MIRROR

AMSTERDAM’S SUMMER DELIGHTS,

AMSTELVEEN, SLOOTEN, AND THE OVERTOOM,

CHURCHES, MANSIONS, PLEASURE GROUNDS, LANES, ROADS, CANALS, ETC.

Cruel winter! You, who on gloomy and dark days,
Scourge the earth with your snow and hail storms,
Depart, depart from this region! Apollo’s glow gains strength.
He has already brought his daily journey into the Ram The zodiac sign Aries, marking spring.,
And makes the grass and herbs sprout from Vesta’s bosom.
Blonde Zephyrus The West Wind. comes to unlock the high trees,
And gives them buds and shoots, from which the green
Will soon adorn its crown, in the lovely embrace of Spring.
I already see Laura leading her fresh little sheep from afar
In the first clover-green; Menalkas A traditional name for a shepherd in pastoral poetry. fills his meadows
With the cattle that provide milk and butter,
Two heavenly gifts for which our Holland is renowned,
As the very first fruit of two parts of the world.
We grant Asia its treasures and jewels,
America its gold, and the African shore
Its monsters and beasts: in our blessed land
Noble commerce makes abundance always thrive,
Through all that the lap of the earth can yield.
But softly! Where am I wandering? The youth of the fields smile at me,
They invite my Muse to join them in the dance,
Where Flora Goddess of flowers. checkers the green field with buttercups.
O Country joy! Who shall praise you according to your worth?
You are released and freed from the city’s bustle,
No greedy self-interest, or restless envy
Disturbs you in your peace and industrious tasks,
O lovely delight of the soul! I must step outside,
The city becomes too narrow for me, however spacious within its walls,
However broad along the ship-rich Y The IJ, the water body at Amsterdam., where keels without number,
With sails, flags, and pennants please the eye:
No, I must go outside, the sun begins to dawn.
Up, up my Singing Muse! The rising morning light
Invites you to Amstelveen and Slooten, to steal
The view of all the beauty of this place,
And to play upon it with your attention and your spirit:
To see how Mother Nature cultivates and feeds everything,
How one man finds his livelihood through another,
For where a Lord finds his pleasure in the green paths,
And lanes of his garden, to rest himself
From the Exchange and household cares, the Farmer finds his gain,
And necessary sustenance for house and family,
Whether he grafts, or plants, or prunes the high trees,
Or digs up the flowerbed, to make it grow better,
To the joy of the Lord, who pays him for his labor,

And lives there only for a short time for his amusement.
Let us behold this lovely beauty, O Singing Muse!
And breathe in the lush country dew.
There is the Leydse-poort The Leiden Gate of Amsterdam., which invites you outside,
Everything lives here, young and old, and small and great,
Each strives to approach the green of spring;
One hears the drawbridge creak under the weight of the people,
One runs with chaises and coaches, and wagons and horses,
Each most eagerly, along our Overtoom canal,
To greet the merry Amstelveen and Slooten,
And to meet with a safety in the country-building,
Which the city denies us, to unblemished joy,
Since there, gossip always plots to make the youth
Languish, to spy on them and judge everything evil,
While through their own spite no joy may ever come to them.
I choose then, O Amstel-youth! With you the spacious air.
O Overtoom road! I see you, as a fruit
Of industrious activity, adorned with houses and trees,
Their care has bestowed that ornament and meadow upon you,
You, so gloriously saved by invention and by spirit
From a mud-puddle, as you once were,
Planted with garden and yard, where Flora’s gifts bloom,
Where all the fruits grow lushly on their stems,
While the grazing cattle walk in fat meadows,
And lowing, greet the first dawn.
Now my progress is held back by the Windmills.
O Wind-structure! Who can watch you turning,
Without being mindful of the changeability
That the world gives us? While one laments his disaster,
The other finds himself at the peak of honor and is exalted,
Only to provide a greater terror by his fall;
What is below rises; what is up falls down,
Thus all earthly bustle has a certain turn of fate.
Just as the Mill-sail is now below, then above.
How high, O Solon Ancient Greek statesman and lawgiver., is your good proverb to be praised!
Who considered no one here on earth happy,
Before he was brought to the grave in such a state,
And that his end could equal his life.
But it is time to calm my reflection.
I am already at the bridge of the Pesthuis The Pest-house, or plague hospital.. Alas! I shudder,
At the mention of that evil, which in a single moment