Rotterdam

Wrought Iron
Hierro Forjado

Erasmus Bridge
Rotterdam

Psalms 33:4
“For the word of the LORD is right; and all his works are done in truth.”

 

 

 

Mathilda

 

 

"Off the eastern side of the square ran a small street, and on a corner thus formed stood a house that was a masterpiece: three stories high, with two verandas, not just one, and cascading from each, flowers—yellow, red and blue. But what made it unforgettable to those who admired it as they took their coffee from the kiosk below was the delectable latticework, woven with very slender iron strands, which decorated the two extended verandas. ‘Metallic lace,’ an approving woman had called the effect, and her description had stuck: Maison Dentelle—House of Lace."~~~James A. Michener: CARIBBEAN. Ch.9 The Creoles  

Here’s a natural Spanish translation for this passage:
"Al lado oriental de la plaza corría una pequeña calle, y en una esquina así formada se alzaba una casa que era una obra maestra: tres pisos de altura, con dos verandas, no solo una, y desde cada una de ellas descendían flores—amarillas, rojas y azules. Pero lo que la hacía inolvidable para quienes la admiraban mientras tomaban su café en el quiosco de abajo era el exquisito enrejado, tejido con finísimas hebras de hierro, que adornaba las dos verandas extendidas. ‘Encaje metálico,’ comentó con aprobación una mujer al describirlo, y su expresión se había quedado: Maison Dentelle—Casa de Encaje."

 

 

 

Eiffel Tower
 

 

 

 

Erasmus Bridge

 

 

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
 

 The Village Blacksmith
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Under a spreading chestnut-tree
    ⁠The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
    With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
    Are strong as iron bands.
 
His hair is crisp, and black, and long;
    His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
    He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
    For he owes not any man.
 
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
    You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
    With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
    When the evening sun is low.
 
And children coming home from school
    Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
    And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
    Like chaff from a threshing floor.
 
He goes on Sunday to the church,
    And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
    He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
    And it makes his heart rejoice.
 
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
    Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
    How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
    A tear out of his eyes.
 
Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,
    Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
    Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
    Has earned a night's repose.
 
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
    For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
    Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
    Each burning deed and thought!

 

 

Chess: "Wrought Iron" "Hierro Forjado" "Rotterdam" "Goldsmith" "Eiffel Tower" "Toledo" "Erasmus Bridge"