observations that could alone occur to us here, we shall conclude this article by laying before our readers some of our poet's comic effusions in a foreign dress, which may at once amuse by its novelty, and help us to judge of their intrinsic merits, and to form a conjecture as to the ideas regarding them which may be acquired by those who are total strangers to the language in which they are written. Our extracts are taken from a small and rather scarce volume, published at Paris in 1826, and bearing the following title: "Morceaux Choisis de Burns, Poete Ecossais; Traduits par MM. James Aytoun et J. B. Mesnard." The Monsieur James Aytoun who has a share in these translations is no other, we believe, than the very amiable person with whom our townsmen are well acquainted as a member of the Scottish Bar, and as having on at least one occasion come forward as a candidate for the representation of Edinburgh. The work contains translations, all of them in prose, of several of Burns's best pieces, both serious and comic, including "The Cottar's Saturday Night," and "Tam o' Shanter." But we confine our quotations to one or two of the comic songs, as most in accordance with our own plan, and most likely to interest and amuse our readers. We refrain from making any comment whatever on the translations, except here and there to print in italics some of the passages which appear the most striking. We place the original and the translation opposite to each other:—
DUNCAN GRAY.
"Duncan Gray came here to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
On blithe Yule night when we were fu',
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
"Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray'd,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Duncan sigh'd haith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
Spak o' louping o'er a linn;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
"Time and chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't:
Slighted love is sair to bide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't:
Shall I like a fool, quo' he,
For a haughty hizzie die?
She may gae to France for me,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
"How it comes, let doctors tell,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't:
Meg grew sick as he grew hail,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't:
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O! her een they spake sic things!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
DUNCAN GRAY.
Duncan Gray vint ici pour faire sa cour, pendant une nuit joyeuse de Noël, que nous étions tous gris. Maggie,[1] à son aspect, leva la tête bien haul; la tourna d'un autre côté avec mépris, ce qui força le pauvre Duncan à se tenir à une distance respectueuse.
Duncan pria et supplia … Maggie resta sourde comme les roches d'Ailsa.[2] Duncan sortait et rentrait en poussant toujours de gros soupirs, en pleurant jusqu'à n'y plus voir, et parlu d'aller se noyer. …
"Les temps et les événements ne sont qu'un flux et reflux: On supporte difficilement un amour dédaigné. Il s'ecria donc: Quoi! je mourrai comme un fou pour une fillette hautaine! qu'elle aille courir la France pour moi?[3]
"Que les docteurs nous disent comment cela s'est fait; mais Maggie est devenue malade en proportion que Duncan a guéri; un trouble s'est glissé dans son âme. … Pour se loulager elle pousse des soupírs, et ses yeux ont parlé de quelyuechose…
