Bis d'sunne meint: ‘iez, chinde, müend It is really surprising that Mr. Corrodi, with such a language as the Swiss German, should pen the above lines, however simple and beautiful they may be, when he had before him the original song so full of the charm of absolute and all-absorbing love, and which he even prints alongside of his translation. Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wildwoods' thick'ning green; This is a grander strain, and of deeper music, though perhaps the homely Swiss enjoys Mr. Corrodi's simpler and less profound melody just as well. A MIS MARY IM HIMMEL. Du bleiche spate morgestern, Ziehst wieder still dur's morgeroth Und winkst dem tag, ach, grad wie fern, 1 The rivulet rushes thro' moss-damp rocks, And locks us in as in a cot; Forest flowers of all sorts blossom therein And say: Rest here if so you will Until the sun calls; now, children, I regret You must go home-it is high time. Du liebi seel im sternefeld, Wo wandlist iez i duft und glanz? Und denki nid mirlebtig dra? Am chlare bach, im chüehle thal I gsehnedi na vormer stah, Und schlüüsst is wienes hüttli i. Drininne, säged: "gruehn wänn d'witt!" Bis d'sunne meint: "iez, chinde, müend Er wäger hei, 's ist hochi ziit!" I weiss na ieders blüemli, ach, Es istmer, 's sei erst gester gsy. Wie allwiil tüüfer wüehlt de bach, Grabt si's dem herz au tüüfer i. Du liebi seel im sternefeld. .... Wo wandlist iez i duft und glanz? Gsehst du mi da uf chalter welt I herzeleid verlore ganz? So far as I know, there is no edition of translations of Burns published in a separate volume, but several appear in two volumes of translations from British and American poets, viz., Poems and Songs from the English, by Caralis, and Hundred Poems from the English, by Caralis.1 is In Poems and Songs the only poem taken from Burns To a Daisy. This is the best of all Mr. Caralis's renderings. The piece is faithfully reproduced, only very few weaknesses appearing. "Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r," seems to puzzle him, as it did the other translators, so like some of them he renders it "Du lille Blomst saa rod og rund." Then "Till billows rage and gales blow hard, 1 Digte og Sange, ved Caralis. Hundrede Digte, ved Caralis. Kjoebenhavn: Chr. Steen & Sons, Forlag, 1867. 2 Thou little flower, so red and round. is strangely rendered "Og under gaaer hans raske Seiler I give the piece at length TIL EN TUSINDFRYD. Du lille Blomst saa rød og rund! Til Skaansel Evnen er mig røvet; Du lille Stakkel troede vist, Det Lærken var, din Nabo hist, Han, som i Duggen tidt Dig bøied, Med spættet Bryst, Naar han mod Dagen opslog Øiet Den bitterkolde Nordenvind Alt vied Dig ved Fødslen ind; Dog stod Du glad, trods Storm og Kulde, Og titted op, Knap hævede sig over Mulde Din Blomstertop. Bag Skjærm af Muur og Buske groer I Haven stolt en Blomsterflor, Du voxer ubemærkt og ene, I Ny og Næ, Blandt Stubbe, hvor bag nøgne Stene Du fandt lidt Læ. Der, i din simple Dragt svøbt ind, 1 And perishes his trim sailer, With man and mouse. Beskedent Du dit Hoved neied I Ydmyghed Da Ploven, ak! Dig rev fra Leiet Saadan en Mø i Uskylds Vaar Besudlet, knust som Du, hun ligger Saadan en Skjald, af Skjæbnens Harm Uvant med Kløgt, af Cursen feiler I Vindens Suus, Og under gaaer hans raske Seiler Saa kæmper tidt med Modgang her Tilsidst kun Himlen tro er bleven Selv Du, som ynker Blomsten her, Da ligger under Muldens Dække E hae a Wife o' my ain (Naebody). In this song Mr. Caralis gives the same rendering as some other translators, of the two lines "I hae a penny to spend, |