Dan, 'wijl de vader, bij de deur op wacht, -zacht, als het vinkje, dat in 't haagje zingt,— den liev❜ling tot de baan, blank kronk'lend door den nacht..."1 The scene is a pretty one, but it is a poor substitute for the sublime picture of Burns. The verse with which Burns concludes this poem, "O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide, That stream'd through Wallace's undaunted heart," Mr. Pol de Mont entirely omits, perhaps owing to its strong Scottish flavour, but the preceding two verses with which he closes his version of the poem are, allowing for their transplanting to Dutch soil and associations, very creditably copied. "Zoet Nederland,—mijn land, 't zij Zuid of Noord, aan 't need'rig lot des landmans hangt uw lot. Baronnen, prinsen schept-een koningswoord, een eerlijk man is 't edelst werk-van God! In stille dorpen, onder 't strooien 'dak des veldlings, wonen zede en eenvoud nog. In hellekunsten sterk, in deugden zwak, hult menig in fluweel schande en bedrog! Doch hecht en recht is 't hert, dat klopt in 't werkmanspak ! 1 The time flies rapidly now sounds the hour of rest; The brass candlestick in her left, the wife brings The two youngest to the neat little room, where stand their beds, Covers them up and kisses them fondly; Then whilst the father, on guard at the door, Calls back the dog, which bounds outside, Fair Annie whispering-oh, so softly, Softly as the finch that sings on the hedge, Accompanies her sweetheart on to the road, winding white through the night. |