Maternal sollicitude, translated from the Dutch of Mistress Van Ackere by Caroline de Crespigny.
Cease, frolicksome maidens! hush! hush! dance not so,
Or my babe from its rest will be shaken,
Your sports and your plays add the more to my wo,
More the sighs of a mother awaken:
A truce to your games. Sing not thus to yourself,
Sickness heavily weighs on the roseate Elf,
Its eyes with deep sleep are o'ertaken.
Why bloom'st thou, o spring, in the brightness of May,
In thy smile is no gladness or blessing,
Why look'st thou so charming, so pompously gay,
No welcome is in thy caressing;
My sylph's litlle hands seek no flower as it blows,
Pain chases the smile of my opening rose,
What it suffers its look is confessing.
| |
Its pulses beat fast, its heart seems to break
More glowing and glowing the fever,
Course each other big drops down thy hot heetie cheek,
Will those roseate lids open never?
My life blood, what ails thee? how hard comes thy breath,
How still! ah that slumber is kin unto death,
My blossom is withering for ever.
Thy fingers are stiff - Ice cold seizes thee now,
Thy pale lips seem fast glued, as to smother.
I kneel and I weep - God all merciful - thou
Wilt not cast off a heartbreaking mother.
Thou, thou only can'st save - my sole heart is in thee,
Ah let not my rosebud be wrenched from the tree,
That so lovelily bloomed - J've no other.
Fulfill then my hope! oh withdraw not the beam,
That scarce dawns on our earthly career,
Chase not of a parent her best fondest dream,
All-merciful Father! oh hear!
Death's veil oh withdraw from my babe; come to save,
We should weep ourselves dead on our loved one 's grave,
All-merciful Father, oh hear!
She breathes - a deep sigh is unlocked from its breast,
Hope's pinions anew round me wave,
My anguish gives place to the joy of the blest,
Thou hast saved her - almighty to save.
Her eyelids unclose - her longing lips part,
I press her - how different it once throbb'd - to my heart;
She is rescued - restored from the grave.
You are free now, blithe maidens, to sing and to play,
My babe lies awake at my heart,
All my sorrow and anguish are gone - past away,
My tears have forgotten to start.
Then, dear little maidens, now dance and now sing,
And soon in the dance weaving hands, in the ring
Will my child with the rest take her part.
De geëerde vertalersse van dit stuk, welke door hare meesterlyke oversetting der Bezauberten Rose en vele andere duitsche dichtstukken, soo als ook door hare gedichten (My Souvenir) in haar vaderland soo seer voordeelig bekend is, sal weldra nog eenige vertalingen van vlaamsche gedichten in de Broederhand mededeelen. Ook eene italiaansche oversetting van Ledegank's Klavier sal in eene van onse eerste afleveringen verschynen. Wy danken deselve aan den heer dr Fenner von Fennberg.
|
|
Auteursrechtvrij