperanza. 2 Fain would I be a boa-constrictor, Gird with my circles strong thy graceful waist, Wrap all they pulses in my coils tight woven, And, dying, hold thy beauty close embraced. The jaguar that roams upon the mountains I fain would be, to drag thee to my lair, And have the power to rend thine entrails open And see if haply any heart be there!The Water I see it, and my spirit with transparency is filled. Meseems that from a desert I arrive, and find 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, an emotion, fleeting fast - And therefore it refreshes, more than the lip, the eye. THE SEA WOLF. By Juan B. Delgado, National Librarian of Mexico. Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Old wolf of the ocean, Brave captain and true! Skilled sailor, the often Dost tack and lie to! I envy thy fortune; They course thou dost ply Between two immensities, Ocean and sky. The stormy winds toss thee, And hurricanes beat, And the waves, with their white manes Of crystalline sheet, Still, watching the compass, Thou fearless dost sail, And calmly thou bravest The wild southwest gale. Old sea-wold, bold captain, Of ear knowing not, From part to part going, I envy thy lot. On land there are tempests More dread to confront, More lightings, more thunders- And we bear the brunt. Deceit lies in wait for us When we are born: Fierce evil to strive with Is fresh every morn. Old sea-wolf, thou captain So dauntless and true! With my conflicts the weather Has little to do. Would far from the city My life might glide by, Between two immensities, Ocean and sky!copies (These are 4-line stanzas) Within this ancient garden, so full of mournful memories, I live the life, intense and deep, of all the things of yore— Of all the wild, mad instants, the calm and prudent moments, That with my good things passed away, and will return no more. Everything hints to me the shape of things far off and distant; The nightingale speaks to me of their quiet words discreet; Of their pure tears, like diamonds fresh, the ancient jet of water Tells me, although it knows it not, forth gushing cool and sweet. If roses that have lost their leaves bend downward with a rustle, (over) 2 Or if the wind spins airy songs, that clings to every flower, I hear a murmur of soft wings o'er all these things that hover, So if their magic bud of love were opening in this hour. Because here, in this vision of a child or of a poet, Life is a mystery, and love a crystal clear and fair, That sometimes breaks upon me in a rose or in a facet; And a trace of Eastern perfume is floating in life's air. Your hands! O love, your little hands! I said, do you remember, When you used to lay them on me in 3 the still and starry night, Upon my forehead they were white, as 'twere the hands of Mary, And in the grey mists of the soul, were like a dream of light. Within the mournful garden, of deep and far perspectives, Which dies in the dim vision of the distant boundary there, I know that you are by my side, although you make no answer; Your silence is the same as that of this bright garden fair!The haughty pyramids which to the sky Were raised [of old] by daring human art, to speak [To speak to] Unto the nations and [to] the centuries; Temples in which the hands of myriad slaves Their tyrants deified with mighty pomp Are now the sport of Time, that with [its] meek wing Touches them, and soon strews them on the ground [Later] After in facile play the swift winged wind [Blots out their] Has blotted all false inscriptions out [that they bore] And mingled underneath the ruins now In shadow [of] of oblivion without end— [O] Type of ambition and of misery!— Low lie the priest, the temple and the god. But the [great] grand mountains, lofty and sublime That life their brows into the realm of air That see the furious tempests at their feet Glitter Flash bright and roar, and break and pass away The Audes—the stupendous masses huge Resting on golden bases, [steadying] balancing The earth with their [great] vast weight, shall never move 2 Mocking the wrath, delying all the power of foreign hatred [*envy*] [or] and of stubborn Time Forever and forever they shall [be] stand Heralds of freedom and of victory, With their deep echoes to earth's latest age They will declare [*proclaim*], "We saw Junín's famed red field When banners of Columbia and Peru Were there unfurled, we saw the legions proud [Br] Waver and break; the haughty Spaniard fled Or, laying down his arms, he sued for peace, Bolivar conquered triumphed and Peru was free And holy Freedom was with victory's [po????] [Was in] Installed within the temple of the Sun [installed]Woman Rafael Pombo Happy he [cul] that has succeeded in finding his [womanly] feminine good angel, who, honoring the high destiny of so potent a magnet, says to him: "We two are an [indivisible] inseparable pair. I walk by your side, not behind you. Be an eagle, and I your wing, and I the mystic stair by which you ascend to God! "For your own sake, care for me as for the light of your eyes. Love me, but on your knees. I give to you the honor that you give to me. If your feet [trample] sink me [into] in the mire, your heart sinks there too. Be every thing to me, my husband, my friend and my father, for I am your daughter and your mother, and if I am lost—alas for you!" De "La Mujer". 2 [Soul of creation! When the Eternal with commanding voice from primitive chaos shook the earth, what was it without your presence?] Viejo Lobo Viejo lobo de los mares, esforzado Capitan, habil nauta que capeas a menudo el temporal; tengo envidia de tu suerte: que de puerto en puerto vas entre dos immensidades: la del cielo y la del mar Te sacuden las tormentas, te fustiga el huranoán, y te azota el oleaje con sus orines de cristal; mas impávido, aereno, consultando siempre estas el barometro y la brújula ante el fiero vendaval. Viejo lobo de los mares, denodado Capitan: en las luchas que hay a bordo no me importa el temporal. Quién me diera vivir lejoa del bullir de la oiudad entre dos immensidades: la del cielo y la del mar.I am the daisy. Fairest once was I Of flowers that o'er the velvet [sod] turf were strown. Men sought me then for my sweet looks alone; Eternal dawn shone in my life's clear sky. Now a new gift, received unwillingly, A fatal brightness on my brain has thrown. Through me, so Fate decress, may truth be known. Knowledge is deadly: now I grieve and die! My [quiet] silence and my [rest] peace [?] they now destroy Love comes to [learn the future] [me to to tell his fortune true] me his fortune to foreknow He rends my heart, if [it] he [is] be loved to see No other flower is flung away with joy They [pluck my crown] rob [my [brow] head of its white diadem] me of my [crown of silver [?]] crown of petals as white as snow And, having won my secret, [trample] tread on me! They pluck my [wreath] crown of petals white as snowIn the Vestibule She in the church's vestibule appeared, Radiant in beauty, wondrous fair to see, And all [bowed] bend low before her as she passed— All except me. Like a thick swarm of [merry] happy butterflies Gay compliments around her flitted [fluttered] free; All paid their homage to her beauty bright All except me. Then, calm and cool, each to his home returned: Today thy all are living tranquilly Calm and indifferent to her—all, alas! All except me! 3 Mouaduock St. Boston 25, Mass April 28, 1921 Dear Miss Addams: This will introduce to you Miss Katherine With a Sultana's indolence, you show Through your high window fair, the sculptured snow Of your white breast Meanwhile a condor passing sees your hair Thenceforth his one ambition, high in air, Is of your tresses thick to make his nest. The [sl] whirlwind passes, raging. Your sweet eyes Have never felt the stormy angers rise That stir the tempest in its onward sweep [But] And when it [sees] beholds your beauty from that hour bright fair A glow of tenderness of boundless [br???] beyond compare Lull's all the hurricanes wild wrath to sleep The poet comes. Ambition towering high Lifts him above the eagle in the in the sky Soaring on mighty wing the sun to greet. Loftier, sadder than the north wind he Yet all the blossoms of his pride you see Scatter their petals humbly at your feet! 37 How happy is the sun! To look on there [It] He hastes [its] his course with every dawning day Comes to thy window, to thy chamber then [Swift] Soon through the open lattice makes [its] his way To thy soft couch of slumber he comes up Gives life [3] and [2] warmth [1] unto thy beauty bright Becomes a rhythm in thine azure veins And in thine eyes an epigram of light Nay, not the sun I envy, but the [glass] [mirror] Where thy proud beautys image oft hath met there Joy[ful]ous, it loves [th??] when thou art before it [*And when thou [dost] shalt depart, it will forget thine*] The prison? Very gloomy, yes As every place must be [Where'er thou] In which, beloved of my heart Thou dost not dwell with me But if within this prison dark Thy form should greet mine eye— My love, the very thought doth My cell a [change make to] paradise! [?en] Mi Celda No cuentes con tus ojos! [*Would I wer thy [Merr??]*] [*Desfile*] [*[E???] [Alre?]*] [*Ady Thamar G Salas 218 Escuela Normal No, 3, San Diego [1?47] Santiago Chíle*] 1 copy La Victoria de Junin Canto á Bolivar D. José Joaquin Olmedo, Las soberbias pirámides que al cielo el arte humano osado levantaba para hablar á los siglos y naciones; templos, do esclavas manos deificaban en pompa á sus tiranos, ludibrio son del tiempo, que con ser ala [D] débil las toca, y las derriba al suelo, después que en fácil juego el [fuga?] viento borró sus mentirosas inscripciones: y bajo los escombros confundido entre la sombra del eterno olvido, ¡Oh de ambición y de miseria ejemplo! el sacerdote yace, el dios y el templo. Mas los sublimes montes, cuya frente á la región etérea se levanta, que ven las tempestades á su planta brillar, rugír, romperse, disiparse; Los Andes [Me] las enormes, estupensas moles sentadas sobre bases de oro, (over)2 la [ter] tierra con su peso equilibrando, jamás se moveráu. Ellos burlando de ajena envidia y del protervo tiempo la furia y el poder, serán eternos de Libertad y de Victoria heraldos, que con eco profundo á la postrera edad dirán del mundo: "Nosotros vimos de Junin el campo: "vimos que al desplegarse "del Perú y de Colombia las banderas "se turban las legiones altaneras, "huye el fiero español despavorido, "O pide paz rendido. "Venció Bolivar: el Perú fué libre; "y en triunfal pompa Libertad sagrada "en el templo del Sol fué colocada." 1 copy El Árbol D. José Joaquin Olmedo Á la sombra de este árbol venerable, donde se quiebra y calma la furia de las vientos formidable, y cuya auciauidad inspira á mi alma un respeto sagrado y misterioso, cuyo tronco desnudo y escabroso un buen asiento rústico me ofrece, y que de hojosa majestad cubierto es el único rey de este desierto, que vastísmo en torno me rodea; aquí mi alma desea venir á meditar; de aquí mi Musa, desplegando sus alas vagarosas por el aire sutil, tenderá el vuelo: y cual [fuga?] y bella mariposa por la selva florida libre, inquieta, perdida, irá en pos de clavel ó de una rosa; yo cual paloma blanda y lastimera (over) 2 irá a Chipre á buscar su compañera; y cual garza atrevida, traspasará los mares, verá todos los reinos y lugares; ó cual águila [aul] audaz alzará el vuelo hasta el remoto y estrellado cielo. ¿No ves cuán ricas tornan á sus playas de las Ludías las naves españolas, á pesar de los vientos y las olas? Pues muy más rica tornarás, mi Musa, de imágenes, de grandes pensamientos, y de cuantos tesoros de belleza contiene en sí la gran naturaleza; y de tu largo vuelo fatigada vendrás á descansar, coma á seguro y deseado puerto, á la sombra del árbol del desierto. -2- Tristezas que se mezclan con sus placeres, que dan a sus amores ansias secretas, suspiran en los labios de sus mujeres, sollozan en los versos de sus poetas; porque en vano la roja, terrible espada que hirió al azetica altivo y al inca fuerte, que hizo flamear su lábaro sobre Granada, tres civilizaciones hirió de muerte. Fué talvez un arcano grave y profundo, de confusas grandezas y sombras lleno, el que fundió en la raza del Nuevo Mundo al indio, al castellano y al sarraceno. IN THE FOREST. I went through a glade of a forest, on a sunless afternoon, and I heard in the thicket a sound like a plaint of love. It was a blackbird singing, and beautiful was his song. Pilgrims of life, who, dreaming like me, go sailing through the forest, in quest of a vision! Do not linger, O Pilgrims, if you hear love-calls; it is a blackbird singing, and he will steal your hearts away. I stayed my steps, for my misfortune, or for my fortune - what know I? It was a blackbird singing, and beautiful was his song. Afterwards, when the evening died, the bird fell silent, the night came on; and I wander lost through the dark forest, without the blackbird, [xxx] without his song, without peace in my heart; my soul full of music and my lips of bitterness, and always, always in the dark, as if I were forgotten by God. If you hear love-calls, O pilgrims, donot tarry! >page 2< FOREST LOVE. By Jose Santos Chocano (Peru). Scarce do I wish to be the humble spider Which weaves its web around thee, maiden fair, And which, as if exploring some high mountain, Meshes itself in meshes of thine hair. Fain would I be a silk-worm, make my lacework And to the sharp-toothed wheels my cocoon give, That so I might, imprisoned in a garment, Feel thee beneath my silk folds throb and live. Fain would I be a tree and give thee shadow, And with my blooming branches shelter thee, And with my dry leaves make for thee a carpet Where thou shouldst throw thyself to dream with me. I am trackless wood; oh, cleave the pathway! A cavern dark; ah, light thy light in me! I would be condor, jaguar or boa, Whate'er thou choosest I should be for thee. Fain would I be a condor bold, to glory In prisoning a sunbeam in my beak, or, In having seized the lightning in my beak, And thus, with ride, to offer thee a pinion To make a fan, to cool thy brow and cheek. DAWN By Enrique Fernandez Granados of Mexico Translated from the Spanish by Alice Stone Blackwell. Look! in the darksome east the Dawn anew Now shakes abroad her glittering tresses bright; The morning star her clear and lovely light Sheds amid clouds of changing opal hue. A mirror to its banks and heaven's blue, The murmuring river sweeps along in might; The modest violet hides herself from sight, Outbreathing her sweet scent, and wet with dew. The gentle birds forsake the leafy shades; Where half-blown rose and myrtle cheer our eyes, They sing their loves, or mourn for love's disdain Kissed by the breezes underneath the skies, The whispering leaves of the white poplar trees Look like a swarm of snowy butterflies. LIGHT. Shadows are growing pale. The hour is nigh When Dawn, so fresh and fair, bedewed shall be With rosy waters, scattered merrily By bright Aurora. Now the silent sky Is tinged with white, vague, virginal and shy-- A hue immaculate in purity. Light, victor o'er the shades on land and sea, Now makes its mansion of the heavens on high. Upon the Eastern summits, crowned with snow, Light is dissolved to pearls and opals bright, Which the spring copies in its crystal clear. The mist of morning rises, spreading slow, And all things laugh and sport with new delight, On earth beneath, as in the heavenly sphere. ENRIQUE ZONZALEZ MARTINEZ A purple blood-stain on these age lies, A touch of death and grief their whiteness dyes. Life nipped in flower! Strong column from its place Hurled not by lofty Time, but pick-axe base! O grateful life, like to a laurel bough! No hand with reverence plucked it for the brow Of the 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 levin bolt or in the storm wind's path, But by the clownish woodman's axe of steel, Cutting and rending thee! Oh, sacred wrath! Below the kindly earth he sleeps, they say: He rests in peace within her gentle breast. Not so! The words they speak are false and vain. Nay, that rebellious dead man does not rest! O'er the gray veil of foul and lowly dust That for a covering men to him have given, His hand is raised in imprecation still, Demanding justice of the earth and heaven. The sun will bathe it with the comfort sweet Of his warm beams, and from the brooding skies The drops of misty showers will cool with dew The trampled grass that bent and broken lies. The lovely Springtime, like a woman fair, Will give it her caress; but raised in high, Clenched and implacable, that hand of his, Waiting in silence, "Justice!" yet will cry. Justice! And human selfishness in vain May say, "He sleeps on Nature's gentle breast; Below the kindly earth he rests in peace". Ah, no! It is not true. He does not rest! >page 2< TO GLORIA (From the Spanish of Rafael Cabrera of Mexico. Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell) If I am doomed to lose thee, and to hear thee Bid me farewell, O maid that I adore! Then would I die because I do not see thee, Rather than see, and die forevermore! For ardent love has fired me, since that evening Which died around us, wrapped in clouds of red, When thine eyes left me blinded, and night found me With its soft perfumes all about me shed, Blessing the martyrdom thine eyes inflicted; That evening when the flowery April went Through thy green garden, opening the roses, And from each nest came sounds of sweet content. Birds billed and cooed, and swelled out their soft feathers; The gentle air signed tenderly and long, And the pale gushing waters of the fountain Sang in our ears their best and sweetest song. Since then I long to be the light of heaven, The light descending on thee from the hight; To be the little sunbeam which at morning Is eager to behold thy beauty bright. And lingers on the green vine at [xxx] thy window, Waiting until thy casement shall unclose - To be the sighs upon thy lips of rose; To be whate'er with thy dark eyes thou seest, That I might still behold mine image there. I would be loneliness, would'st thou be lonely, Would be whate'er thou dream'st of maiden fair. That I might quench thy thirst for strange, wild fancies, I would be what exists not 'neath the skies - Would be a bird, and sweetly sing forever In the blue evening that surrounds thine eyes. SUNSET. Efren Rebolledro. The weary sun slowly Descends to his rest Behind the soft mist Of gold foam in the West. From the heavens hang veils Of bewildering shades - Deep violet velvets And golden brocades. O beautiful faces, Necks slender and fair, Wistful eyes, rosy lips, Knots of cloudy, soft hair! Of gifts and bright hopes How immense is the sum, Where hearts yet are desolate, Lonely and dumb! The shrine, standing lonely, A slow, plaintive note From its belfry sends forth On the breezes to float; And the young moon's thin crescent Amid the dusk night From a wandering cloud Comes forth gleaming and bright.Song The morning is a festal day Because you kissed me, dear, And at the touch of your sweet lips All heaven grows blue and clear. The streamlet singing flows along; I had a glance from you, And in the sunlight of your glance The waters all grow blue. Because you have deserted me The pinewood wears a veil Of morning, and the sad night weeps - The night so blue and pale. Blue night of autumn's grieving end, When youth farewell doth say - Night when the moon in heaven died, And when you went away!Butterflies Whether white as flitting snowflakes, Whether dark, or blue, or crimson, They adorn the air in myriads And amid the petals frolic. Lightly springing form the blossoms, Like the fleeing souls of roses, They with winning grace [sit] are swaying On the leaves, their verdant hammocks. By a gleam their life is kindled And a drop at eve can quench it. They appear with dawn's first brightness, And before the dark they perish. Who knows where their hidden nests are - Where they find repose at nightfall? The coquettes, inconstant, fickle, Have no home, no sleeping chamber. They are born, love, shine, and perish; In the air they change in dying, Pass away and leave no traces, Like the drops of some light shower. Some of them are turned to blossoms; Others, up to heaven summoned, With their million gleaming winglets Join to form the glorious rainbow. Where is then thy nest, O rover? Where they harem, wee Sultana? Who, coquette, thy flavored lover? Where, O butterfly, thy death-sleep? Thus take wing, and pass, and perish, The chimeras, love and glory, Those bright pinions of the spirit, Whether white, or red, or azure. Who knows when and where we lost you, Dreams like butterflies that glittered? Ah, how swift your bright swarms vanish, In the soul when falls the shadow! Why dost thou not come, thou white one? Wast thou not the orange blossom Of my bride? Ah me! I made thee Of the white drops from the taper That I carried at the altar Of my parish church in boyhood. Thou wast artless, chaste, believing; When thou on my lips didst tremble, Thou didst murmur, rapture's herald, "Now thy wedding night approaches!" She, the white one, she, the good one. Comes no more; nor yet the crimson, Which I dyed in red - a live kiss On some rosy lips pressed sharply; Nor the blue, that called me poet, Nor the gold, that promised glory. In my soul the night has fallen; All the butterflies have vanished. Light that yellow waxen taper; Now the others will come thronging-- Those with black wings, circling nearer, Dancing a funereal measure. Comrades, now the wax is burning; Comrades, now the room is empty. If ye for my soul wear mourning, Come, O butterflies, come quickly! To Benjamin Boleros on the Death of his Child I told you when I saw him - (Was he not a dream forgotten among soft pillows!) - "Hide the smiling cherub carefully, and fasten well the windows and the doors!" Do you not see how eagerly little children balance themselves in the dainty cradle, and how they lift and move their little arms, and as they move them, they seem to flutter? It is because they are looking for their wings, wondering to find themselves without them, asking for them impatiently, night and day. They deceive them with songs and swayings - and they think that already they are flying! Your child found his wings! The cradle, motionless, is no longer the nest of heavenly joys. He went sway in a white moonbeam. Hos other family was calling him aloud! Take a walk around the balcony, if haply he [might] may return. Perhaps, when he entered the dwelling of the blessed, he murmured with regret: "My mother was better, more loving, more beautiful!" If your love of loves returns no more, find comfort in your fatherly affection; he did not know the griefs of this world; he lived without living, and he went away to heaven! WHITENESS Manuel Gutierrez Najera (Mexico). What thing than the lily unstained is more white? More pure than the mystic wax taper[s] so bright? More chaste than the orange flower, tender and fair? Than the light mist more virginal -- holier too Than the stone where the eucharist stands, ever new, In the Lord's House of Prayer? By the flight of the white doves all the air now is cloven; A white robe, from the strands of the morning mist woven, Enwraps in the distance the feudal round tower. The trembling acacia, most graceful of trees, Stands up in the orchard and waves in the breeze Her soft, snowy flower. See you not on the mountain the white of the snow? The white tower stands high o'er the village below; The gentle sheep gambol and play, passing by. Swans pure and unspotted now cover the lake The straight lolu sways as the breezes awake; The volcano's huge vase is uplifted on high. Let us enter the church: shines the eucharist there, And of snow seems to be the old pastor's white hair; In an alb of fine linen his frail form is clad. A hundred fair maidens there sit robed in white They offer bouquets of spring flowers, fresh and bright, The blossoms of April; pure, fragrant and glad. Let us go to the choir: to the novice's prayer Propitiously listens the Virgin so fair; The white marble Christ on the crucifix dies; And there without stain the wax tapers rise white; And of lace is the curtain so thin and so light, Which the say-dawn already shines through from the skies. [Come,] Now let us go down to the field. Foaming white The stream seems a tumult of feathers in flight, As [its' the waters run, singing [and leaping] [st?t] in glee. In its airy mantilla of mist cool and pale The mountain is wrapped; the swift bark's lateen sail. Glides out and is lost to our sight on the sea. The lovely young woman now springs from her bed, On her goddess-like shoulders fresh water to shed, On her fair, polished arms and her beautiful neck. Now, singing and smiling, she girds on her gown; Bright, tremulous drops, from her hair shaken down, Her comb of Arabian ivory deck. O Marble! O snows! O vast, wonderful whiteness! Your chaste beauty everywhere sheds its pure brightness, O shy, timid vestal, to chastity vowed! In the statue of beauty eternal are you; From your soft robe is purity born, ever now; You give angels wings, and give mortals a shroud. You cover the child to whom life is yet new, Crown the brows of the maiden whose promise is true, Clothe the page in rich raiment, that shines like a star.] as fair as a star. How white are your mantles of ermine, O queens! The cradle how white, where the fend mother leans! How white, my beloved, how spotless you are! In proud dreams of love, I behold with delight The towers of a church rising white in my sight, And a home, his in lilies, that opens to me; And a bridal veil hung on your forehead so fair, Like a filmy cloud, floating down slow through the air Till it rests on your shoulders, a marvel to see!