Modern Poets and Poetry of Spain/To Enarda I

by James Kennedy

TO ENARDA.—I.^[1]

Lovely Enarda! young and old
All quarrel with me daily:
Because I write to thee they scold,
Perhaps sweet verses gaily.

"A judge should be more grave," they say,
As each my song accuses;
"From such pursuits should turn away
As trifling with the Muses."

"How wofully you waste your time!"
Preach others; but, all slighting,
The more they scold, the more I rhyme;
Still I must keep on writing.

Enarda's heart and mind to praise,
All others far excelling,
My rustic pipe its note shall raise,
In well-toned measures telling.

I wish, extolling to the skies,
Her beauty's high perfection
To sing, and all her witcheries
Of feature and complexion:

With master pencil to portray
Her snowy neck and forehead,
And eyes that round so roguish play,
And lips like carmine florid.

And let the Catos go at will,
To where they most prefer it,
Who withering frowns and sneerings still
Give me for my demerit.

In spite of all, with wrinkled pate,
The censures each rehearses,
Enarda I will celebrate
For ever in my verses.

---

1. From the same, p. 368. In submission to the recommendations of several friends to give the original of at least part or the whole of some one poem of each author, from whose works the translations have been made, selections of such as the English students of Spanish literature would probably most desire, are offered for their comparison.

   Riñen me bella Enarda
   Los mozos y los viejos,
   Por que tal vez jugando
   Te escribo dulces versos.
   Debiera un magistrado
   (Susurran) mas severo,
   De las livianas Musas
   Huir el vil comercio.
   Que mal el tiempo gastas!
   Predican otros,—pero
   Por mas que todos riñan
   Tengo de escribir versos.

   Quiero loar de Enarda
   El peregrino ingenio
   Al son de mi zampona
   Y en bien medidos metros.
   Quiero de su hermosura
   Encaramar al cielo
   Las altas perfecciones;
   De su semblante quiero
   Cantar el dulce hechizo
   Y con pincel maestro
   Pintar su frente hermosa
   Sus traviesos ojuelos,
   El carmin de sus labios,
   La nieve de su cuello;
   Y vayanse á la . . . . al rollo
   Los Catonianos ceños
   Las frentes arrugadas
   Y adustos sobrecejos,
   Que Enarda será siempre
   Celebrada en mis versos