Introduction.
Who ſtood grieving, ſighs upheaving,
Spirit-reaving, boſom-cleaving;
or as Dr. Coles tranſlates them,
Trembling, grieving, boſom-heaving;
While perceiving, ſcarce believing,
we bring them perilouſly near to the abſurd.
In a word, free tranſlations do not catch the delicate pathos of the Stabat Mater, and are not echoes of its melody. I have hitherto had an occaſion to ſay that a tranſlator may well make three tranſlations of a poem; one to portray its ſtructure, that is, its meaſure, melody, movement and rhyme; one to present in detail its ideas and images; and one to produce an impreſſion as ſimilar as poſſible to that of the original on the mind of the reader. But many renderings do not ſeem to bring nearer to us the eluſive power of this original. The more the Stabat Mater is tranſlated, the farther it drifts from us.
Here, however, I ſhould add that Dr. Franklin Johnſon has publiſhed a tranſlation of the Stabat Mater—a beautiful poem in a beautiful ſetting—which probably comes as near to the ſpirit of the original as Engliſh verſe will ever bring us.
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