In signo Librae - Score

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This fourth edition was very unlike its predecessors, being a handsome folio, with an engrav- ing to each book, mostly by Michael Burghers, after B. It ends with an imposing list of ' The Nobility and Gentry that encourag'd by subscription the printing of this edition,' and the names, which include Dryden, Waller, Somers, Atterbury, and Roger L'Estrange, show that the honour done to Milton was purely literary, and not, as might be thought from the accident of the date, inspired by any political motive.

The en- gravings were used again for the first edition of Milton's ' Poetical Works ' seven years later, and were taken as models for the illustrations in subse- quent smaller editions. No other illustrated edition of any importance was published till , when three huge volumes, with numerous engravings after Westall, were brought out at the expense of John and Josiah Boydell and George Nichol.

In Richard Bentley gave himself into the hands of his enemies by publishing a text full of unneeded emendations and corrections based on a wholly fanciful theory that Milton's text had been tam- pered with. His alteration of c No light but rather darkness visible,' into c No light but rather a tran- spicuous gloom,' is a striking example of the fatuity of classical scholars when let loose upon poetry.

When we come back to first editions we find that its success must have been taken as proof that Milton was no longer an unsafe man to deal with. In Simmons brought out a little book which Milton had probably written years before when engaged in teaching : Accedence Commenc't Grammar, Supply'd with Sufficient Rules for the use of such as, Younger or Elder, are desirous, without more trouble then needs, to attain the Latin tongue, the elder sort especially, with little teaching, and their own industry.

London, Printed for S. In another issue as if to bring all theories to naught Milton's name is reduced to initials, while the publisher's is given in full, the imprint running, c Printed by S. Simmons next door to the Golden Lion in Aldersgate-street. From the first Traditional Beginning, continu'd to the Norman Conquest.

Collected out of the Antientest and best Authours thereof by John Milton. London, Printed by J. Paul's Church-yard. This, though still interesting for its digressions, is valued chiefly for its frontispiece, the fine en- graving of Milton in his 62nd year, drawn and engraved c ad vivum ' by William Faithorne, the most capable English portrait engraver of the century. In we have a new issue of the ' History,' the title-page bearing the name and address of Spencer Hickman, at the Rose in St.

Paul's Church-yard, , to take the place of those of Allestry, who had died. But we have also a much more notable book : Paradise Regain'd. A Poem In 12 Books. To which is added Samson Agonistes.


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This, however, is a rather flagrant instance of post-dating, as the date of licensing, 2nd July, 1 , which faces its title-page, of itself might suggest. From the Term Catalogues we learn that the book was on sale in Michaelmas Term, , at the price of four shillings a shilling more than was charged for 'Paradise Lost' , so there was no excuse for giving it the date of the succeeding year. Following r this is a note, ' Of that sort of dramatic poem called Tragedy,' and also an Argument and list of ' The Persons.

Libris duobus. By Mr. Composed at several times. With a small tradate of Education To Mr. London, Printed for Tho. This included all the minor poems save the four political sonnets on Fairfax, Cromwell, Sir Henry Vane, and the second to Cyriac Skinner which had to wait for the Revolution and the piety of Milton's nephew in But the outcry against Popery reawakened his old pamphleteering energy, and he brought out an unworthy anti-Catholic tra6t, on which no publisher apparently cared to put his name : Of True Religion, Haeresie, Schism, Toleration.

And what best means may be us'd against the growth of Popery. London, Printed in the Year In , the last year of Milton's life, Brabazon Aylmer, who afterwards speculated in the copy- right of ' Paradise Lost,' brought out a little Latin book : Joannis Miltonii Angli, Epistolarum Familiarium liber unus : quibus accesserunt, Ejusdem, jam olim in Collegio Adolescentis, Prolusiones quaedam oratoriae.

In a Latin preface he explains that having failed to obtain a licence for printing Milton's official Latin letters he had filled up his volume with some of his college exercises obtained by help of a friend. About the same time there was published a curious piece of journalism for an old and blind man to undertake, but the attribution of which to Milton it is anonymous appears to be well established.

Now faith- fully translated from the Latin copy. Of this, as of the 'Brief Notes upon a Late Sermon' of , the British Museum possesses no copy, and I am indebted for the titles of them, as well as for some other hints, to the excellent ' Catalogue of the Exhibits' at the Milton Tercententary Cele- bration at the Stoke Newington Public Library, the work, no doubt, of its erudite Chairman, Mr.

Baxter, by whom most of the books were lent. After the death of Milton on 8th November, , his official Latin letters were surreptitiously printed in , without place or name of printer. Gather'd from the writings of several eye-witnesses. London Printed by M. According to an Advertisement prefixed to it, c This book was writ by the Authour's own hand, before he lost his sight. And sometime before his death dispos'd of it to be printed. But it being small, the Bookseller hop'd to have procured some other suitable Piece of the same Authour's to have ioyn'd with it, or else it had been published 'ere now.

When it appeared in an expensive edition under royal patronage two years later, the ' De Do6trina Christiana ' may have agitated some learned minds, but Milton's reputa- tion had had a century and a half in which to grow. The world is certainly the poorer by not having witnessed the effeft of his elaborate vindication of polygamy on the Nonconformist conscience of his own day. HE Will of George Thomason, whose notes on many of Milton's pamphlets have been mentioned in the previous article, has been often quoted from and referred to, but has never been printed in full.

It seems worth while to pay it this com- pliment, both for the real interest which it possesses in its own right and for the information which it gives as to the ' Civil War Trafts,' which he spent so much time and money in bringing together, and as to the pecuniary value which he set on them. It appears from the codicils to the Will that the old man came to regard the 'Trails' as his chief asset. We have no information as to price which his executors received from Samuel Mearne who was commanded by Charles II.

Except for the ex- pansion of a single contraftion the Will is printed exaftly as it stands. And if I dye within the Cittye of London, or within tenne miles thereof, my desire is to be buryed in the South He of the parish of Saint Dunstans in the West London, as nere to my late deare and only wife Katherine Thomason as conveniently may be. And my will alsoe is That what other charge is usuall expended vaynly vpon funeralls be distributed amongst the poore of the parishes of Saint Faith and Saint Dunston in the West London Nevertheless at the discrecion of my executors. My eldest sonne, George Thomason, and my eldest daughter, Katherine, now wife of William Stonestreete, being both advanced in marryage, have had and receaved from mee liberall and plentifull porcions of my estate.

And all the said de- liveryes to bee made at the dwellyng house of my executor, Henry Thomason, wherever it shall be. I alsoe give vnto my said sonne George my Bible which I dayly used, being Clasped with a paire of Clapses, with two hands and a heart in the mid- dest, and all the loose papers in that Bible. And I give unto my daughter Avis Thomason wife of the said George my booke of Martyrs in three volumes out of my library called my late dear wifes library. And I also give vnto my saide Grandsonne Tenne pounds in money to bee bestowed on a piece of plate for him thereby the better to remember mee.

Item I give and bequeath unto my daughter Grace Thomason her late deare Mothers watch and Ebony Cabbinett and all the goods in it And my best bed and furniture. I alsoe give to my said daughter Grace six hundred pounds in money over and besides her customary part and other legacies before bequeathed, to bee paid unto her at the birth of her first child, or within twelve monethes after her marriage, which shall first and next happen after my death.

Item, I doe give and bequeath the somme of forty shillings per annum dureing soe long tyme as my sonne Henry, one of my executors hereunder named, shall live, to bee by him paid vnto two such able and orthodox divines as hee shall yearely make choyce of to preach two sermons yearely, the one in the parish Church of Saint Dunstan in the West GEORGE THOMASON. Item, I doe will my executors to bestowe the somme of Tenne pounds in an handsome peece of plate and to present it as my guift to the company of Stationers London, whereof I am a member, and the like somme of Tenne pounds in another peece of plate and to present it as my guift to the wor- shipfull company of haberdashers who have ever honoured me with their Love and solemne festivalls.

Item, I give to my servant John Durham, if he shalbe living with me at my death, fower pounds in money. And I desire my sonne Henry to accept him into partnership of stocke and Trade with him for one halfe or one third, if hee is able to accom- plish it. And to all other my men servants and mayd servants that shalbe living with mee at my death I give forty shillings a peece in money.

John Rushworth forty shillings a peece in money to buy each of them a ring to weare in remembraunce of mee. And I doe desire my loving friends, Mr. Anthony Dowse, Mr.

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And in token of my love vnto them I give unto each of them forty shillings in money to buy each of them a ring to weare in remembrance of mee. Now not knowing how my estate may fall out after my death according to my will lately made in case it shall fall short Then I doe give to my two deare children, my daughter Grace Thomason and my sonne Thomas Thomason That full somme of money that my collection of Pamphletts shalbe sold for, to bee equally devided betwixt them both for their advancement, which collection is in the hands of DocStor Thomas Barlow, Provost of Queenes 42 THE WILL OF Colledge in Oxford, who is now in treaty with me about them for the publique Library, and I doubt not but neere a conclusion, which being concluded then shall I intreate and desire my good friend Mr Matt Goodfellow to be assistant to my sonne his servant in that perticular, which I have noe cause to doubt of.

A Godicill I have made my last will and Testament bearing date the one and twentieth day of November Anno Domini I doe by this Codicill constitute and make my sonne Thomas Thomason another executor to bee added to his brother Henry Thomason and his brother in lawe William Stone- streete. I alsoe adde my loveing friend Mr.

Good- fellow, his master, to be another overseer of this my last will, a person of whose integritie and fidelity I am well assured of. My Iron Chest and all that is in itt I bequeath to my deare sonne Thomas : That Legacie to the company of Stationers I give upon Condicion that they take into their hands, and discharge me of the rent of the two bigger warehouses I hold of them by lease at Stationers Hall.

And as for the six hundred pounds in money bequeathed to my dear daughter Grace, if the accustomary parte fall shorte, as I feare it maye Then that the said somme be paid her out of that money which the Pamphletts shalbee sould for. May the Two and Twentieth in the yeare of our Lord The re- sponsibility for this is no doubt largely to be attributed to Welshmen, to their negleft to bring the claims of their literature to the notice of other nations. Even to the very small number of Englishmen familiar with Welsh, the difficulties in the way of a study of Welsh poetry are great. Only a comparatively small portion of it has been published at all; the greater part of at least the mediaeval poetry is hidden away in manuscripts often difficult of access.

Nor is the study of poets like Dafydd ab Gwilym, whose works have been published, an easy thing. There is no really critical edition of Dafydd, for though Dr. Gwenog- fryn Evans is preparing one, it has not yet appeared ; so that it may often happen that, in Professor CoweH's words, the student " spends his strength uselessly in attempting to solve some enigma which at last turns out to be no dark saying of the poet, but some dull blunder of a scribe.

In spite of all these obstacles, Dafydd has been the object of enthusiastic admiration and study by Welshmen; he has inspired innumerable later poets, has influenced greatly the course of Welsh literature, and to some extent the ideas of Welsh- men, and has come to be regarded by many as the chief poet of Wales. But it is not only from this point of view that Dafydd is worth knowing ; for he is a poet to be read for his own sake.

Probably few people will agree with Borrow's extravagant estimate of him as c the greatest poetical genius that has appeared in Europe since the revival of literature ' ; but he is nevertheless a great poet and a real addition to our literary acquaintance. Perhaps, therefore, it will be some slight service both to Welsh literature and to English students of poetry to translate some specimens of his work. He has, indeed, been better treated by translators than the majority oi Welsh poets.

To say nothing of earlier versions, a volume of verse-translations, which, though by no means inspired, are in several cases above the average of such renderings, was published by A. Johnes in ; but this book, which is now to be obtained only by a lucky accident from some second- hand bookseller, does not seem to be widely known among English readers. To 4 Y Cymmrodor ' for vol. Trans- lations of single poems are to be met with in various places ; the best I have seen are by Mr.

Ernest Rhys ' Celtia,' O6tober, The prose versions here given are of course a very inadequate representation of Dafydd's work as a whole, and they can give no idea of his metrical skill, and the sweetness and verbal felicity which distinguish his verse. For their form, however, some defence can be given.

No doubt an inspired verse translation of any poet is always better than the best prose rendering ; but an inspired translator of Welsh verse has yet to be found, and failing him there is much to be said for prose. It is, there- fore, quite impossible to represent their peculiar effeft in English verse ; and this being so, the chief advantage of a verse translation, that it more accurately represents the effeft of the original, is lost.

On the other hand, it is possible to be much more literal in prose ; though it must be remarked that the great difference between English and Welsh idiom makes stridl literalness in many cases impossible. Even in their own limited sphere these translations leave much to be desired ; but in default of anything else, they may serve to intro- duce a beautiful poet to English readers. Almost the only two fals which can be regarded as certain though even the second of these has been disputed by more patriotic than critical Northwallians are that he lived in the fourteenth century and that he was a native of South Wales.

Concerning his poems more may be said, since few readers of this article are likely to know much of his work, and the poems here translated are too few to form a basis for criticism. Professor Cowell and others have dwelt upon the many resemblances between Dafydd and the troubadours, and though, as Professor Cowell remarks, Dafydd is a greater poet than any troubadour, the similarity of tone and subject is undoubted.

Like the troubadours he is pre-eminently the poet of love and of the summer; but he gives to his treatment of these themes a naturalness and freshness very different from the artificiality of Proven9al poetry. A contemporary of Chaucer, he differed from him in having behind him an old and highly developed poetical tradition ; he inherited a language long adapted to literary uses and brought to a singular degree of perfection, and this language he uses with a mastery which raises him, as Matthew Arnold said of Chaucer, far 48 DAFYDD AB GWILYM.

In his subjects also he marks a new era. Through- out the second period of Welsh literature, from noo A. There were indeed both love poems and religious poems, but the most characteristic productions of the age were political in character, elegies or panegyrics on patriotic princes, songs of lamentation for defeat or exulta- tion in viftory.

After the final conquest comes a time of despairing silence ; then of a sudden we find Dafydd ab Gwilym singing light-heartedly or nature and of his lady. His contemporary lolo Goch lived to celebrate Owen Glendower and to exult in what seemed the recovery of Welsh liberty, but no faintest echo of the national cause is heard in Dafydd.

I have already said that Dafydd is pre-eminently the poet of the summer, and the remark indicates at once his merit and his limitation.

Instant chords for any song

In saying this I do not mean to imply any condemnation of his morals, which, for aught I know, may have been beyond reproach. The life of Catullus was one which not a Puritan only would find it difficult to approve of, yet it was Catullus who wrote one of the noblest couplets in the whole poetry of love : c Dilexi turn te, non tantum ut volgus amicam, Sed pater ut gnatos diligit et generos. He is in many ways representative, both in its defefts and in its virtues, of the Welsh mediaeval character a character so different from that of to-day, moulded by a century and a half of Pro- testant Nonconformity exquisitely delicate and graceful, exquisitely sensitive to every influence of beauty, enamoured of life and the joy of life, of bright colours, lovely forms, and the sunshine; richly endowed with fancy, quick to emotion, ardent and agile, yet withal a little volatile and untrustworthy, wanting in stamina, in depth, in grip of realities ; a character the despair of the rigid moralist, but rising by its gracious loveable- ness to a sphere where most men will feel that the ordinary moral standards may be disregarded.

There is, too, in Dafydd a humour which, while no doubt partly responsible for the ease with which he handles his subject, introduces at times a jarring x. Nevertheless he is capable at times of deep feeling, as in the beautiful lines which conclude his poem to the summer below, p. There is a variant reading cadwynau, " chains. Edwards in " Cyfres y Fil " except in the case of two passages, not given in that selection. I should like to apologize in advance for any errors which my renderings of a poet often difficult may contain.

It is perhaps most exquisite in those poems, like the one describing his own funeral when his mistress's cruelty has killed him, in which he mingles a play- ful humour with an under-current of pathos. His exuberant fancy sometimes leads him, as we have seen, into faults of taste, but these after all are few in comparison with the many lovely images which adorn almost every poem. His nature- poetry shows everywhere the traces of minute and loving observation ; nature to him was no conven- tional literary background, but the objeft of his deepest feeling.

Islwyn ; but they have an exquisite grace, a wealth of imagery quite unsurpassed ; they are reflexions of nature absolutely true in essence, but seen in a magic mirror where all takes on a new glory and strangeness under the light of fancy. A character- istic instance is the lovely description of the night- ingale's song : Delicately she sings her first grave note, the sweet mean and treble of her stormy song. It is love's bright, enraptured prelude from the choir of the leaves ; the happy song of a pure, glad maiden as she climbs through the branches, the bright welding of love.

Dear is her memory to the minstrel, 1 poetess, weaver among the trees. Glad she is by day and by night, a voice unstammering, perfect in pure loveliness. Another, and perhaps more striking example of Dafydd's fanciful imagery is the poem on the thrush-cock, which I translate in full. In a pleasant place I was to-day, under the mantles of the fair green hazels, listening in the bright dawning of day to the learned music of the thrush-cock. Surely far from here was he born, and a far journey was his, the gray messenger of love. He came hither from the narrow shire of Chester at the bidding of my golden sister.

Edwards in his edition prints the word with a small initial, evidently taking it as a common noun. It is not un- common in Welsh, as in Oriental, literature for a poet to call his mistress his sister. Morvyth had sent him, sweet singer, foster son of May. I heard him in glowing notes descant unceasingly, and with clear and unstammering tongue read the gospel to all the congregation. On the hill there he raised to us, for wafer, a fair leaf, and the bright nightingale with her sweet eloquence, minstrel of the glen, sang to many listeners 1 from the corner of the wood beside him.

Then the sacring-bell rang clear, and they raised the host, even to heaven, above the thicket, singing an ode to our Lord and Father, lifting up a chalice of ecstacy and love, ah! In a graver strain is the beautiful invitation to the summer to visit Morgannwg, 2 one of the poet's most famous works : Thou Summer, sire of lustihead, with thy fair tangled forest brakes, jewelled prince of the glen, whose hot sun awakens yonder valley ; ample are thy branches that shadow our highways, thou chief prophet of green boughs, who shall match thy tangled weaving, 3 skilled painter of the fair trees?

Thou hast created purest gems and rich webs on park and hill ; thou coverest with pasture the face of the fair green earth, making it sweet as a second Paradise. Thou hast brought flowers, and leaves on leaves, lovely row on row above thy leafy dwellings. The notes of the young birds come back to us, the song of the Spring is on oak and hillock, and we hear among the buds a proud and lovely music, where the blackbird 1 Lit. All the world thou givest us, and makest all men glad. Hear me, O Summer! If I have my desire, for which I come ambassador to thee in thy glory, fly over me to the land of Essyllt, from the mid country of wild Gwynedd.

Bear for me of thy grace my greetings, yea, twenty times, to Morgannwg ; my blessing and all good things, two hundred times, to that land I love. Put forth thy power for my country in all its confines, walk thou round about it a country enclosed and trim, land of abundance, full of corn and hay, with lakes of fish, sweet orchards, houses of stone where dwells plenty, lords who dispense the banquet, pouring forth to men rich wine. It is seen at all times, my lovely land, thick set with orchards, full of all birds that haunt the woodland, of leaves and meadow flowers, with wide-branching trees and bright fields, corn in eight kinds and three of hay ; a sweet and radiant land clad in green, fair grown with clover.

There are rich lords who give me golden coins and mead ; and many a choir of singers who make music with string, and melody. Help and sustenance for all lands spring from it each day, and its milk and wheat give increase to far countries ; Morgannwg, on the brow of the isle, feeds every place, each palace, and precinct.

If I win thee, O Summer, in thy lovely hour, with thy plenty and thy growing growth, bear gently thy calm days, a golden messenger, to Morgannwg. On some hot morn- ing make the world glad, and greet the white homesteads. Give plenty ; give the first growth of the spring, and heap together thy flowers ; shine proudly on the lime-white wall, amply, in the brightness of light ; set there in thine own land the trace of thy foot, green-robed grassy pastures ; shake the burden of sweet fruits freely about its trees ; 1 North Wales; pronounce Gwyneth.

Then, in the time of thy flowers, when thy tree-tops are glossy with many leaves, I will gather the roses from the close, the meadow flowers, and the gems of the wood- land, bright clover, the raiment of earth, and the sweet blossom of grass, to set them for a memorial of my gold- famed lord, ah, woe is me! As a poet of love Dafydd is capable of tenderness, but hardly of passion ; his love, whether genuine or not and I for one cannot doubt its genuineness , serves less as an end in itself than as the impulse to radiant flights of fancy, a theme to embroider with lovely words and images.

In a large proportion of his poems the two themes, love and nature, are intermingled, and he sends the birds and the forces of nature, the wind for example, on embassy to his lady. Several ladies are celebrated in his poems, but the chief object of his muse was a certain Morvyth. Professor Cowell has advanced the theory, which he supports by the analogy of Proven9al love-poetry, that Dafydd's passion for her was a purely fictitious and conven- tional one; and a fantastic attempt has more recently been made to turn her into an allegorical figure of Wales ; her husband, the ' Bwa Bach,' or c little hunchback,' whom the poet covers with ridicule, being England.

The latter theory scarcely 1 Ivor Hael, the poet's patron. I spell as above to show the pronunciation. Professor Cowell advances some strong arguments for his, but in view of the tone of certain poems, particularly those written in the poet's later years, I find it very difficult to believe that Morvyth was anything but a real person, or the poet's love a literary convention. Dafydd's attitude to life in general is that of the natural man in revolt against mediaeval asceticism.

He is of the kindred of Aucassin : ' In Paradise what have I to win? Therein I seek not to enter, but only to have Nicolete, my sweet lady that I love so well. But into Hell would I fain go ; for into Hell fare the goodly clerks, and goodly knights that fall in tourneys and great wars, and stout men at arms, and all men noble.

With these would I liefly go. And thither pass the sweet ladies and courteous that have two lovers, or three, and their lords also thereto. Thither goes the gold, and the silver, and cloth of vair, and cloth of gris, and harpers, and makers, and the prince of this world. With these I would gladly go, let me but have with me Nicolete, my sweetest lady. According to the tradition, Dafydd was appointed the young lady's tutor, but a mutual passion arose between them, and Ivor placed his daughter in a convent in Anglesey, where Dafydd besieged her with odes.

The tradi- tion does not seem to rest on any very secure founda- tion, but may serve in default of anything else. Is it truth, O woman that I love, that thou earest nought for the fair-growing birch-tree of Summer? Wilt thou never cease in thy cloister, thou perfect star, thy psalm-singing? A nun and a saint thou art, dear to all the choir ; for God's sake have done with the bread and water, and cast from thee thy cress.

Have done, o' Mary's name, with the lean paternoster, and the creed of the monks of Rome. Be no more a nun in the Spring- time ; better are the woods than the cloister. Fairest of women, thy religion is treason against love ; the ring of troth, the mantle, and green raiment would better beseem thee. Come to the spreading birch, to the creed of the trees and the cuckoo, where none will chide us that we gain Heaven in the green woodland. Forget not the book of Ovid, and have done with too much religion.

There, among the fair trees by the hill-side, we will set our souls free. Is it any worse that a maid of gentle birth should gain a soul in the woodland than to do as we should do at Rome or the shrine of Saint James? Several poems again contain controversies be- tween the poet and some monk or other who stands as the type of established morality. In one of these, which indeed is perhaps not a genuine work of Dafydd's, but is at any rate thoroughly in keeping with his spirit, he declares : God is not so cruel as old men say ; it is a lie of priests, reading some musty parchment.

God will never damn the soul of a gentle youth for loving woman or maid. Three things there are that are loved through all the world, woman and fair weather and health ; woman will be the fairest flower in Heaven save God himself. From Heaven came all delight, from Hell all sadness.

A tradition, stated, quite possibly with truth, to go back to an eye-witness, declares that he was ' tall and slender, with long rippling yellow hair, full of golden curls and ringlets ' ; and he has himself given us some indications of his personal appearance. In his poem on the hard-heartedness of the ladies of Llanbadarn he says : There was never a Sunday passed in Llanbadarn but I was in Church taking stock of the congregation, 1 with my face on some sweet girl, and only the nape of my neck turned up to the dear God.

After I have gazed an age over their feathers, across the whole congregation, one will say to her neighbour in a clear whisper, easy to hear, " Look at the pale-faced boy there with his languishing glances. Sure 'tis his sister's hair he is wearing! Fair love-locks clad my shoulders, auburn-hued, fair-growing as the vine-tendrils ; bright were mine eyes, pure and clear, my glance was keen, my tongue rich in faultless speech ; I had pride in the May-time.

I kissed my lady in the fair, pleasant summer days. My trans- lation, which is free, rests on the assumption that, as suggested by a friend, ac may be by an easy MS. Summer goes, and the poet of the summer is left mute. In the dark winter hours, in the shadow of death, it is not to the poet of the summer that we shall turn for consola- tion and new courage ; but so long as summer days return and the woods grow green again, so long, we may believe, the poems of Dafydd ab Gwilym will endure. We may fitly conclude with two poems written in later life.

Yester-eve, 'twas late, I tarried for thee, sweetheart, in the place where we met that first summer-month of our love. I gazed awhile, I looked about me and remem- bered, When first in secret I saw thy shape and heard thy voice, our wood upon its sweet bank was all leafy and young, and on the top of my birch-tree no branch was broken ; lusty it was, full of the summer and youth's increase, even to its roots.

A green temple it was, a house of many leaves, a cottage thatched with thick foliage, a lovely tower, round-topped, battlemented ; its branches 1 I find the Welsh here difficult, and the translation may be inaccurate in places. The blackbird to our sweet birch-tree came with offering of tender songs ; thou knowest how radiantly he sang to the lovely wood in May. At night came the nightingale to our leaves, en- raptured, with melodious music, and we greeted duly the psalm she sang to love's tune.

Now grievous age holds lordship over the delicate leaves, and the tree with withered branches pines under the languishment of winter and the pouring rain. Old age weighs heavily upon it, and the storm-wind bears away its covering ; and no more upon its head does the blackbird exult in his gold-woven song, 1 nor the night- ingale sing her odes in the midst of it.

Too cold is it now! I remember my young strength, and the love that I bore thee, sweet ; and the great chastisement I had for loving thee, and how I did not win thee to be my crown of life. Long waiting for love wore me away, and life was ever hard for me ; natheless I must endure my burden many a year without thee. Bitter is the anguish in my brain, and in my heart chill decay for thy sake ; grievous my night-watches ; my grave is made ready for me. Bewick, p. In a poet so true to nature this line still leaves a difficulty.

My life to me is sorrow now ; I will call for strength to the Lord. Gone is youth and its glory ; if my day was brave it is over now. Gone is my wisdom and my brain, and love's vengeance takes hold upon me ; the Muse is cast from my lips, she that long time brought me song to inspire me. Where is Ivor, who gave me counsel? Where is Nest, 2 who was my refuge? Where is Morvyth, my world, beneath the trees?

Tanz-Walzer für Orchester op.53 , BV 288 – Ferruccio Busoni [With score]

They rest all in the sod, and I fare heavily all my days, under a bitter burden enduring long pain. I shall sing no more songs, nor make trial of them, to the trees, or the young herbs, or the vetch. No more in the lovely woodland can I rejoice for the nightingale's song, nor the cuckoo's, nor for the kiss of the woman I loved, my darling, nor her voice, nor the sound of her speech.

Old age is a dart in my brain ; it is not the love of a fair maid is my sickness now, nay, love is gone from me, and all my favour; it is a grief to think thereon. I am become as chaff, without strength ; I am fallen into the snares of death. The grave is made ready for me, and life's end, and the earth. Christ be my haven and my help!

Amen ; it is the end! OT content with his late exposition of one episode of French history, Anatole France has now produced in c L'lle des Pingouins' a satirical survey of the whole of French history with special reference to the events of the last thirty years. That the work is well done goes without saying, but I cannot help wondering if it was worth the doing.

An acute French critic reminds us that however much we may dislike the age into which we are born, ' il faut vivre, et les hommes n'ont guere coutume de reconnaitre la parole de vie dans un langage nuance de dedain. France tells us that he began by consulting learned archaeolo- gists and palaeologists. They could offer him no assistance : s c Est-ce que nous e"crivons I'histoire, nous? Est-ce que nous essayons d'extraire d'un texte, d'un document, la moindre parcelle de vie ou de verite?

Nous publions les textes purement et simplement. Nous nous en tenons a la lettre. La lettre est seule appreciable et definie. L'esprit ne Test pas ; les idees sont des fantaisies. II faut tre bien vain pour e"crire Fhistoire : il faut avoir de Timagina- tion. Et le lecteur n'aime pas a tre surpris. II ne cherche jamais dans une histoire que les sottises qu'il sait deja. Si vous essayez de 1'instruire, vous ne ferez que I'humilier et le facher. Ne tentez pas de Feclairer, il criera que vous insultez a ses croyances.

On pretend que cette maniere de faire ne contente plus les esprits exacts et que 1'antique Clio passe aujourd'hui pour une diseuse de sornettes. Ceux qui produisaient les choses necessaires a la vie en manquaient ; chez ceux qui ne les produisaient pas, elles surabondaient. Les pro- gres de la civilisation s'y manifestaient par 1'industrie meurtriere, la speculation infame, le luxe hideux.

Sa capitale revelait, comme toutes les grandes villes d'alors, un caractere cosmopolite et financier : il y regnait une laideur immense et reguliere. Le pays jouissait d'une tranquillit6 parfaite. C'etait 1'apogee. At a certain point everything will be blown up by dynamite, but even that catastrophe will not annihilate the reign of wealth, of vast industrial undertakings, of unholy trusts, and everything will be again exadtly as it was before.

The book abounds in wit and satire that is both subtle and diverting. For example, the craze in art for the primitives, a craze our historian finds it very difficult to comprehend, draws forth this com- ment, c Ce dont on est frappe d'abord lorsqu'on regarde cette figure, ce sont ses proportions. Le corps depuis le cou jusqu'aux pieds, n'a que deux fois la hauteur de la tete. The cheeks of the Virgin and of the Child are of a beautiful vermilion arranged in two circles as if drawn with a compass.

Yet, continues M. France, a critic declares that in making the Virgin's head a third of the total height of the figure, the artist draws the spectator's attention to the most sublime parts of the human person, and especially to the eyes : the spiritual organs, and the colour conspires with the drawing to produce an ideal and a mystical expression.

In that way, according to M. France, do the admirers of c les primitifs ' justify their attitude. An adequate idea of the book is not to be ob- tained through quotations or description. I am inclined to think that the first part is the best. English critics have compared Anatole France as he shows himself in this work to Swift and to Voltaire. But he possesses neither the saeva in- dignatio of the one nor the polished steel-like irony of the other. France est la sagesse antique.

Artiste, il execre notre epoque utilitaire. Aristocrate jusqu'au bout des ongles, il repugne aussi bien a une re- ligion qui consacre Feminente dignite des petits, et a un 6tat social qui admet la toute-puissance du nombre. Son reve est celui d'un paien. II aurait voulu arreter la marche du monde aux temps virgiliens : I'humanite de- puis lors n'a fait que degenerer. C'est une opinion, et qui n'etonne pas venant du plus subtil des lettres d'au- iourd'hui.

Seulement on ne retourne pas en arriere. All the people are unpleasant, perverse, not to say deliberately wicked. The bad are not awakened by the crisis, as sometimes happens, to a knowledge X. But is it not waste of time for so clever an observer, so exquisite a stylist, to bestow his skill on thieves, and cheats, and assassins, and breakers of the marriage vow? The book is an admirable guide to any one wishing to become acquainted with the latest Parisian slang.

The thread of the story the reconciling of a couple who had chosen to be divorced through incompatibility of temper is very thin, and merely serves to give some coherency to an old lady's discursive reflections on life. The author understands women in certain phases of their existence ; men she draws with a less sure hand. As always, she shows a great appreciation of things English. Here is a pretty interpretation of the theory of coincidences which testifies to the charm of Pierre de Coulevain's style : c J'ai hsit6 entre Territet et Chexbres.

C'est vous qui m'avez attiree ici. Le mot tlpathie est lance, mais nous Temployons encore a tort et a travers, sans y attacher 1'importance qu'il a reellement. Tous les indi- vidus qui sont destines a une oeuvre commune oeuvre qu'ils ignorent doivent tre maintenus en communica- tion constante.

Nous arriverons a fabriquer des instruments qui enregistreront les rayons humains, nous les capterons comme nous avons capte I'electricite. II y aura peut-tre la pensee sans fil, comme il y a la tele- graphic sans fil. It is written not to give pleasure, not because the author has a story to tell that must be told, but to show the evils of orphan asylums conducted by nuns, the effeft of excessive restraint on girls of different temperaments.

The conclusion is that the cloister is not a good prepara- tion for girls who have their living to get in the world. There is one interesting figure in the book, that of a strictly virtuous woman, much sinned against, who learnt sympathy through suffering. Neither is Otto Ernst's c Semper der Jiingling, ein Bildungsroman ' on the level of ' Asmus Sempers Jugendland,' a book that is admired by all who read it, and yet no English publisher can be induced to issue a translation of it.

In the sequel now before us, Semper relates his experiences while training to be a teacher, and his earliest days in the profession as a master in a primary school. A pretty love tale runs through the latter part of the book, and shrewd observation is everywhere apparent. For instance : c Herr Drogemuller, the headmaster, was a bachelor, and so he had too much time for his work. It seems strange that any one should take the trouble to write a biography of Jenny Dacquin, Prosper Merimee's ' Inconnue. Preface introduction par Felix Chambon. Those who like such things may read here all they will ever probably know about Jenny Dacquin and her relations with Merimee.

Some will rest con- tent to know only that she inspired the most beauti- ful letters ever written to a woman by a man. A very interesting and less-known side of Mme. Necker de Saussure, Mme. It is carefully edited, the references and authorities being stated.


  • The Lyons Blood (The MacGregor Struggle Book 2).
  • Enemies of Rome: Barbarians Through Roman Eyes;
  • UBC Theses and Dissertations.
  • Libra Zodiac Sign.
  • La Révolution, Tome 1: LAmour et le Temps (Littérature française) (French Edition).
  • Der Gesang des Hiawatha (German Edition).
  • Reinventing the Colonial State.

Montmorency's ' liaison' with Mme. It is somewhat curious that a man should confide to one woman his love for another, but that is exaftly what Montmorency does in these letters. We are the gainers, for he certainly draws in them one of the most interesting portraits of Mme. Mais elle y revit aussi avec ses passions, sa tristesse, sa melancolie, cet etrange pouvoir de creuser la souffrance et la peine. Friedrich Rummer's ' Deutsche Literaturge- schichte des 19 Jahrhunderts,' is an excellently arranged survey divided into five generations. Rummer's idea is that the history of literature, provided it is a history not of books but of ideas, offers a picture of the whole intellectual develop- ment of a nation.

The literary history of each generation is introduced by chapters on: i the political, economic, and social conditions ; 2 the philosophical, scientific, and religious influences ; 3 the literary life ; 4 the literary influences of the past and of foreign nations ; 5 the reflection of the age in the other arts. Then follow accounts of the fore-runners and pioneers who prepare the way for the leading lights of each generation, of the great geniuses themselves, and of their imitators and continuators.

A brief biography of each author is given with a carefully classified list of his works, the principal of them being more or less fully de- scribed and analysed, concluding with a general criticism of the whole achievement. It is interest- ing to note who are characterized as the great writers of each generation. For the first, we have Kleist, Tieck, Hoffmann, J. Meyer, Marie v. Even if it should be asserted that except Heine, Wagner, Hauptmann, and Nietzsche no one of them occupies the highest place in the Temple of Fame, each of them occupies in his own department a very high place indeed.

The book is a useful, not to say a valuable, contribution to the history of modern European literature. The least attractive part of it is the preface, which is too long and wordy, but the wise reader omits the preface, at least until he has read the book. It should perhaps be mentioned that the volume fills some pages. I remember that some ten years ago I asked the editor of one of our leading reviews if I might write for him an article on contemporary German fi6Hon, and was met by the reply, ' No, because there isn't any.

Chuquet contributes a preface. The matter formed a course of ledtures at Paris ; the book fills a gap in literary history, and will be of service to the student of literature and of interest to the general reader. The history of the German novel is traced through its various phases from Goethe, who modernized it, down to the pre- sent day. We have an account of the romantic novel, of the humoristic novel, the village tale, the historical novel, the realistic novel, the feminist novel, the short story, the neo-romantic novel. Apres n'avoir plus voulu de religion, on a cherche a en fonder de nouvelles, tout en ne cessant d'etre hante par Tancienne.

Novels, as we all know, form perhaps the best historical guide to the social life of the time in which they are written, and so, incidentally, Pinseau has drawn a very interesting picture of the German nation. We look forward to the two books he has now in hand, one on the evolution or the theatre in Germany in the nineteenth century, and the other on the evolution of lyric poetry in Germany in the same period. The author brings out very skilfully how Astree was the climax of a long series of attempts, well-intentioned but of an inferior art, that its success has caused to be forgotten. He shows also that the French novel of sentiment was greatly influenced by Italian and Spanish literature, and that its progress was closely allied with the spirit of the society of the time, and with the prestige of women.

There is a useful bibliography, and a classified table of the novels printed in France between and, Any criticism from the pen of Emile Michel, the distinguished biographer of Rembrandt and of Rubens, claims attention. He deals in his preface with the essentials of art criticism, regarding it as one or the most important genres of contemporary litera- ture.

The knowledge it requires does not eliminate feeling, but on the contrary lends it life and interest. Documentary research cannot, of course, compen- sate for the love of nature and of art, which is as necessary a quality in the critic as in the artist. One of the most interesting of the essays is entitled ' Le dessin chez Leonard de Vinci. Presses d'arriver, certains debutants, avec la complicite de critiques amis, abregent, quand ils ne le suppriment pas tout a fait, le temps de leur apprentissage et considerent 1'ignorance comme le gage le plus assure de leur. That criticism is as true of some of the literature of the present day as it is of the art.

It may be useful to note here that a very good seledlion from Leonardo's works may be found in 'Textes Choisis. Leonard de Vinci. Pensees, theories, preceptes, fables, et faceties,' with an introduction by Peladan. Par le Baron Albert Verly. Preface par Etienne Charles. Forms part of a series of souvenirs of the Second Empire. This volume is really a paean to the army of Sedan. Le retour des Bourbons d'Hartwell a Gand. Le regne des emigres, Par Gilbert Stenger.

An essay on the return of the Bourbons to France after twenty- five years of exile. The book contains certain fa6ls of social life, neglected by political historians, which help to a better understand- ing of the ephemeral resurrection of the Bourbon monarchy. Nos amities politiques avant Tabandon de la Revanche. An interesting piece of political f histoire intime,' beginning with the fall of Thiers in and ending with the death of Edmond Adam in The discursive style, and the lack of dates of years, for which those of months do not compensate, lessen the value of the volume.

Nos femmes de lettres. Par Paul Flat. Biographical and critical essays on Mme. Henri de Regnier, and Marcelle Tinayre. Traicle contenant les secrets du premier livre sur 1'espee seule, mere de toutes armes. Souvenirs intimes. Par Mme. Emile Ollivier. This lady who was Lamartine's niece, really took the place of a daughter to him, and her memoirs add to our knowledge of the great writer. Pascal et son Temps. Troisieme partie. Les Provinciales et les Pensees. Par Fortunat Strowski. De Richelieu a Mazarin Par Emile Rocca. Ouvrage annote par Paul Hacquard et Pascal Forthuny.

Orne d'un portrait de Beranger, d'apres Couture. New letters of Beranger which serve to illuminate the character of De 1'Eure, who was a sort of Aristides, and also illustrate the period, containing as they do sketches of many interesting people. Les doctrines d'art en France. Peintres Ama- teurs Critiques. De Poussin a Diderot. Par Andre Fontaine. A contribution to the history of French thought and French art during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Schiller und Lotte. Ein Briefwechsel. Edited by Alexander von Gleichen-Russwurm. Schiller's love-story is here told by the persons concerned in their letters, which have been taken out of the general correspondence and arranged in order as sent and received. Edited by Adolf Frey. These letters in some measure complete the picture of the man as we have it in Adolf Frey's biography, although their interest perhaps scarcely reaches the expectations formed of them.

Sein Leben und Schaffen. Von Karl Storck. A new biography by a lover of music in general, and of the harmony and beauty of Mozart's music in particular. Lehrbuch der Historischen Methode und der Geschichtsphilosophie. A newly revised and enlarged edition of a work doubtless useful to the scientific historian. Geschichte des Deutschen Idealismus.

In signo Librae scored for Violin/Viola

Von Dr. The first volume of a work, to be completed in three, which is addressed to educated people in general, not only to learned students of philosophy. This portion deals with the idealistic development of ideas from the beginning to Kant. The connection of the great philosophers with literature, art, and science is demonstrated throughout.

Kronenberg is the author of a life of Kant.

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Von Kurt Heidrich. A period of history that is largely occupying the attention of historians at the present time. Karl Stahlin. Aus Insulinde. Malayische Reisebriefe. Von Ernst Haeckel. Interesting travel sketches by a great man of science. He is not the subjefl of the dispute, but his fortunes are bound up with those of the conqueror. Few recent controversies have yielded so much humour on both sides as this, and few have excited so little interest in proportion to the energy expended.

Both these results are due perhaps to the fal that the subje6t, from its very nature, does not admit of being made a burning question. Yet one has to look only a little way into it to see that important interests educational, commercial, and possibly racial are involved. Thus far the champions have been chiefly the newspapers for spelling as it is, and scholars and educators for spelling as it ought to be. But, in spite of the intelligence of the dis- putants, the discussion has been singularly insular and deficient in perspective.

It would gain greatly in conclusiveness if spelling and its modifications were considered broadly and historically, not as 1 Published under the title Orthographic Reform in 'The Print- ing Art ' University Press, Cambridge, Mass. As is usually the case in controversies, the chief obstacle to agreement is a lack of what the lawyers call a meeting of minds. The two sides are not talking about the same thing. The reformer has one idea of what spelling is ; the public has another idea, which is so different that it robs the reformer's arguments of nearly all their force. To the phil- ologist spelling is the application of an alphabet to the words of a language, and an alphabet is merely a system of visible signs adapted to translate to the eye the sounds which make up the speech of the people.

To the public spelling is part and parcel of the English language, and to tamper with it is to lay violent hands on the sacred ark of English literature. To the philologist an alphabet is not a thing in itself, but only a medium, and he knows many alphabets of all degrees of excellence. Among the latest formed is that which we use and call the Roman, but which, though it was taken from Italy, made its way back there after a course of development that carried it through Ireland, England, and Germany. This alphabet was origin- ally designed for writing Latin, and, as English has more sounds than Latin, some of the symbols when applied to English have to do multiple duty ; though this is the least of the complaints against our current spelling.

In faft any inventive student of phonetics could in half an hour devise a better alphabet for English, and scores have been devised. Mean- while, though the earliest English was written in Runic, and Bibles were long printed in black-letter, still to the great English-reading public the alphabet of current books and papers is the only alphabet. So much for the Roman alphabet, which, though beautiful and praftical, is not so beautiful as the Greek nor nearly so efficient for representing English sounds as the Cherokee alphabet invented by the half-breed, Sequoyah, is for representing the sounds of his mother-tongue.

Let us now turn from the alphabet, which is the foundation of spelling, to spelling jtself. Given a scientific alphabet, spelling, as a problem, vanishes ; for there is only one possible spelling for any spoken word, and only one possible pronunciation for any written word. Both are perfectly easy, for there is no choice, and no one who knows the alphabet can make a mistake in either. But given a traditional alphabet encumbered with outgrown or impracticable or blundering associations, and spelling may become so difficult as to serve for a test or hallmark of scholarship.

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