After these examples of faulty translation, from a defect of taste in the translator, or a want of a just discernment of his author’s style and manner of writing, I shall now present the reader with some specimens of perfect translation, where the authors have entered with exquisite taste into the manner of their originals, and have succeeded most happily in the imitation of it.
The first is the opening of the beautiful ballad of William and Margaret, translated by Vincent Bourne.
I
When all was wrapt in dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,
In glided Margaret’s grimly ghost,
And stood at William’s feet.
II
Her face was like the April morn,
Clad in a wintry-cloud;