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ther new to poetry, has fomething in it very ftriking, 1s prettily ©
introduced and well turned, This little piece, confidered as the
produétion of a girl who could neither write nor read, is a won-
derful performance. It is nature’s poet delivering the dictates of
her heart in the words which love has fuggefted, and “ fnatching
«* a grace beyond the reach of art.’’ This Finnith Sappho, amidft
all the fhows of her ungenial climate, difcovers all the warmth
of the poetefs of Lefbos. I fhall lay before the reader two tranf-
lations of this fong, the one in profe, the other in verfe.
The following profe tranflation is as near the original as the
Englith language can approach the Finnifh—
I,
“© Oh ! that my beloved were now here; That his well-known
«« figure were but before me! How fhould I fly into his arms, And
‘‘ kifs him though his face were befmeared with the blood of a
«« wolf! How fhould I prefs his hand, Even though a {fnake were
*< twifted round it !”
| II.
*¢ Alas! why have not the winds underftanding ? And why is
*“‘ the breeze bereft of fpeech ? The winds might exchange fenti-
“ments betwixt my beloved and me. The breezes might every
« inftant carry my words to him and bring back his to me.”
III.
«« How then would the delicacies of the reétor’s table be ne-
*< gleéted ! How inattentive fhould I be to the drefs of his daugh-
“ter!
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