You will find this matchless translation almost anywhere, so we need not occupy the time further with it; but I doubt whether you have noticed as yet other wonderful translations made by this master from the French. Such is the song from Victor Hugo's drama "Les Burgraves"; you will not forget Rossetti's translation after having once read it.
Through the long winter the rough wind tears;
With their white garments the hills look wan.
Love on: who cares?
Who cares? Love on!
My mother is dead; God's patience wears;
It seems my chaplain will not have done!
Love on: who cares?
Who cares? Love on!
The Devil, hobbling up the stairs,
Comes for me with his ugly throng.
Love on: who cares?
Who cares? Love on.
Another remarkable translation from the same drama is that of the song beginning:
In the time of the civil broils
Our swords are stubborn things.
A fig for all the cities!
A fig for all the kings!
and ending:
Right well we hold our own
With the brand and the iron rod.
A fig for Satan, Burgraves;
Burgraves, a fig for God!
But even more wonderful Rossetti seems when we go back to the old French, as in the translation which has been called "My Father's Close."
Inside my father's close
(Fly away O my heart away!)
Sweet apple-blossom blows
So sweet.
Three kings' daughters fair,
(Fly away O my heart away!)
They lie below it there
So sweet!
Now the Old French of the first stanza will show you the astonishing faithfulness of the rendering: