SOME BOOKS OF THE WEEK.
[Under this heading we notice such Books of the wear as hays not been reserved for review in other forms.] Lyrics and Poems from Ibsen. Translated by Fydell Edmund Garrett. Collected and arranged by Mrs. F. E. Garrett. With an Introduction by Philip H. Wicksteed. (Dent and Sons. 4s. 6d. net.)—There is no complete English translation of Ibsen's poems, and, unfortunately, Mr. Garrett did not live to finish the task which he set himself. Only some thirty of the lyrics (that is, about half of the total number) are included in this volume, the greater part of which is occupied by a translation of "Brand." Garrett's versions are stiffer than those contained in the little collection published by Mr. Streatfeild some years ago, but this is probably due to the fact that they are closer to the originals. On the whole they are satisfactory, and enable one to get an idea of this strange, withered limb of Ibsen's genius. Mr. Wicksteed in his preface quotes a remark of Brandes to the effect that the poems "proved that at some point in the battle of life Ibsen had had a lyrical Pegasus shot under him." We cannot help doubting whether the beauty of these poems has even an element of what is usually meant by "'lyrical" in it. Here is one of the most characteristic :—
"The last, /ate•guest To the gate we followed ; Good-bye—and the rest The night-wind swallowed.
House, garden, street,
Lay tenfold. gloomy, Whereaccents sweet Had made music to ale.
It was tut a feast With the dark coming on; She was but a guest,— And now, she is gone."
Here is a poem charged with imagination and with dramatic terseness—with much the same, quality that flashes through the dialogue of the-later plays—but we should hesitate to describe it as lyrical.
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