These translations were intended to form a volume with copious notes, but were only completed a month before Mr. Borrow's death, which occurred at his residence, Oulton Cottage, Suffolk, July 26th, 1881, in the seventy-ninth year of his age. This grand old man, full of years and honour, was buried beside his wife (who had proved a noble helpmate to him), in Brompton Cemetery, August 4th.
And so what many will consider Borrow's 'craze' for verse translations remained with him to the end. We know with what equanimity he bore his defeat in early years. Did he not make humorous 'copy' out of it in Lavengro. It must have been a greater disappointment that his publisher would have none of his wares when he had proved by writing The Bible in Spain that at least some of his work had money in it. For years it was Borrow's opinion that Lockhart stood in his way, wishing to hold the field with his Ancient Spanish Ballads (1821), and maintaining that Borrow was no poet. The view that Borrow had no poetry in him and that his verse is always poor has been held by many of Borrow's admirers. The view will not have the support of those who have had the advantage of reading all Borrow's less known published writings, and the many manuscripts that he left behind him. But on the general question let us hear Mr. Theodore Watts-Dunton:—
It should never be forgotten that Borrow was, before everything else, a poet.... By poet I do not mean merely a man who is skilled in writing lyrics and sonnets and that kind of thing, but primarily a man who has the poetic gift of seeing through 'the show of things,' and knowing where he is—the gift of drinking deeply of the waters of life, and of feeling grateful to Nature for so sweet a draught.'[245]
Possibly Mr. Watts-Dunton did not contemplate his idea being applied to Borrow's verse translations, but all the same the quality of poetic imagination may be found here in abundance. The little Welsh bookseller of Smithfield said to Borrow in reference to The Sleeping Bard:
Were I to print it I should be ruined; the terrible description of vice and torment would frighten the genteel part of the English public out of its wits, and I should to a certainty be prosecuted by Sir James Scarlett. I am much obliged to you for the trouble you have given yourself on my account—but, Myn Diawl! I had no idea, till I had read him in English, that Elis Wyn had been such a terrible fellow.
And here the little Welsh bookseller paid Borrow a signal compliment. In the main Borrow provided a prose translation of The Sleeping Bard. In Targum however, he showed himself a quite gifted balladist, far removed from the literary standard of Romantic Ballads ten years earlier. Space does not permit of any quotation in this chapter, and I must be content here to declare that the spirit of poetry came over Borrow on many occasions. The whole of Borrow's Songs of Scandinavia will ultimately be published, although for eighty and more years[246] the pile of neatly written manuscript of that book, which is now in my possession, has appealed for publication in vain. There will be found, in such a ballad as Orm Ungerswayne, for example, a practical demonstration that Borrow had the root of the matter in him. It is true that Borrow's limited acquaintance with English poetry was a serious drawback to great achievement, and his many translations from his favourite Welsh bard Goronwy Owen that are before me are too much under the influence of Pope. In addition to the Songs of Scandinavia I have before me certain other ballads in manuscript—such portions of his various unpublished but frequently advertised works as did not fall to Dr. Knapp.[247] Of these I do not hesitate to say that whatever the difference of opinion as to their poetic quality there can be no difference of opinion as to their being well-told stories of an exceedingly interesting and invigorating character. But I must leave for another time and another opportunity any discussion of Borrow's poetic achievement of which at present the world has had little opportunity of knowing anything.[248] Of prose manuscript there is also a considerable quantity, including diaries of travel and translations of nine or ten stories from various languages. Of the minor books already published we have already spoken of Faustus, Romantic Ballads, Targum, and The Talisman, and Borrow's last and least interesting book Romano Lavo-Lil. There remains but to recall:—
| The Sleeping Bard, | published by | John Murray, 1860 |
| The Turkish Jester, | " | W. Webber, 1884 |
| The Death of Balder, | " | Jarrold and Sons, 1889 |
These eight little volumes will always remain Borrow's least-read books. Only in Targum and The Sleeping Bard do we find much indication of those qualities which made him famous. It is not in the least surprising that the other work failed to find a publisher, and, indeed, from a merely commercial point of view, the late John Murray had more excuse for refusing Romano Lavo-Lil, which he did publish, than The Sleeping Bard, which he refused to publish—at least on his own responsibility. Such books, whatever their merits, are issued to-day only by learned societies. In a quite different category were those many ballads[249] from diverse languages that Borrow had hoped to issue under such titles as Celtic Bards, Chiefs and Kings, and Northern Skalds, Kings and Earls. These books would have had no difficulty in finding a publisher to-day were they offered by a writer of one half the popularity of Borrow.[250]
