Shall gladden them, when we are in the tomb.

This is a noble metaphysical and metaphorical poem, but purely German
of its kind. It has been imitated, not to say travestied, at least
fifty times, by crazy students and purblind professors--each of whom,
in turn, has had an interview with the goddess of nature upon a
hill-side. For our own part, we confess that we have no great
predilection for such mysterious intercourse, and would rather draw
our inspiration from tangible objects, than dally with a visionary
Egeria. But the fault is both common and national.

* * * * *

The next specimen we shall offer is the far-famed _Bride of Corinth_.
Mrs Austin says of this poem very happily--"An awful and undefined
horror breathes throughout it. In the slow measured rhythm of the
verse, and the pathetic simplicity of the diction, there is a
solemnity and a stirring spell, which chains the feelings like a deep
mysterious strain of music." Owing to the peculiar structure and
difficulty of the verse, this poem has hitherto been supposed
incapable of translation. Dr Anster, who alone has rendered it into
English, found it necessary to depart from the original structure;
and we confess that it was not without much labour, and after
repeated efforts, that we succeeded in vanquishing the obstacle of
the double rhymes. If the German scholar should perceive, that in
three stanzas some slight liberties have been taken with the
original, we trust that he will perceive the reason, and at least
give us credit for general fidelity and close adherence to the text.

THE BRIDE OF CORINTH.

I.

A youth to Corinth, whilst the city slumber'd,
Came from Athens: though a stranger there,
Soon among its townsmen to be number'd,
For a bride awaits him, young and fair:
From their childhood's years
They were plighted feres,
So contracted by their parents' care.

II.

But may not his welcome there be hinder'd?
Dearly must he buy it, would he speed.
He is still a heathen with his kindred,
She and her's wash'd in the Christian creed.
When new faiths are born,
Love and troth are torn
Rudely from the heart, howe'er it bleed.

III.

All the house is hush'd. To rest retreated
Father, daughters--not the mother quite;
She the guest with cordial welcome greeted,
Led him to a room with tapers bright;
Wine and food she brought
E