He is a friend and protege of Dr. Witherspoon, of the College of
Princeton, who never tires of reading his verses to us. I wish I could
give you some idea of the beauty and power of the poem," and he began to
translate "For a' that, and a' that" into the best French at his
command, smiling every now and then at the strange substitutes for
Burns's Scotch which he was forced to employ and at the curious
metamorphosis of the poem into French prose. But he managed to infuse
the spirit and sentiment of the original into his offhand translation,
and Madame de St. Andre listened attentively.
"I would like to hear more of your poet," she said, gently, when Calvert
had finished speaking. "I do not remember to have heard Monsieur Chenier
speak of him or the Abbe Delille, either. The Abbe is often good enough
to read poetry to us in my aunt's drawing-room, but 'tis usually his
own," and she laughed mischievously. "The poor gentleman makes a great
fuss about it, too. He must have his dish of tea at his elbow and the
shades all drawn, with only the firelight or a single candle to read by,
and when we are all quaking with fear at the darkness and solemn
silence, he begins to recite, and imagines that 'tis his verses which
have so moved us!" and she laughed merrily again.
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