VOL VII

THE TEXAS REVIEW

APRIL, 1922

No. 3

Entered as second-class matter June 7, 1915, at the postoffice at
Austin, Texas, under the Act of March 3, 1879.

EDITOR, Robert Adger Law.
MANAGING EDITOR, Miles L. Hanley.

Katharsis Again.......Benjamin Mather Woodbridge 191

Navaho Poetry: An Interpretation... Eda Lou Walton 198

Nationalism in Contemporary French Art.....

..Aaron Schaffer 211

..Sarah F. Radoff 215

The Intellectualist in Strindberg and Turgeniev....

The Earliest Sonnet...

Notes on Translating Heine..

The Pump Room-

Ernest Hatch Wilkins 236

...Leonard Doughty 240

Zamora and Its Famous Siege........S. G. Morley 255

CONTRIBUTORS TO THE APRIL NUMBER

LEONARD DOUGHTY, attorney at law of Austin, Texas, has for many years been interested in translating Heine's poems. BERNARDINE ALGERT, now of Bellevue, Idaho, is a Smith College graduate, who has previously contributed verse to this magazine.

ALBERT L. GUERARD of the Rice Institute, Houston, Texas, is author of a forthcoming book on international language. BENJAMIN MATHER WOODBRIDGE of the University of Texas is on the editorial staff of the Review.

EDA LOU WALTON, Fresno, California, is author of a doctorate dissertation on Navaho poetry, and is herself, a writer of

verse.

AARON SCHAFFER, a frequent contributor to the Review, is a member of the department of Romance languages in the University of Texas.

SARAH F. RADOFF, Houston, Texas, is a member of the 1922 graduating class in the University of Texas.

ERNEST HATCH WILKINS is professor of Romance languages in the University of Chicago.

S. G. MORLEY is a professor of Spanish in the University of California.

ATTEMPTS AT TRANSLATION AND PARAPHRASE FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE

"My crest is a smiling tear-drop"

BY LEONARD DOUGHTY

AN INTERLUDE

ALL MY PAIN AND MY AFFLICTION
HAVE I WRITTEN IN THIS BOOK;
YOU MAY READ IT HERE AS FICTION,
BUT "TIS ON MY HEART YOU LOOK.
(PRELUDIUM TO

"A LYRICAL INTERMEZZO.")

To One Unborn

With flowers and foliage and gilding of gold
I would garnish the boards of this book that hold
The corpse of my songs that are herein hid,-
They should lie 'neath a costly coffin-lid.

And, ah, could I bury my love here, too!

On Love's grave grow flowers of ruth and rue;
There they bloom and are gathered-but mine shall be
Garnered when earth lies over me.

These are the songs that flamed from my soul,
Like the scoriac rivers that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek, and hiss
With the lightning glare from my soul's abyss.

Here now they lie, death-staring and still,
As dumb and cold as the mist on the hill.
But the olden fire would leap and burn,
Could but the spirit of love return.

And deep in my heart a voice rings true

The spirit of love shall yet drench them like dew!

One day, when this book comes into thy hand,

Thou lover of me in a foreign land.

Then these songs shall be loosed from the wizard-ban,

And the death-pale letters become the Man!

And your eyes of love shall see in mine

The old woe, and the olden love divine.

The Lyre

Were each a traitor and a thief

Then don Truth's mail;

And when thy soul is slain with grief,
Let Song prevail.

Let the chords ring! The hero-song
Flames forth at length!

"Twill soothe thy rage toward bitter wrong, With manhood's strength.

To a Child

Thou art earth's flower, beloved,

So sweet and pure thou art;

But, ah! thy fatal beauty.

Brings tears into my heart.

I long to lay in blessing

My hand upon thy brow.-
Would God that life could keep thee
As sweet and pure as now!

Moon-Magic

The water lily trembles
Slenderly under the moon
Whose sorrowful adoration
Almost makes her swoon.

She droops her head to the water

Where the ripples gleam and stir.-
At her feet the pale face of her lover
Trembles with love of her.

The Message*

Saddle thy steed and ride for life!

Good servant of mine, ride fast,

Through moor and forest until thou comest

To Duncan's castle at last.

Hide thou in the great horse stables there,

Till a servant comes thy way,

Then ask him, "Which of Lord Duncan's daughters
Was married yesterday?"

And if he answers, "The dark one, friend,"

Then ride back fast and free;

But if he answers, "The fair one, friend"-
Come slowly back to me.

And as thou comest, buy me a rope,

And fetch it in thy hand,

And silent coming hold it out

Where I all-silent stand.

Palm and Pine*

In the north a lonely pine tree
Stands on a hill of snow,
And over his white-swathed slumber
The frozen north winds go.

He dreams of a slender palm tree

In a far fair Eastern land,

Longing toward his longing,

From the burning sun and sand.

*This poem and those that follow, marked with an asterisk, are from the former series of translations referred to in the "Notes," published originally in 1909, in The Goldthwaite Eagle.