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                          AMERICANA GERMANICA

                              NEW SERIES

          MONOGRAPHS DEVOTED TO THE COMPARATIVE STUDY OF THE
           Literary, Linguistic and Other Cultural Relations
                                  OF
                          Germany and America


                                EDITOR

                         MARION DEXTER LEARNED
                      University of Pennsylvania




                     TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN POETRY
                                  IN
                          AMERICAN MAGAZINES

                               1741-1810

             TOGETHER WITH TRANSLATIONS OF OTHER TEUTONIC
                  POETRY AND ORIGINAL POEMS REFERRING
                        TO THE GERMAN COUNTRIES


                      EDWARD ZIEGLER DAVIS, PH.D.

    _Instructor in German and Sometime Harrison Research Fellow in
                Germanics, University of Pennsylvania_


              PHILADELPHIA AMERICANA GERMANICA PRESS 1905

    REPUBLISHED BY GALE RESEARCH COMPANY, BOOK TOWER, DETROIT, 1966




                            Copyright, 1905

                        By EDWARD ZIEGLER DAVIS

PAPER USED IN THIS EDITION IS A FINE ACID FREE PERMANENT/DURABLE PAPER
               COMMONLY REFERRED TO AS "300-YEAR" PAPER




                             TO MY PARENTS
          IN APPRECIATION OF THEIR INTEREST AND ENCOURAGEMENT
                          IN THE PRESENT WORK




                               PREFACE.


The present study is an extension of a thesis, presented to the
Faculty of the Department of Philosophy of the University of
Pennsylvania in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree
of Doctor of Philosophy. The object has been to treat the material in
the early American magazines which gave readers information about
Germany and other Teutonic countries. While the primary aim has been
to discuss the translations of poetry and the original poems bearing
on the subject, all relevant prose articles have also been listed.
Since many of the magazines used are extremely rare and almost unique,
the texts from them are here reprinted in order to make such
information accessible. As some of the translations and poems,
however, have been traced to Thomas Campbell, Sir Walter Scott,
William Wordsworth, Thomas Gray and others, whose works are to be
found in almost any library, reprinting was unnecessary in these
cases. M. G. Lewis' _Tales of Terror and Wonder_ has had, besides many
early imprints, a recent edition by Henry Morley in 1887 and the poems
from it that appeared in the American magazines are here mentioned by
title only, the one exception being _The Erl-King_, which is included
because of several variants. Long poems like _The Wanderer of
Switzerland_ (which itself would make a small book) are not reprinted.

Parts II to V are arranged chronologically, so as to show the gradual
growth of the German influence. Translations and poems are therefore
reprinted under the date of their first appearance; later publications
of them in the magazines are here recorded simply by title, with a
note giving the earliest date. The texts are reprinted exactly as they
appeared in the early American periodicals, thus presenting the
information about Germany in the same form in which readers of a
century ago received it. Mistakes are often interesting as
illustrative of an ignorance about German names and words. Only the
most evident typographical errors have been corrected, such as
"spweep" for "sweep," "bilssful" for "blissful," and "fustain" for
"sustain." Differences due to eighteenth century orthography are
retained.

The subject has been investigated to the end of the year 1840, but
this volume treats only the period ending with 1810. Often for the
sake of complete lists, however, poems of a later date are mentioned.
Throughout Parts II to V, notes by the present author, except mention
of sources from which the reprints are made, are inclosed in brackets.

The courtesy and assistance rendered in obtaining the magazines make
me indebted to the attendants in the various libraries visited,
particularly to Mr. Allan B. Slauson, of the Library of Congress. I
wish to thank Professor Daniel B. Shumway, of the University of
Pennsylvania, for helpful criticism, and Professor John L. Haney, of
the Philadelphia Central High School, for valuable information about
the German literary influence in England during the period under
discussion and for improvements suggested in the preparation of the
Introduction.

I am especially indebted to Professor Marion D. Learned, of the
University of Pennsylvania, at whose suggestion and under whose
inspiration the present investigation has been carried on.

                                               EDWARD Z. DAVIS.
     PHILADELPHIA, January, 1905.




                               CONTENTS.


  I--INTRODUCTION                                          1

 II--TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN POETRY                        21

III--TRANSLATIONS OF DUTCH, DANISH, NORWEGIAN AND
ICELANDIC POETRY, AND ORIGINAL POEMS REFERRING
TO THE GERMAN COUNTRIES                                   95

 IV--LIST OF TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN PROSE AND LIST OF
ORIGINAL ARTICLES ON THE GERMAN COUNTRIES                191

  V--LIST OF MAGAZINES EXAMINED                          215

INDEX                                                    225




                             INTRODUCTION.


The important influence which German literature has exercised on
American culture and literature extends from the early part of the
nineteenth century. This influence was, in a measure, a continuation
of the interest and activity that had existed in England during the
last quarter of the eighteenth century. Prior to 1790, numerous
translations from Gellert, Wieland, Klopstock, Lessing, Goethe and
Schiller appeared from time to time, but it was not until William
Taylor of Norwich began to write, that the movement, which culminated
in the works of Coleridge, Carlyle and others, assumed definite
form.[1]

    [Footnote 1: John L. Haney, _German Literature in England
    before 1790_, in the _Americana Germanica_, IV, No. 2.

    Cf. also, Dr. Haney's monograph, _The German Influence on
    Samuel Taylor Coleridge_, Philadelphia, 1902.

    Georg Herzfeld, _William Taylor von Norwich_, Halle a. S.
    1897.]

American literature at this time was still subservient to that of
England and it is not surprising that the new literary impulse from
Germany should have found reflection on this side of the Atlantic.
This foreign influence was further aided by direct contact with
Europe. By the second or third decade of the last century the studies
of American scholars abroad became an important factor in our
intellectual development. In 1819 Edward Everett returned from Europe
to become professor of Greek at Harvard University. He had studied at
the University of Göttingen, where he had become enthusiastic for the
methods of German scholarship. While in Europe he secured for Harvard
College a large number of German books, which soon proved to be a
stimulus to the students of the institution. In 1823 W. E. Channing in
his _Remarks on National Literature_ advocated the study of French and
German authors, so that our literature might attain a position of
independence from that of England.[2] Two years later, in 1825, Karl
Follen entered upon his duties at Harvard College as instructor in
German.[3]

    [Footnote 2: _The Works of William E. Channing_, Boston,
    1849. Geo. D. Channing. Vol. I-277.

    Cf. also, the remark of Francis Hopkinson, p. 194.]

    [Footnote 3: As early as 1754 William Creamer (or Cramer) was
    appointed Professor of the French and German Languages, at
    the University of Pennsylvania, which position he held for
    twenty-one years. In 1780 a German Professorship of Philology
    was established in the same institution. J. C. Kunze, the
    first appointee, lectured in German on Latin and Greek. After
    1784, his successor, J. H. C. Helmuth, carried out the same
    policy.

    Cf. M. D. Learned, _Address at the Opening of the Bechstein
    Library_, University of Pennsylvania, March 21, 1896.]

Before Edward Everett went abroad to study, however, American
scholars had begun to seek wider cultural advantages at the centres of
learning in Europe.[4] They were mostly theological students, or men
more or less closely connected with the diplomatic service. The most
prominent among the latter class was John Quincy Adams, who spent
several years in Europe. His interest in German literature is shown by
the fact that he translated Wieland's _Oberon_, which however was not
published, because Sotheby's translation had just appeared in
London.[5]

    [Footnote 4: Benjamin Franklin's visit to the University of
    Göttingen is described in the _Göttingische Anzeigen_ for
    Sept. 13, 1766, which states that the session of the Royal
    Society of Sciences held on the 19th of the preceding July
    was more impressive than usual. "The two famous English
    scholars, the royal physician, Mr. Pringle, and Mr. Benjamin
    Franklin, from Pennsylvania, who happened to be at that time
    in Göttingen on a trip through Germany, took their seats as
    members of the society."

    Cf. the account by Dr. E. J. James (_The Nation_, Apr. 18,
    1895, p. 296), reprinted in B. A. Hinsdale's article _Foreign
    Influence upon Education in the United States_, published in
    the _Report of the Commissioner of Education_, 1897-98. Vol.
    I, pp. 604-607.

    Cf. also, L. Viereck, _German Instruction in American
    Schools_, ibid., 1900-1901. Vol. I, p. 543.]

    [Footnote 5: Adams wrote also an account of his journey to
    Silesia in July, 1800. This was in the form of twenty-nine
    letters to his brother, written during the trip, and thirteen
    more added after his return to Berlin. Although they were
    private communications, the editor of the _Port Folio_
    secured them for his magazine and printed them anonymously,
    without suppressing personal references, as the author would
    have done, had he known of the publication.

    "Whether these passages ever came under the observation of
    the persons affected is not certain. So long as they remained
    confined to the columns of an American publication of that
    day, the probabilities would favor the negative. But they
    were not so confined. Again, without the knowledge or consent
    of the author, an individual, unknown to him, but fully aware
    of the facts in the case nevertheless took the collection
    from the _Portfolio_ to London, and there had them printed
    for his own benefit, in an octavo volume, in the year 1804.
    From this copy they were rendered into German, and published
    at Breslau the next year, with notes, by Frederick Albert
    Zimmerman; and in 1807 a translation made into French, by J.
    Dupuy, was published in Paris by Dentu.

    "Thus it happened that these letters, originally intended as
    purely familiar correspondence, obtained a free circulation
    over a large part of Europe without the smallest agency on
    the part of the author, or any opportunity to correct and
    modify them as he certainly would have done had he ever
    possessed the power."

    _Memoirs of John Quincy Adams_, Edited by Charles Francis
    Adams. 12 vols., Philadelphia, 1874. Vol. I, 240-241.

    The American publication began in the _Port Folio_, I-1, Jan.
    3, 1801, Phila. For a review of the English edition, cf. _The
    Monthly Review or Literary Journal_, XLV-350, December, 1804,
    London.]

A little later, in 1809, Alexander Hill Everett went to Russia as
secretary to the legation and spent several years in different cities
on the continent.[6] George Ticknor visited Germany in 1815 to prepare
for his duties as professor of modern languages at Harvard; and George
Bancroft, after graduating from college in 1817, studied for five
years at Göttingen, Heidelberg and Berlin. Henry E. Dwight was at
Göttingen from 1824-1828 and in the next year published in New York
_Travels in the North of Germany, 1825-6_. It was about this time that
James Fenimore Cooper began his European travels, which lasted from
1826 to 1833.[7] Thus, American scholars had been acquiring German
thought and culture at first hand, before Longfellow or Emerson went
abroad for the first time. With these two the German influence in
America reached its height--Longfellow in literature, and Emerson in
his transcendental philosophy.

    [Footnote 6: "He [A. H. Everett] had probably studied German
    while he was associated with John Quincy Adams in St.
    Petersburg, where German influence was strong and the study
    of the language and literature could be pursued under the
    most favorable conditions. The _United States Magazine and
    Democratic Review_, New York, Vol. X (N. S.) 1842--p. 461,
    states that he studied at St. Petersburg, among other things,
    the modern languages."

    Frederick H. Wilkens, _Early Influence of German Literature
    in America_ in the _Americana Germanica_, III, No. 2, p.
    155.]

    [Footnote 7: M. D. Learned, _German as a Culture Element in
    American Education_, Milwaukee, 1898.]

This was the second channel by which German literature became known in
this country. The first, as has already been indicated, came
indirectly through England. There, considerable activity in this line
had been manifest since 1790. Books of translations were published and
the magazines contained many fugitive pieces from the German. It is
chiefly a reflex of this interest that we find in American periodicals
to the end of 1810.

In America, likewise, German literature was made known to English
readers by means of translations either in book form or in the
magazines. The subject of translations in book form has been treated
in the recent article by Wilkens already mentioned. He discusses
German drama, fiction, poetry, philosophy, theology and pedagogy, and
gives in an appendix "A List of the Translations of German Literature
that were printed in the United States before 1826." These books,
however, were not the first means of introducing German authors to
American readers. The first mention of this foreign literature we
find, as a rule, in the magazines. Here are numerous accounts of the
lives of German writers, criticism of their books, notices of editions
(English or American) and besides these, many translations of poetry
and the shorter prose works. These articles or translations do not, of
course, antedate the earliest appearance of the same works in England,
but it is safe to say that whatever information on German literature
was offered in the American magazines reached the American public
sooner than the copies of an English book sent over here to be sold.
Many readers learned to know foreign literature through the medium of
the periodicals who would not think of purchasing all the books, of
which they had read reviews or selections. This was especially true of
the poetry. The prose works were usually too long for republication in
the magazines and could be announced only through critiques or
abstracts. Even here, however, some of the longer pieces appeared,
such as _The Apparitionist_ (Schiller's _Geisterseher_) in the _N. Y.
Weekly Mag._, I-16, etc., 1795, N. Y., and in the same magazine II-4,
etc., Tschink's _Victim of Magical Delusion_, while _The Mirror of
Taste and Dramatic Censor_, I, 1810, contains _Emilia Galotti_,
translated by Miss Fanny Holcroft. These prose pieces, being long,
were continued from number to number, but for the poetry this was not
necessary. Poems of the size of Klopstock's _Messiah_ or Gessner's
_Death of Abel_ appeared in the magazines only in selections or
extracts, while on the other hand most of the lyric poems, being
short, could very easily be reprinted entire in translation. With
hardly an exception, the short poems of German authors appeared in
America in the periodicals some time before they were issued in book
form; for example, the earliest publication of Gessner's _Idyls_
mentioned by Wilkens was in 1802,[8] whereas single idyls had been
translated for the magazines in 1774, 1775, 1792, 1795, 1798, 1799,
two in 1793, three in 1796 and five in 1801. Similarly, the first
American imprint of M. G. Lewis' _Tales of Wonder_ was issued in New
York in 1801, while five selections in it had already appeared in the
_Weekly Mag._, 1798-9, Phila.[9] In addition to these there were found
in the American magazines before 1811, ten translations from Bürger,
eight from Gellert, five from Lessing, four from Haller, three from
Goethe, two each from Jacobi, Klopstock, Matthisson and Schickaneder,
and one each from "Adelio," Bürde, Kotzebue, Patzke, "Sheller," and
"Van Vander Horderclogeth," together with several translations, for
which the name of the original author was not given. None of these
were printed in book form before 1826.[10]

    [Footnote 8: _New Idyls_, by S. Gessner. Philadelphia, 1802.]

    [Footnote 9:

    Bürger, _Leonora_ [Wm. Taylor--some variants], Vol. I-221.
    Bürger, _The Chase_ [Sir Walter Scott], Vol. II-413.
    ----, _The Water King_ [M. G. Lewis], Vol. III-92.
    Goethe, _The Erl-King_ [M. G. Lewis], Vol. III-93.
    ----, _The Erl-King's Daughter_ [M. G. Lewis], Vol. III-94.

    The last three, however, were also in Lewis' _Ambrosio or the
    Monk_, Philadelphia, 1798.]

    [Footnote 10: Wilkens' _List_. Two selections from Bürger and
    two from Goethe appeared in Lewis' collections, but no
    editions of their poems exclusively were issued. Klopstock's
    _Messiah_ was published three times before 1811, but not his
    shorter poems.]

The first translations of German poetry printed in America are to be
sought, therefore, in the magazines and it was here also that the
public received its first information about the lives of the German
literati. It is the object of the present study to consider the German
influence in the early American periodicals, treating especially the
translations of German poetry published in them.[11] Together with
these are to be found in Part III translations from the other Teutonic
literatures more or less closely connected with the German, namely,
translations of Dutch, Danish, Norwegian and Icelandic poetry, and
also original poems on German literature, history, biography,
etc.,--for example, _Ode on the late Victory obtained by the King of
Prussia_, _Charlotte's Soliloquy--to the Manes of Werter_, and
_Burlesque on the Style, in which most of the German romantic Ballads
are written_. To this has been added a list of translations of German
prose, and a list of original articles on Germany, etc., so that a
complete estimate of the German influence in these magazines can thus
be obtained.

    [Footnote 11: Wilkens mentions about a dozen magazines
    incidentally but no attempt has been made to investigate this
    field.]

The scope of the present work comprises the American magazines
published before 1811. By the term "American magazines" is meant all
magazines published in English, whether in the United States or
Canada. Periodicals in German, Spanish, French or other foreign
languages have been excluded. In as much as the study is primarily
concerned with literature it has been necessary, on account of the
great scope of the subject, to omit publications of a non-literary
type, e. g., newspapers, gazettes, periodicals dealing solely with
history, religious magazines, almanacs, etc. This method of exclusion
is not an easy one, for during the period under discussion the
magazine and the newspaper approached each other, the former printed
news and the latter gave specimens of literature, usually short poems.
It happened sometimes that a translation which appeared in a magazine
had been printed first in a newspaper. For example, _The Name
Unknown_, "Imitated from Klopstock's ode to his future mistress. By
Thomas Campbell," is to be found in the _Newport Mercury_, 1803,
Newport, just three years before it was printed in _The Evening
Fireside_, II-165, Phila. This illustrates the importance of the
newspaper in this connection, especially since the latter contained
also numerous paragraphs on things German, but it is a field for
separate investigation and in this connection must take second place
as compared with the literary periodicals.

Similarly the religious magazines often contain poems relative to our
subject, so that it has been necessary to include some of these
publications. Thus, the _Boston Observer and Religious Intelligencer_,
I-152, 1835, Boston, contains the poem _Trust in God_, "Translated
from the German," whereas others indicate on their title page their
dual character, e. g., _The Literary and Theological Review_, 1834-39,
N. Y., _The Monthly Miscellany of Religion and Letters_, 1839, etc.,
Boston, and _The Monthly Mag. of Religion and Literature_, 1840,
Gettysburg. Most of the religious magazines, however, belong to the
period after 1810.

Lastly, even some of the almanacs come almost within the range of the
present discussion, for the earlier ones have poems[12] and
interesting information, and were carefully read by the general
public. Most of these had their vogue before the literary magazine
became prominent and therefore represent a period before the German
literary influence had made itself felt. Of those that were examined,
none contained material to warrant their inclusion in the list given
in Part V.

    [Footnote 12: _Universal American Almanack, or Yearly Mag._,
    1764, Phila., contains a poem entitled _Golden Verse of
    Pythagoras_.]

Whenever periodicals were found to be of the types just mentioned,
they were omitted from further consideration. There are two other
kinds of publications, however, that have been included in the present
investigation. The first is the English magazine reprinted in this
country. Since it is impossible to exclude all translations in
American magazines made by Englishmen--as will be shown later on--it
has been found practical to take, as the basis of selection, all
periodicals actually published on this side of the Atlantic. The only
examples of this class that fall within our period are _The Mirror_,
I-II, 1803, Phila.--a reprint of a magazine of the same name, that
appeared in Edinburgh, 1779-1780, _The Connoisseur_, I-IV, 1803,
Phila. (London, 1755) and _The Quarterly Review_, I-IV, printed in
London and reprinted in New York, 1810. In some instances the material
in the American edition differs from that of the English, so that it
is quite necessary to include this class of periodicals.

The other type of publications, alluded to, is the miscellany. It
contained poems, prose selections and articles on a wide range of
subjects. It differed from the magazine simply in one respect, namely,
that it was issued with less regularity. It offers, however, valuable
additions to the present collection.[13] Thus, even by omitting all
irrelevant publications, the field is a broad one and rich in
important material.

    [Footnote 13: _Curiosities of Literature_, 1793, Philadelphia.
     _Miscellanies_, 1796, Burlington.
     _A Book_, a periodical work, 1807, New York.
     _The Thistle_, 1807, Boston.
     _Charms of Literature_, 1808, Trenton.
     _The Hive_, 1810, Hartford.]

In any investigation of the early American magazines the difficulty of
locating copies is apparent. The editions of many of these periodicals
were small, especially if issued from the less important literary
centers; so that now, after the lapse of a hundred years, their
volumes are extremely hard to trace. Another fact that aided in the
disappearance of these publications was their short existence. If a
periodical, like the _American Museum_ or the _Port Folio_, ran for a
number of years, it became well known and its volumes were carefully
preserved. The libraries attempted to get complete sets and thus the
magazine was made accessible for future generations. A large number of
these magazines, however, had a precarious existence for a year or
more, and then were discontinued for lack of support. Indeed, the many
failures among these literary ventures cause one to wonder why others
were undertaken, and yet year after year new magazines were launched
on the market with full anticipation of success. This certainly
indicates a widespread demand for this class of literature and if the
kind offered did not happen to suit the taste, the fickle public was
constantly deserting the old for the new.

The investigator is moreover impeded in his progress by lack of
definite and trustworthy information about these publications. There
is no complete list of the American magazines during the years under
discussion, although work has been done on the period to the end of
1800. Paul Leicester Ford published a _Check-list of American
magazines printed in the eighteenth century_ (1889, Brooklyn, N. Y.).
This was an attempt to list all publications referred to by any
writer, whether accessible or not. The present investigation, however,
has brought to light thirty-five or forty volumes of magazines
(including twenty new titles), evidently unknown to Ford, not to speak
of several newspapers of more or less literary value; but the latter
seem to have been omitted intentionally from the _Check-list_.

Even the magazines of Philadelphia, the literary center of the country
during the eighteenth century, have not been listed. "A complete list
of the Philadelphia magazines is impossible. Many of them have
disappeared and left not a rack behind. The special student of
Pennsylvania history will detect some omissions in these pages, for
all that has here been done has been done at first hand, and where a
magazine was inaccessible to me, I have not attempted to see it
through the eyes of a more fortunate investigator."[14] What is here
said of Philadelphia is equally true of Boston, New York, Baltimore
and the other centers of literary activity of a century ago.

    [Footnote 14: Albert H. Smyth, _The Philadelphia Magazines
    and their Contributors_, 1741-1850. Philadelphia, Robert M.
    Lindsay, 1892. Preface, p. 5.]

In spite of the difficulties just mentioned it has been possible,
after an extended search, to find enough volumes of the magazines to
form an almost complete list for the period in question. What
omissions there may be are, for the most part, obscure and unimportant
publications, which failed to attract enough attention to be included
in the large collections of this class of literature. One condition
favored the preservation of the American magazines; there were a few
institutions, like the Philadelphia Library Company, the American
Philosophical Society, and others, which were in existence during the
period when most of these publications were issued. It has been
possible for them to amass a fairly representative collection of
contemporaneous literature. On the other hand, more recent
institutions, like the Boston Public Library or the Library of
Congress, have displayed such industry in collecting, that they now
have splendid lists of these early periodicals.

The plan of the present investigation has been, therefore, to visit
those libraries where large numbers of the books needed are located
and thus, by combining the material secured in the different places,
to approach as near as possible to completeness. One library fills out
the gaps of another and it often happens that, in order to see the
entire set of a magazine, it is necessary to visit three or four
libraries. A record has been kept as to where the individual volumes
are, but as useful as this information might be for those working in
the same or in a kindred field it has been found too complex to be
indicated in the list of magazines given in Part V.[15] The material
here included is based on a personal examination of about three
hundred volumes representing one hundred and twenty-eight different
magazines.

    [Footnote 15: A list of the libraries consulted is given at
    the beginning of Part V.]

In treating the German influence in the American magazines, it is
important to consider the position which the magazine held during this
early period. Difference in conditions enabled the periodical to play
quite a different rôle from that which it now plays. In the eighteenth
century, as compared with the present day, free libraries were scarce
and readers had to depend largely on the books they could buy or
borrow. Then, too, books were expensive, because many had to be
imported from abroad, and those printed here could not be sold as
cheaply as now. These conditions favored the magazines, which were
inexpensive and furnished to their readers, besides original matter,
republications of the best literature of Europe. They kept the public
abreast with the times and supplied the place now occupied by the
numerous libraries and books which can be purchased at a moderate
cost.

Another element which the magazine of a century ago did not have to
contend with so vigorously was the newspaper. The modern newspaper is
becoming larger and larger, and is making increased demand every day
on the time and interest of the public. In the eighteenth century and
the first decade of the nineteenth this was not the case. To be sure,
there were many newspapers, gazettes and advertisers, but they were
comparatively small in size, consisting usually of only four or six
pages. "At the period of the American Revolution, journalism had
nowhere reached [an] advanced stage of effectiveness. In America,
especially, the newspapers were petty, dingy, languid, inadequate
affairs; and the department of the newspaper now devoted to editorial
writing, then scarcely existed at all."[16] Many editors considered
the news available to be sufficient merely for a weekly instead of a
daily issue. This is not surprising. With the absence of the modern
telegraph, telephone, ocean cable and steam railroad the facility for
getting news from a distance was greatly diminished. Then, too, as the
population of the country was much smaller than now, the most
important domestic news could be told in a few columns. All this
tended to keep the newspapers within moderate proportions, and
although they were numerous, it is safe to say that they did not make
such a demand on the reader's time as to divert his attention from a
more serious kind of literature. People had, therefore, plenty of
leisure for careful perusal of the magazines, and these, by giving in
many cases a summary of the news, decreased the necessity for the
newspaper. For advertisements and business announcements the gazettes
and advertisers were the main source, but for general information and
current literature persons did not have to devote so much attention to
the newspaper.

    [Footnote 16: M. C. Tyler, _The Literary History of the
    American Revolution_, I, 1763-1776, New York, 1897, p. 18.]

As far as can be learned, the magazine in this early period was
regarded in a more serious light than to-day. It was not a means to
while away an idle hour--something to be glanced at hastily and then
thrown aside. The editors attempted, on the contrary, to give the best
literature at their disposal, whether original or reprint, and
endeavored to improve the public taste by selecting matter that would
be acceptable to a scholarly audience. "A striking difference between
the older magazine and the recent ones is the conspicuous absence from
the journal of a century ago of what is commonly called 'light
literature.'"[17]

    [Footnote 17: Smyth, _op. cit._, p. 20.]

Tyler mentions the same conditions. "Our colonial journalism soon
became, in itself, a really important literary force. It could not
remain forever a mere disseminator of public gossip, or a placard for
the display of advertisements. The instinct of critical and brave
debate was strong even among those puny editors, and it kept
struggling for expression. Moreover, each editor was surrounded by a
coterie of friends, with active brains and a propensity to utterance;
and these constituted a sort of unpaid staff of editorial
contributors, who, in various forms,--in letters, essays, anecdotes,
epigrams, poems, lampoons,--helped to give vivacity and even literary
value to the paper."[18]

    [Footnote 18: M. C. Tyler, _A History of American
    Literature_, II, 1676-1765, New York, 1878, pp. 304, 305.]

Considering these facts, it is seen that the magazines of the period
under discussion played a more important rôle in the cultural
development of the people than they do now. They were not as numerous,
nor were so many copies of each number issued then as now, but the
population was also much smaller, and consequently a smaller number of
periodicals sufficed, although relatively they may have been as
numerous. One thing seems certain,--in the absence of so much other
reading matter, the magazine went into the home and was perused with
care by the different members of the household. We have only to refer
to the attention given to the almanacs during a period slightly
earlier, and these did not attempt to present as much entertaining
literature as the magazines. The prominence of these literary
periodicals in the development of American thought and culture is
usually overlooked, but should certainly be recognized in the history
of literature in America.

All this is very pertinent to the subject. The importance of the
translations and poems, here reprinted, in bringing things German
before the American public depends naturally upon the importance of
the channel by which they were introduced. From what has just been
said, it is evident that the magazine not only had a wider and freer
scope then than now, but also attempted to preserve as high a
literary and scholarly standard as was possible for that day. What was
admitted to its pages had therefore considerable weight and influence,
and became known at once as far as the magazine circulated. It is for
this reason that the appearance of so many poems and prose articles
relating to the German countries becomes so important, and the
interest here aroused was to increase many fold in the decades
immediately following.

The publication of translations of German poetry in the American
magazines indicates a twofold activity. In the first place it shows
active interest and enthusiasm on the part of a few individuals who
read and appreciated German literature and who had the ability not
only to understand the foreign poetry but also to translate it for
their fellow countrymen. How many there were who could read the
original, it is impossible to say, but these translators were
certainly only a small part of the Americans who understood German. In
the second place the appearance of German poems in the magazines
indicates a growing acquaintance with German literature, on the part
of the public at large. From the fact that the number of translations
increased from year to year we may infer that they found favor in the
eyes of the readers. Even if the circulation of the individual
magazines was small, the combined effect of so many must have been
considerable.

It may seem at first thought that relatively few poems have been
collected in proportion to the ground covered.[19] There is a
limitation, however, that must not be overlooked. Only a small part of
each magazine was devoted to poetry and, after the original
productions and the republications of English verse (which naturally
received first consideration), German could only hope for its share
along with the other foreign literatures. It is remarkable how many
foreign literatures are represented in the sections of these magazines
devoted to poetry. There are translations from the Latin, French,
German, Dutch, Danish, Norwegian, Norse (Icelandic), Italian, Spanish,
Portuguese, Irish, Welsh, Greek, Laplandish, Persian and Turkish. In
all this mass of translations, German ranks perhaps third as regards
quantity; it is exceeded only by the Latin and French.[20] This is
true, however, only for the period to the end of 1810. The situation
in the three succeeding decades is very different, but will be
discussed at a later time.

    [Footnote 19: There are in the magazines of the period, 71
    translations of German poetry and 10 duplicates; 68 original
    poems and translations of other Teutonic poetry, and 24
    duplicates.]

    [Footnote 20: No list of the translations from the Latin and
    French in these magazines has been made, so that a numerical
    comparison with those from the German is at present
    impossible.]

There is another reason why these magazines did not contain more
translations from the German. The period under consideration coincides
very closely with the classical epoch of German literature and many of
the masterpieces were not issued until near the end. _Hermann und
Dorothea_ appeared in 1797 and _Wallenstein_ three years later, while
_Wilhelm Tell_ was not finished until 1804 and the completed _Faust_
(first and second parts) was published twenty-three years after the
period closes. The dates of much of the classical German literature
precluded the possibility of its being translated until two thirds of
the period had passed. However valuable these works are, it is not
remarkable that they should not have become known immediately on this
side of the Atlantic. For the Germans here, the originals were all
that were needed, and it naturally took some time for the English part
of the population to realize the worth of the books and to demand
translations. These causes, then, prevented the German influence in
the magazines from assuming larger proportions.

The period treated in the present study is from 1741 to 1810
inclusive. The year 1741 is chosen as marking the beginning of the
American periodicals of a literary type. The publications of an
earlier date that were examined were devoted almost entirely to news,
or were almanacs that contained no literary material, for example, the
_New England Kalendar_, I, 1706, Boston, or the _New Weekly Journal_,
1728, Boston. These have been omitted from the list. It is therefore
not until 1741 that our period really begins. The two magazines which
were to be the pioneers of this extensive class of American literature
had been announced in the previous year. The _Phila. Weekly Mercury_
(Oct. 30, 1740) gives the prospectus of a magazine to be edited by
John Webbe and printed by Andrew Bradford; while in the _Pennsylvania
Gazette_ (Nov. 13, 1740) Franklin announced _The General Magazine and
Historical Chronicle for all the British Plantations in America_. A
bitter controversy soon arose,--Franklin claiming that Webbe had
stolen his plans, and Webbe accusing Franklin of using his position
as Postmaster to exclude the _Mercury_ from the mail. Both magazines
were issued in January, 1741; Webbe's journal, _The American Magazine;
or a Monthly View of the Political State of the British Colonies_, ran
for three months and Franklin's for six months.[21] With these, then,
the investigation for the present subject begins. As has been
indicated, the work has been extended to the end of the year 1840.
After that, German literature was established as a well known factor
in our intellectual development, as is shown by the numerous books of
translations and imitations, and the magazines were, henceforth, less
important in this particular. The period here treated extends only to
the end of 1810. These years witnessed the beginning of the movement
and the first period of considerable activity in this field. During
the years immediately following 1810 there was a decline in the German
literary influence in the American magazines.[22]

    [Footnote 21: John Bach McMaster, _Benjamin Franklin as a Man
    of Letters_, Boston, 1887, p. 129 seq.]

    [Footnote 22: A similar decline in the German literary
    influence was noticed also in England after 1810.]

To estimate definitively the amount of literary activity in America
with respect to things German, as illustrated by these translations
and poems, would require considerable information concerning the
translators. If the translator lived in England and his work was
simply reprinted in an American magazine, the literary activity
belongs more to England than to this country; but the fact that the
poem was reprinted shows a desire to acquaint readers here with
foreign poetry, the only difference being that the influence came
through England and not from Germany direct. Where the works printed
are from the pen of an American, they represent not only the ability
of the writer to appreciate German, but also the active interest to
reproduce it for the American public; the translation is then entirely
an American product. As to Englishmen here doing this kind of work, it
would be of advantage to know whether they were merely travelers or
sojourners, or had been here long enough to be considered an integral
part of our civilization. However useful this information would be, it
is, in a majority of cases, unobtainable. Most of the translations
appeared without any indication as to authorship. One thing that may
partly account for this was the tendency of the early magazines to
copy and plagiarize. Scores of poems were found which had previously
been printed in other periodicals (American or English), but for the
source of which no credit was given. Even the author's name was
suppressed. In one instance an editor inserted a poem that had
appeared in the very same magazine one or two years earlier, and yet
the readers were to receive it as something new.[23] The only possible
means of identification in these cases is by comparison with published
collections of translations. Several translations have thus been
traced to Sir Walter Scott, M. G. Lewis, William Taylor of Norwich and
others. Many are reprints from English magazines, concerning which it
is impossible at present to give more accurate information. The
subject has not been investigated with respect to the English
periodicals, and since their number is far greater than the American,
it would require a separate study to prepare a list of translations
from the German published in them. It is, therefore, impracticable to
exclude from the present discussion translations and poems by
Englishmen, for it is only where the author's name is mentioned, or a
note given, stating that the translation was made for such and such a
magazine, that we can be sure whether it was an American product or
not. The important fact is that the translation appeared in America
and helped to make known to American readers certain specimens of
German literature.

    [Footnote 23: _The Moss Rose_, From the German [of
    Krummacher]. _The Minerva_, I-40, May 4, 1822 and II-296,
    Dec. 20, 1823, N. Y.]

In the selection of material certain limitations were necessary. In
the list of prose translations and articles dealing with the German
countries, everything has been mentioned which refers directly or
indirectly to Germany. This is important in giving a complete estimate
of the interest shown, for there was a desire to know something about
German prose works, German biography and history as well as German
poetry. From the list of translations reprinted here, however, have
been excluded all translations of dramas except certain selections,
such as songs or short scenes approaching the lyrical mood. In most of
the portions of dramas reproduced the passages are too long for
republication or the interest is wholly dramatic and not lyric. The
subject of the present study is, then, specifically--the German lyric
poetry which appeared in English in the magazines of America.

The term "poetry" is here taken in a liberal sense and includes more
than the translations of German verse alone. Some translations were
found whose originals, though prosaic in form, are poetic in content.
This was readily recognized by the translators, who have accordingly
given metrical renderings. For example, we have _Letter LXI of the
Sorrows of Werter Versified_; four of Gessner's prose idyls have been
rendered into verse, and in the later period Krummacher's prose fable,
_The Moss Rose_, appears five times in verse (1819, 1822, 1823, 1829,
1831) and twice in prose (1827, 1833). Similarly, prose translations
of German verse have been included, e. g., two fables from Gellert
(1796), _Morning_, from Haller (1793), and the Swiss song, _Ranz des
Vaches_ (1805).[24] On the other hand, prose translations of Gessner's
prose idyls are recorded by title only. Another poem of a different
class must be mentioned. In the volumes examined only one German poem
written in America was found. This was _Hoffnung_ by "Adelio" and a
note stated that it was written "For the Philadelphia Repository"
(Feb. 18, 1804, Phila.). At the end were the words: "A poetical
translation is requested." The following number (Feb. 25) contained a
translation.

    [Footnote 24: The _Ranz des Vaches_ has also four metrical
    versions:

    1833--_The Lady's Book_, VI-164.
    1833--_The Juvenile Rambler_, II-84.
    1835--_Amer. Mo. Mag._, V-424.
    1809--_The Visitor_, I-72 (entitled _Cow Boy's Chant_).]

Another group of poems calling for some attention includes those
translated from the French. These are of two kinds. In the first place
there are poems written in French by Germans or Swiss, such as the
poems of Frederick the Great, and also the _Ranz des Vaches_. As to
the latter, the French verses are given in two instances together with
the translation,[25] so that it is certain what the original was. In
other instances no mention is made of the source. Since part of the
population of Switzerland has always been German, a German form of the
song very likely existed. It is difficult, therefore, to say whether
this or the French version was used by the translator. The title is
French but this might have been retained for the German stanzas.

    [Footnote 25: _Boston Weekly Mag._, III-60, Feb. 2, 1805,
    Boston.

    _The Visitor_, I-72, June 3, 1809, Richmond. ]

The second class of translations from the French comprehends those
from authors who usually wrote in German; thus, _Navigation_, "From
the French of Gessner" (1803), and _The Usurer_, "From the French of
Gellert" (_Port Folio_, XVI-245, 1823). Either these may have been
taken from French translations of the German,[26] or the word "French"
may be a mistake.[27] This second group has been classed with the
translations of German poetry (Part II); while the first group from
the French belongs to Part III.

    [Footnote 26: The British Museum catalogue mentions "_Fables
    et Contes_ [trans. principally from the German of C. F.
    Gellert, etc.], 1754."]

    [Footnote 27: Cf. _The Earth's Division_, "Trans. from Goethe
    [sic], by L. E. L." _Waldie's Port Folio_, Part I-123, Apr.
    11, 1835, Phila.

    Also, _Benevolence_, "A Fable from the German of Galleret"
    [sic], 1802.]

No attempt is here made to discuss the critical estimate that the
Americans of this period placed upon German literature. This would
require a consideration of all the prose articles, whereas the present
study has been devoted entirely to the poetry. It is hoped that, from
the list given in Part IV, such information may be obtained. Besides
the several paragraphs on German literati, the individual poems are
often preceded by an introductory note praising the original of the
translation. Even back in the eighteenth century, people were
considering the utility of the modern languages as opposed to the
classics. The _American Museum_, for example, published a _Speech on
the learned languages_, by the Hon. Francis Hopkinson, which concludes
with the remark that the "languages most in use are, in truth, the
most useful to be known."[28]

    [Footnote 28: _Amer. Mus._, III, Jan.-June, 1788, p. 539. Cf.
    Part IV, p. 194; also the remark of W. E. Channing, Part I,
    p. 1.]

On the other hand there were unsympathetic writers who ridiculed the
Germans and their literature. The _Monthly Magazine_ published a
letter entitled _Literary Industry of the Germans_, which decried
their pedantic scholarship in unprofitable directions.[29] This attack
is also expressed in the form of parodies, of which the following
were found: _The Wolf King_, a satire on _The Water King_, _The Fire
King_, etc. (1802), _The Paint King_, a burlesque on _The Cloud King_,
_The Fire King_ and others (1809, 1833), _Against Faustus_ (1804),
_The Squeaking Ghost_, "a tale imitated from the German, according to
the true and genuine principles of the horrifick" (1808, 1809, 1810),
_Parody on Bürger's Earl Walter_ (1807), _Ode to the German Drama_,
"Parody of Gray's Ode to Adversity" (1806), and _Burlesque on the
style in which most of the German romantic ballads are written_ (1799,
1801). In some of these instances the parodies may denote no real
hostility but merely a rhymester's attempt to be clever.

    [Footnote 29: "A German writer, L. W. Bruggeman, has
    published, at Stettin, in Pomerania, a Prussian province, a
    work, in English, on which he has laboured twenty-five years.
    It contains _a view of all the English editions, translations
    and illustrations of the ancient Greek and Latin authors_. In
    the execution of this work, he has been at great expense,
    being obliged to purchase and import a great number of
    English books. This is a very curious specimen of learned
    perseverance and labour. That a man should spend his life in
    recounting the translations of ancient authors into a
    language foreign to his own! It is one of the most difficult,
    tiresome, unpopular, and unprofitable branches of the trade.
    Germany, however, affords innumerable instances of this kind
    of literary diligence. There is a press at Leipsic abundantly
    supplied with editions and interpretations of Chinese,
    Abyssinian, Coptic and Syriac productions."

    _Mo. Mag. and Amer. Rev._, II-8, 1800, N. Y.]

It is worthy of note that several of the poems in these magazines may
be grouped together, thus indicating particular interest in certain
subjects. Each group forms, as it were, a cycle, though the individual
poems were usually written by different persons. One of these groups
attests the popularity of Frederick the Great, even before the
American Revolution. The translations from his poetry are: _Relaxation
of War_ (1758, 1795, 1798), _The King of Prussia's Ode imitated in
rhime_ (1758), _A literal translation of the King of Prussia's Ode_
(1758), _Translation of an Epistle from the King of Prussia to
Monsieur Voltaire_ (1759), _Ode to Death_ (1786, 1806), _Prayer of
Frederick II in Behalf of Poets_ (1805), and _A Song_ (1811). The
original poems about Frederick are: _Winter_, a poem, containing a
reference to "great Frederick's noble feats" (1758), _On the compleat
Victory ..._ (1758), _Ode on the late Victory obtained by the King of
Prussia_ (1758), _On the glorious Victory ..._ (1758), _The Third
Psalm paraphrased_, "Alluding to his Prussian Majesty" (1758), _On
reading in the publick Papers ..._ (1758), _The Royal Comet_,
referring to "Prussia's great Frederick" (1758), and _Mr. Voltaire's
letter to his Prussian Majesty, Translated_ (1758).

Another group treats the kings of the natural elements, so common in
German literature: _The Erl King_ (1798, July 1833, Sept. 1833, 1835,
1836, 1838, 1839), _The Erl King's Daughter_ (1798), _The Water King_,
a Danish Ballad (1798), _The Wolf King_, a parody on _The Water King_,
_The Fire King_, etc. (1802), _Hrim Thor, or the Winter King_ (1802),
_Grim, King of the Ghosts_ (1802) and _The Paint King_, a burlesque
on _The Cloud King_, _The Fire King_, etc. (1809, 1810, 1833). This
interest in the weird element explains the popularity of Bürger's
_Lenore_, which appears in translation in 1798, 1801, 1804, 1823,
1836, 1839, 1840.

Switzerland is described in a variety of poems, treating all phases of
the life and scenery. The most prominent among them is the Swiss song,
which is variously translated as the _Ranz des Vaches_, the _Cow Boy's
Chant_, and _The Song of the Swiss in a Strange Land_ (1805, Oct. 15,
Oct. 29, Nov. 1, Nov. 8, Dec. 17, 1808, June, June 3, 1809, twice in
1833 and once in 1835). In addition to the translations, there are
four imitations of the same poem: _The Swiss Exiles' Song_ (1835),
_The Switzer's Return_ [from America] (1836), _The Switzer's Song of
Home_ (1837, 1838), and _The Swiss Emigrant's Dream of Home_
(1840).[30]

    [Footnote 30: A translation of Schiller's _Ranz des Vaches in
    "William Tell"_ is given in _The Constellation_, III-266,
    July 7, 1832, N. Y.]

The last group of poems to be mentioned refers to Goethe's novel, _Die
Leiden des jungen Werthers_. This was evidently popular in America,
though by no means causing the widespread delirium and sentimentality
that had been rife in Germany. During our period the book was
published here six times in translation, and an English imitation,
_The Letters of Charlotte, during her Connexion with Werter_, had
three American reprints.[31] These, together with translations
imported from England, must have made Werter well known in this
country. It is not surprising, therefore, to find in the magazines
eight poems on the subject: _Narcissa_, containing a reference to
Werter in the third stanza (1787), _Charlotte's Soliloquy--to the
Manes of Werter_ (1787), _Death of Werter_ (1787), _Werter's Epitaph_
(1787, 1791, 1805), _On Reading the Sorrows of Werter_ (1790), _Letter
LXI of the Sorrows of Werter, Versified_ (1791), _Werter's Farewell to
Charlotte_ (1798) and _Charlotte at the Tomb of Werter_ (1809).

    [Footnote 31: Wilkens, _op. cit._, p. 164 seq.]

The early American magazines, then, were instrumental in making German
literature and especially German poetry known in America. It was
possible for them to print translations of individual poems of an
author long before there was a demand for them in book form. Gessner,
Bürger, Gellert, Lessing and others have already been mentioned in
this connection. It is interesting to note just what poets were
introduced to the American public by means of the magazines. Gessner
and Bürger were the most popular, the former appearing twenty-five
times and the latter ten times before 1811. Gessner was perhaps the
German poet best known in America. During this period his _Death of
Abel_ had no less than sixteen American imprints and four imitations,
while translations of his _Idyls_ appeared in book form twice in 1802
and once in 1807.[32] Bürger, on the other hand, was known only
through these poems in the magazines, or perhaps through imported
books. No volume of translations of his poems belongs to this period
of American printing.

    [Footnote 32: Wilkens, _op. cit._, p. 108 seq. and 164 seq.

    In England, likewise, the _Idyls_ were constantly on the
    book-market and _The Death of Abel_ had 20 editions before
    1800. Cf. Herzfeld, _op. cit._, p. 6.]

After these, Gellert, Lessing and Haller had some share of recognition
both by translation and criticism. Goethe, as has been shown, was
known as the author of _Werter_. As for his lyrical productions, only
two appeared, _The Erl-King_ (1798) and _Frederick and Alice_,
"Imitated rather than translated from a fragment introduced in
Goethe's _Claudine von Villa Bella_" (1807). Other poets, like Jacobi,
Klopstock, Matthisson, Kotzebue, Patzke or Bürde, found an occasional
admirer, but not enough was done to bring their characteristics
plainly before the public. In addition to these, there were numerous
parodies and original poems, which helped to emphasize the importance
of things German. This influence, moreover, was aided by the
translations of prose works and by articles on German literature,
history and biography, which are scattered through the pages of these
periodicals. The American magazines accomplished considerable for
German in this country. The movement here treated grew until it
assumed a widespread importance a few decades later, but the period to
the end of 1810 is interesting as marking the beginning. It was the
first epoch of this type of literary activity in America.




                                  II.

                    TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN POETRY.


                             THE OLD MAN.
                             From Gesner.
                 From the London Magazine, Oct. 1773.

[Prose translation.]

_Royal Amer. Mag._, p. 14, Jan. 1774, Boston.

[Reprint from the _London Mag._, p. 437, Sept. 1773, London. Preceding
the title: "For the London Magazine."

Salomon Gessner, _Palemon_, Idyllen, Erste Folge. Concerning the prose
translations from Gessner, cf. p. 16.]


                                         For the Pennsylvania Magazine.

                          MIRTIL AND THIRSIS.
                              A PASTORAL.
                           From the German.

[Prose translation.]

_Penna. Mag._, I-359, Aug. 1775, Phila.

[S. Gessner, _Myrtil. Thyrsis_. Idyllen, Erste Folge.]

Description (with an elegant Engraving) of the celebrated Tomb of
Madame Langhans, executed by Mr. John Augustus Nahl, late Sculptor to
the King of Prussia, and which is to be seen in the choir of the
parish church of Hindlebanck, two leagues from Berne.

As the inscription and verses of the Tombstone, which were written by
the celebrated M. de Haller, could not with propriety be introduced in
the engraving, we insert them here, in a free translation from the
original German.

    Hark! the majestic sound! the trumpet hear!
      See the astonish'd tombs give up their prey!
    Oh God! my Savior! 'tis thy voice I hear!
      And with my child, I come t'eternal day,
    Awake my infant; open now thine eyes,
      Leave the corruption of thy mortal birth,
    Arise my child, to thy Redeemer rise,
      And taste at length the joy denied on earth,
    Before his face death must yield to life;
      Hope to real joy ... there, purged from sins,
    Serenety succeeds to grief and strife, Time flies...
          Eternity begins.


In this blessed hope Sure that her Saviour will fulfill his promise,
Reposes in this Tomb, Guarded by a tender and sorrowful husband, Mary
Magdalen Waber, Born 8th August, 1723; And who departed this life on
Easter-Eve 1751, The wife of George Langhans, Preacher of the gospel
at Hindelbanck.

_Boston Mag._, I-56, Dec. 1783, Boston.


                           THE BACCHANALIAN.
                     (Translated from the German.)

    The thunder rolls dreadfully through the dark sky,
      To the cellar I quickly retire;
    Think not that I wish from the thunder to fly;
      No--'tis for the best wine to enquire.

_Universal Asylum and Columbian Mag._, IV-253, Apr. 1790, Phila.


           LETTER LXI. OF THE SORROWS OF WERTER, VERSIFIED.

    Though Homer fired my youthful breast,
    My tender fancy deep imprest,
      Ere grief had made me smart:
    Yet of him Ossian has ta'en place;
    His woe-fraught strains, with solemn grace,
      Now occupy my heart.

    To what a world of direful kind,
    The Bard illustrious leads my mind,
      'Midst heaths and wilds to stray;
    Where the fierce whirlwinds sweep the plain;
    Where the moon feebly holds her reign;
      And ghosts elude the day.

    To hear from off the mountains steep,
    The plaintive sounds, from caverns deep,
      Of water's dismal roar:
    To hear the maiden's doleful cries,
    That on her warrior's tomb-stone dies,
      Who her did much adore.

    I meet this bard of silver hair,
    He wanders in the valley drear,
      Whilst grief his mind consumes:
    His father's footsteps tries to trace
    In vain, for time does them efface;
      He only finds their tombs.

    The pale moon sinks, amid the waves,
    He contemplates her as she laves
      Her tresses in the sea:
    Reflects on time for ever gone,
    When danger pleased and spurred him on,
      Till every foe did flee.

    When he returned on evening grey,
    The moon shone on his Bark of prey,
      His trophies won, displayed:
    When by his countenance, I find
    Deep-rooted sorrow fill his mind,
      That youth so soon decayed.

    When I perceive that glory bright
    To fade so soon, to sink in night,
      And tottering to the grave:
    And when around he casts an eye
    On the cold earth, where he must die,
      The fate of e'en the brave.--

    The traveller will come, he cries,
    He'll come who saw my beauty rise,
      And anxiously enquire;
    Where is the bard and warrior gone,
    Where is Fingal's illustrious son,
      Whither does he retire.

    Then searching o'er the field and mead,
    He lightly on my tomb shall tread,
      But me he ne'er shall find:
    Then I, my friend, like a true knight,
    My sword shall draw, my prince to right,
      And ease his troubled mind.

    And this atchieved, with grief opprest,
    Could plunge it deep in my own breast,
      And eager for him bleed:
    To follow him now half divine,
    Hero of the Fingalian line,
      Who by my hand was freed.


_Universal Asylum and Columbian Mag._, VI-50, Jan. 1791, Phila.

[Goethe, _Die Leiden des jungen Werthers_. Letter dated Oct. 12,
1772.]


                             AMYNTAS. [a].
                         A Pastoral Fragment.

[Prose translation.]

_Mass. Mag._, IV-351 June 1792, Boston.

[S. Gessner, _Amyntas_. "Bei frühem Morgen kam der arme Amyntas...."
Idyllen, Erste Folge.]


                           PASTORAL ECLOGUE.
                          THYRSIS AND CHLOE.

[Prose translation.]

_Mass. Mag._, V-195, Apr. 1793, Boston.

[S. Gessner, _Thyrsis_.

_New Idylles By Gessner._ Trans. by W. Hooper, M.D., 1776, London. P.
25, _Thyrsis_.]


                               AMYNTAS.
                   A Pastoral Fragment from Gessner.

_N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, IV-584, Oct 1793, N. Y.

[Also in _Mass. Mag._, IV-351, June 1792, Boston.]


                             THE MORNING.
                              BY HALLER.

The moon retires--Nature's dark veil no more obscures the air and
earth--the twinkling stars disappear and the reviving warmth of the
sun awakens all creatures.

Already are the heavens adorned with its purple hues and its sparkling
sapphires. Aurora, fair harbinger of the day, graciously dispenses
smiles; and brightness of the roses which wreath her forehead
dissipates the mists of night.

The flaming of the world advances from the eastern gate, triumphantly
treading on the shining splendours of the milky way; clouds covered
with Heaven's rubies, oppose him with their lightning, and a flame of
gold spreads itself around the horizon.

The roses open to salute the sun with genial dews; and the lilies
exhale delicious odours from their sattin'd leaves.

The vigilant hind flies to the labour-giving field; he guides with
careful pleasure the earth-piercing plough; in the meantime his ears
are delighted by the lightsome band of minstrels, which sweeten the
air and the woods with their melodious notes. Thus doth benignant
Heaven lighten the heavy pressure of toilful industry! O Creator! all
that I see are the effects of thy power! thou art the soul of nature
and doth actuate every part! the stated periods and glittering
appearance of yon orbs, and the unquenched fires of the revolving sun,
proceed from thy hands, and boast thy impression!

Thou illumest the solemn moon to guide us amid darkness; thou dost
lend wings to the unseen wind, and by night thou dost enrich the earth
with fruitful dews.

From the dust thou hast formed yon proud-topt mountain; from sand hast
thou produced metals; thou hast spread yon firmament, and thou hast
clothed it with clouds, that it may remain unpolluted by the exploring
eye of man.

Thou hast wonderfully formed the veins of that fish which causes
rivers to overflow, and which makes whirlpools, and spreads
devastation with the flappings of his tail. Thou hast built the
elephant, and thou hast animated its enormous bulk, that it resembles
a moving mountain. Thou supportest yon splendid arches of the heavens
upon the vast void; and with thy word thou hast produced from chaos
this wondrous universe, filling it with order, and giving it no other
limit than its grandeur.

Great God! created spirits are too insignificant to raise the glory of
thy works! We lose ourselves in their immensity. To tell them one must
resemble thyself on infinity. Humbly contented, I remain in my own
prescribed circle. Incomprehensible Being! thy resplendent glories
blind the presuming eye of man! and He from whom the earth receives
its being, needs not the praises of a worm!

_N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, IV-720, Dec. 1793, N. Y.

[Albrecht von Haller, _Morgen-Gedanken_, Den. 25, Merz, 1725.]


                               MORNING.
                             From Haller.

_Phila. Minerva_, I, May 30, 1795, Phila.

[Also in _N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, IV-720, Dec. 1793, N. Y.]


                          TRANSLATED POETRY.
                      For the New-York Magazine.

                      THE ZEPHYRS, AN IDYL. [a].
         (Translated from the German of Gesner, by W. Dunlap.)

[Prose translation.]

_N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, VI-760, Dec. 1795, N. Y.

[S. Gessner, _Die Zephyre_.]


                          TRANSLATED POETRY.
                      For the New-York Magazine.

                         FIRST IDYL OF GESNER.
              (Translated from the German by Wm. Dunlap.)

                            DAPHNE--CHLOE.

[Prose translation.]

_N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, n. s., p. 49, Jan. 1796, N. Y.

[S. Gessner, _Daphne. Chloe._ "Sieh, schon steigt der Mond hinter dem
schwarzen Berg...." First idyl--Zweite Folge, 1772.]


                             THE OLD MAN.
                Translated from the German of Gessner.

_Phila. Minerva_, I, Jan. 16, 1796, Phila.

[Also in _The Royal Amer. Mag._, p. 14, Jan. 1774, Boston.]


                                 FABLE
                 Imitated from the German of Gellert.

While a nightingale chanted in the midst of a forest, the neighbouring
hills and vallies were delighted with her exquisite melody. Every
wild bird forgot to sing, listening with fond admiration. Aurora
tarried behind the hill, attending to her musical cadences; and
Philomel, in honor of the goddess, warbled with unusual sweetness. At
that she paused, and the lark took the opportunity of thus addressing
her; 'Your music meets with just approbation; the variety, the
clearness, and tenderness of the notes are inimitable; nevertheless,
in one circumstance I am entitled to a preference. My melody is
uninterrupted; and every morning is ushered with my gratulations. Your
song on the contrary, is heard but seldom; and, except during a few
weeks in the Summer, you have no claim to peculiar attention.' 'You
have mentioned,' replied the Nightingale, 'the very cause of my
superior excellence. I attend to, and obey, the dictates of Nature. I
never sing but by her incitements; nor even yield to importunate, but
uninspired inclination.'

_Phila. Minerva_, II, Apr. 23, 1796, Phila.

[C. F. Gellert, _Die Nachtigall and die Lerche_.

Free translation of the first stanza; the second, containing the
application of the fable, omitted.]


                                A FABLE
                 Imitated from the German of Gellert.

Clarine loved her husband with sincere affection--for he was a husband
to her mind. Their desires and aversions were the same. It was
Clarine's study to be agreeable, and by unwearied attention, to
anticipate her husband's wishes. "Such a wife," says my male reader,
who has thoughts of matrimony, "such a wife would I desire."--And such
a wife mayst thou obtain.--Clarine's husband fell sick--a dangerous
illness.--"No hope" said the physician, and shook his awful whig.
Bitterly wept Clarine. "O death!" she cried, "O death! might I prefer
a petition? Spare my husband; let me be the victim in his stead."
Death heard, appeared, and "What," said the grim spectre, "is thy
request?" "There," said Clarine sore dismayed, "There he lies;
overcome with agony he implores thy speedy relief."

_The Nightingale_, I-199, June 16, 1796, Boston.

[C. F. Gellert, _Die zärtliche Frau_. The introductory stanza not
translated.]


                        THE LASS OF FAIR WONE.
                      From the German of Bürger.

_Phila. Minerva_, II, Dec. 17, 1796, Phila.

[G. A. Bürger, _Des Pfarrers Tochter von Taubenhain_.

W. Taylor of Norwich, _The Lass of Fair Wone_ in the _Monthly
Magazine_, I-223, Apr. 1796, London. Also in Taylor's _Historic Survey
of German Poetry_, 3 vols., 1830, London. II-32, under the title _The
Parson's Daughter_.]


                           VIRTUE REWARDED:
                           A PASTORAL TALE.
                     (From the German of Gesner).

[Prose translation.]

_Phila. Minerva_, II, Dec. 17, 1796, Phila.


[S. Gessner, _Daphne_. W. Hooper, _New Idylles by Gessner_, p. 33,
_Glicera_.]


                            MISCELLANEOUS.
                        By FERDINAND WALLHIME.


                               THE WISH
                     (in imitation of Matthison).

    Once more could I wish, ere yet my blest spirit
        Sunk in Elysium, peaceful mansion of shades!
      That spot t' revisit, where Infancy
          In dreams aerial, play'd 'round my brows.

      The shrub of my country, whose branches o'erspread
    The cool nest of the patridge, waves gentler my friend,
        Than all the gay forests of laurel
          O'er the dust of the world's mighty conq'rors.

      The streamlet of that mead, where in childhood
        I cull'd early violets, more musically murmurs
          'Midst the alders once rear'd by my sire,
            Than the silver Blandusian fountain.

      The hill, on which swains, in bands youthful and gay
    Danc'd 'round the trunk of the sweet blossom'd poplar,
        With greater rapture inspir'd my heart,
      Than Alps dazzling heights in roset glimm'ring.

      Therefore could I wish, ere yet my blest spirit
        Sunk in Elysium, peaceful mansion of shades
          That spot t' revisit, where infancy
      In dreams aerial, play'd 'round my brows.

    Then may death's smirking genius, of a sudden,
      Extinguish life's taper, well pleas'd I'll hasten
        To Xenophon and Plato's musing shade
          And to Anacreon's myrtle tufted bow'r.

_Lit. Museum, or Mo. Mag._, p. 47, Jan. 1797, West-Chester.

[F. Matthisson, _Wunsch an Salis_. "Noch einmal möcht' ich, eh in die
Schattenwelt...."]


                             BENEVOLENCE.
                               A FABLE.
                 Imitated from the German of Gellert.

    O'er Howard's tomb soft Pity weeps,
      Bewailing still her favourite's fate;
    And thence the Muse invokes her aid
      Of kindred merit to relate.

    Like him to sympathize with woe,
      Like him to heal the broken mind;
    And rear Affliction's drooping head,
      Belinda's generous soul inclin'd.

    But want of fortune oft, too oft,
      Her charitable views withstood;
    For what, alas! avails the will,
      Without the power of doing good?

    Her uncle dies and leaves his niece
      A clear two thousand pounds per ann.
    "Ah! now," she cries, "I'm blest indeed,
      "I'll help the poor where'er I can."

    Scarce had she spoke, when, at her door
      An old decrepid wretch appears;
    Bent on his crutch he begs an alms,
      And moves her pity with his tears.

    Belinda felt for his distress,
      She heav'd a sigh and shook her head;
    Then to this aged son of woe
      Stretch'd forth a--crust of mouldy bread.

_Amer. Universal Mag._, I-28, Jan. 2, 1797, Phila.

[C. F. Gellert, _Die Gutthat_.]


                            PRO PATRIA MORI
                      From the German of Bürger.

    For virtue, freedom, human rights, to fall,
      Beseems the brave: it is a Saviour's death.
    Of heroes only the most pure of all,
      Thus with their heart's blood tinge the battle-heath.

    And this proud death is seemliest in the man
      Who for a kindred race, a country bleeds:
    Three hundred Spartans from the shining van
      Of those, whom fame in this high triumph leads.

    Great is the death for a good prince incurr'd;
      Who wields the sceptre with benignant hand:
    Well may for him the noble bare his sword,
      Falling he earns the blessings of a land.

    Death for a friend, parent, child, or her we love,
      If not so great, is beauteous to behold:
    This the fine tumults of the hearts approve;
      It is the walk to death unbought of gold.

    But for mere majesty to meet a wound--
      Who holds that great or glorious, he mistakes:
    That is the fury of the pamper'd hound,
      Which envy, anger, or the whip, awakes.

    And for a tyrant's sake to seek a jaunt
      To hell ----'s a death which only hell enjoys;
    Where such a hero falls--the gibbet plant,
      A murderer's trophy, and a plunderer's prize.

_Amer. Universal Mag._, I-141, Jan. 23, 1797, Phila.

[G. A. Bürger, _Die Tode_.]


                        THE LASS OF FAIR WONE.
                      From the German of Bürger.

_Amer. Universal Mag._, I-211, Feb. 6, 1797, Phila.

[Also in _Phila. Minerva_, II, Dec. 17, 1796, Phila.]


                          THE BROKEN PITCHER.
                      From the German of Gesner.

[Prose translation.]

_The Key_, I-69, Mar. 10, 1798, Frederick Town.

[S. Gessner, _Der zerbrochene Krug_.]


                             LEONORA. [a].
                         A Ballad from Bürger.

The following translation (made some years since) of a celebrated
piece, of which other versions have appeared, and are now on the point
of appearing, possesses so much peculiar charm and intrinsic merit,
that we are happy in being permitted to present it to our readers.

[The translation follows.]

_Weekly Mag._, I-221, Mar. 17, 1798, Phila.

[G. A. Bürger, _Lenore_.

Wm. Taylor of Norwich, _Lenora_.

_Mo. Mag. and British Register_, I-135, Mar. 1769, London.
M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Wonder_, 1801, London.

The translation appeared anonymously in the above mentioned, but was
afterwards printed with several changes under the title _Ellenore_ in
Taylor's _Historic Survey of German Poetry_, II-40.

Also in _Tales of Terror and Wonder_, collected by M. G. Lewis. With
an introduction by Henry Morley, 1887, London. Cf. Preface.]


                         TO A LITTLE CHARMER.
                      From the German of Lessing.

    Come kiss me, little Charmer,
      Nor suppose a kiss can harm you;
    Kisses given, kisses taken,
    Cannot now your fears awaken;
    Give me then a hundred kisses
    Number well those sweetest blisses,
    And, on my life, I tell you true,
    Tenfold I'll repay what's due,
    When to snatch a kiss is bolder
    And my fair one's ten years older.

_Weekly Mag._, II-30, May 5, 1798, Phila.

[G. E. Lessing, _An eine kleine Schöne_.]


                                        For the Weekly Magazine.

                         THE SWALLOW. A FABLE.
                     (From the German of Lessing.)

Believe me, my friend, the great world is not suited to philosophers
or poets. We are insensible to their real worth; and they, alas! are
often weak enough to exchange it for a mere nothing.

In early ages the swallow was as tuneful and melodious a bird as the
nightingale; but she soon became weary of residing in solitary groves
to excite the admiration of none but the industrious peasant and the
innocent shepherdess. She left her humble friends, and removed into
town. What was the consequence? As the inhabitants of the city had not
leisure to attend to her divine song, she gradually forgot it, and in
its stead learned to--build.

_Weekly Mag._, II-82, May 12, 1798, Phila.

[G. E. Lessing, _Die Schwalbe_.]


                              THE CHASE.
                     By Gottfried Augustus Bürger.

_Weekly Mag._, II-413, July 28, 1798, Phila.

[G. A. Bürger, _Der wilde Jäger_.

Sir Walter Scott, _The Wild Huntsman_. Published with _William and
Helen_ in 1796 and entitled _The Chase_.

M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Wonder_. Entitled _The Wild Huntsmen_. By
Walter Scott.

Cf. note to _Leonora_, in the _Weekly Mag._, I-221, Mar. 17, 1798.]


                             THE ERL-KING.
            (The Original is by Goëthe, Author of Werter.)

      Who is it that rides through the forest so fast,
      While night frowns around him, while chill roars the blast?
      The father, who holds his young son in his arm,
      And close in his mantle has wrapped him up warm.

    --"Why trembles my darling? Why shrinks he with fear?"
      "Oh father! my father! the Erl-king is near!
      The Erl-king, with his crown and his beard long and white!"
    --"Oh! thine eyes are deceived by the vapours of night."

    --"If you will, dear baby, with me go away,
      I will give you fine clothes; we will play a fine play;
      Fine flowers are growing, white, scarlet and blue,
      On the banks of yon river, and all are for you."

    --"Oh father! my father! and dost thou not hear
      What words the Erl-king whispers low in mine ear?"--
    --"Now hush thee, my darling, thy terrors appease:
      Thou hear'st 'midst the branches when murmurs the breeze."

    --"If you will, dear baby, with me go away,
      My daughter shall tend you so fair and so gay;
      My daughter, in purple and gold who is drest,
      Shall nurse you, and kiss you, and sing you to rest."

    --"Oh father! my father! and dost thou not see?
      The Erl-king and his daughter are waiting for me?"
    --"Now shame thee, my dearest! 'tis fear makes thee blind:
      Thou seest the dark willows which wave in the wind."--

    --"I love you! I dote on that face so divine!
      I must and will have you, and force makes you mine!"
    --"My father! my father! Oh hold me now fast!
      He pulls me! he hurts, and will have me at last!"--

      The father, he trembled; he doubled his speed:
      O'er hills and through forests he spurred his black steed:
      But when he arrived at his own castle-door,
      Life throbbed in the sweet baby's bosom no more.

_Weekly Mag._, III-93, Aug. 18, 1798, Phila.

[Goethe, _Erlkönig_.

M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Wonder_, 1801, London.

The above text, however, is taken from Lewis' _Ambrosio, or the Monk_
(1795), which has several variants. The first Amer. reprint of _The
Monk_ was taken from the fourth British edition, 1798, Phila. Cf.
Preface.]


                       THE ERL-KING'S DAUGHTER.
   (The Original is Danish; but I read it in a German Translation.)

_Weekly Mag._, III-94, Aug. 18, 1798, Phila.

[J. G. Herder, _Erlkönigs Tochter_ in the Fourth Book (_Nordische
Lieder_) of _Stimmen der Völker in Liedern_. Trans. from the Danish.

M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Wonder_ and _The Monk_.

Cf. note to _The Erl-King_.

The original is in the _Kiampe Viiser_.]


                     AMYNTAS, A PASTORAL TALE. [b]
             (From the German of the celebrated Gessner.)

[Prose translation.]

_Weekly Mag._, III, 347, 358, Mar. 23, 30, 1799, Phila.

[S. Gessner, _Mycon_. In the French version, entitled _Amyntas_.

W. Hooper, _New Idylles_, p. 18.]


                              FRIENDSHIP
                      Translated from the German.
                         Set to music by Russ.

    Sure not to life's short span confin'd,
      Shall sacred friendship glow;
    Beyond the grave the ardent mind,
      Its best delights shall know.

    Blest scenes! where ills no more annoy,
      Where heav'n the flame approves;
    Where beats the heart to nought but joy,
      And ever lives and loves.

    There friendship's matchless love shall shine,
      (To hearts like ours so dear!)
    There angels own its pow'r divine;
      Its native home is there!

    For here below, tho' friendship's charm
      Its soft delights display;
    Yet souls like ours, so touch'd, so warm,
      Still pant for brighter day!

_Phila. Repos._, I, Appendix (Nov. 15, 1800-Nov. 7, 1801), Phila.

[The above appeared in the Musical Appendix.]


                           ORIGINAL POETRY.
                 LYCAS; OR THE INVENTIONS OF GARDENS.
                 Attempted from the Idyls of Gessner.

    The stormy winter drives us from the green,
    Nor leaves a flower to decorate the scene;
    The winds arise--with sweep impetuous blow,
    And whirl around the flakes of fleecy snow;
    Yet shall imagination fondly rise
    And gather fair ideas as she flies:
    The images that blooming spring pourtrays,
    The sweets that bask in summer's sultry rays,
    The rich and varied fruits of autumn's reign
    Shall ope their treasures, in a bounteous train;
    Of these the best, with choicest care display'd,
    Shall form a wreath, for thee, my lovely maid!
    So the fond shepherd, for his darling fair,
    Culls beauteous flowers to deck her flowing hair.
    The garden's rise shall grace my humble strains;
    If Daphne smiles 'twill well repay my pains!
    'Twas, in the morn of youth, a shepherd found
    This happy art to decorate the ground;
    This is the spot, the enamour'd Lycas cries,
    Lycas the young, the gentle and the wise;
    Under this elm, fair Adelaide first gave
    The kiss of love to her devoted slave!
    Whilst he, in am'rous accents told his flame,
    With beating heart and agitated frame!
    Here faint and weak my charmer sank to rest,
    On the warm pillow of my panting breast!
    "Lycas," with interrupting sobs, she said,
    "Take the soft secret of an am'rous maid:
    Of all the swains that strive this heart to move,
    'Tis Lycas only Adelaide can love!
    Ye peaceful groves--ye solitary springs--
    To you I oft confess'd my secret stings!
    And ye, sweet flowers bear witness to the truth
    Of the soft flame that prey'd upon my youth;
    Oft have your leaves that round me clust'ring grew,
    Drank my warm tears as drops of morning dew."
    My heart is full--what transport is my own!
    For, in my bosom, love has fixed his throne.
    Sacred to love this spot shall ever stand
    Deck'd with luxuriant beauties by my hands.
    Under this elm, the shadiest of the trees,
    The rose shall pour its odours on the breeze;
    Around its trunk the woodbine too shall rear
    Its white and purple flowers aloft in air.
    The treasures of the spring shall hither flow;
    The piony by the lily here shall blow.
    Over the hills, and through the meads I'll roam,
    And bring the blooming spoils in rapture home:
    The purple violet, the pink shall join,
    The od'rous shrubs shall all their sweets combine,
    Of these a grove of balmy sort shall rise,
    And, with its fragrant blossoms, scent the skies!
    Then round this little favour'd isle, I'll bring,
    With gentle windings, yonder silver spring;
    While eglantine and thorn shall interpose
    Their hedge, a rampart 'gainst invading foes--
    Lest sheep and rambling goats the place annoy,
    And spoil the promise of our future joy.
    Oh then approach, ye favour'd of the loves!
    Come and dwell here ye gentle turtle doves!
    On yonder spreading branches, perch'd on high,
    With coos repeated greet the lover's sigh!
    Then sportive sparrows round the roses play,
    And sing, delighted, from the bending spray!
    Ye butterflies, arrayed in coats of gold,
    On beds of roses fluttering revels hold!
    Here rest, upon the lily's waving stalk,
    And add new beauty to the evening walk.
    Then shall the shepherd passing, free from care,
    When zephyr spreads the perfumes thro' the air,
    Inhale the fragrance, and with transport cry,
    What hallow'd place is this? what goddess nigh?
    Does Venus own this gay, enchanted place?
    Or has Diana, wearied in the chace,
    Chosen a spot where choicest sweets abound,
    To slumber on the consecrated ground?

                                        P. D.


Port Folio, I-54, Feb. 14 1801, Phila.

[S. Gessner, _Lycas, oder die Erfindung der Gärten_.]


                                        For the Port Folio.
                               MYRTILLO.
            An idyl, attempted from the German of Gessner.

    At peaceful eve, Myrtillo sought the lake,
    Whilst the moon's beams upon its bosom played;
    The silent tract, illumin'd by its rays,
    The nightingale's enchanting tender note,
    Had held him bound in rapture's soothing trance.
    At length, arous'd, he homeward took his steps,
    And in the verdant bower, where clust'ring vines
    Before his lonely dwelling formed a porch
    Of simple structure, deeply slumbering found
    His venerable parent--his grey head
    Supported by his arm, while through the leaves
    The moon-beams pour'd their lustre on his face.
    With arms enfolded, and with swelling heart,
    He stood before his father--long he stood,
    His pious eyes fix'd fondly on the sage,
    Then rais'd them, swimming with his filial tears,
    And thro' the illumin'd leaves look'd up to heaven,
    Whilst grateful drops roll'd down his moisten'd cheek.
    Oh thou! at length he cried, whom, next the gods,
    I reverence, my father--ah, how soft
    Thy peaceful slumbers! Of the just and good
    How placid is the sleep! Thy tottering steps
    Were, doubtless, hither bent, in silent prayer
    To spend the hour of eve; but, at thy task
    Of duty, slumber seiz'd thee, whilst, for me,
    Thy prayer of love was wing'd into the skies,
    How happy is my lot! the fav'ring gods
    Must hear thy fond petition; else, why stands
    Our cot secure, amid the branches, bent
    With ripening fruit? why, else, such blessings shower'd
    Upon our healthy, fast increasing herd?
    Upon the golden produce of our fields?
    When oft the tear of joy bedew'd thy cheek,
    To see me, anxious, cherish and support
    Thy feeble age; when, towards the vault of heaven,
    You turn'd your swimming eyes, and blest your son;
    Ah! then, what words his blessings could express!
    My bosom swell'd with transport, and the tears
    O'erflow'd my glowing cheeks--
    When yester morn, reclining on my arm,
    You left our cot to feel the quickening beams
    Of the warm sun, and saw about thee sport
    The frolic herd, the trees, with fruit o'ercharg'd,
    And all the fertile country blooming round,
    "My hairs grow grey in peace," were then thy words;
    "Fields of my youth, be ever, ever blest!
    "My eyes, grow dim, shall not much longer view
    "Your heart-delighting scenes, for happier plains
    "Must I exchange you--plains beyond the skies."
    Ah, father, best belov'd, must I so soon
    Lose thee! my nearest friend!--distressing thought!
    Close to thy tomb, with filial love, I'll raise
    A modest altar, and with ardour seek
    Each blest occasion to relieve the woes
    Of the oppressed and wretched; on each day,
    That gives the happy chance of doing good,
    I'll pour sweet milk upon a parent's grave,
    And strew with flowers the ever sacred spot--
    He paus'd but kept his eyes, suffus'd with tears,
    Fix'd on the good old man; then, sighing; said,
    How still he lies, and smiles amidst his slumbers!
    Some of his virtuous deeds must hover o'er,
    In peaceful dreams, and fill his cheerful soul;
    Whilst the moon pours her rays upon his bare
    And shining temples, and his silver beard;
    Oh may the breeze, and dewy damps of eve--
    Do thee no harm. Then gently did he kiss
    His aged forehead, gently wak'd him up,
    And led him to his cot, in lighter sleep,
    On softest furs, to slumber out the night.

                                        --P. D.

_Port Folio_, I-70, Feb. 28, 1801, Phila.


                                        For the Port Folio.
                           MYRTIL AND DAPHNE
                               An Idyl.
                        Attempted from Gessner.

                    MYRTIL.

    Whither so early sister, ere the sun,
    Has, from behind yon hill, his course begun?
    Scarce has the swallow to the morning ray,
    Ventur'd to modulate his twittering lay.
    The early cock, whom richest plumes adorn
    Has yet but faintly hail'd the golden morn;
    Whilst thou, to some unknown attraction true,
    With hasty footsteps brush the silv'ry dew!
    What festival to-day, do you prepare,
    For fill'd with flowers, your basket scents the air.

                    DAPHNE.

    Welcome dear brother, whither points thy way,
    Amidst the chilly damps of early day?
    On what fair purpose from yon new form'd bower,
    Hast thou come forth at twilight's silent hour?
    For me--I've pluck'd the violet and the rose,
    And sought each flower that round our cottage grows.
    Whilst o'er our parents gentle slumbers spread
    Their wings, I'll strew them on their peaceful bed;
    Then when the sunbeams gild the glowing skies
    Midst fragrant scents, they'll ope their aged eyes;
    Their hearts shall then with pious joy rebound,
    To find the blooming flowers, clust'ring round.

                    MYRTIL.

      My best belov'd, not life itself can prove,
    Pleasing to me without a sister's love.
    For me, dear girl, when yester eve we met,
    Just as the sun had made a golden set,
    Our parent, resting on our fav'rite hill,
    Whilst we with fond attention watch'd his will;
    "How sweet (he cried) on yonder spot to rear,
    A shady bower to rest in, free from care!"
    I heard his wish as though I heard it not,
    Yet kept my thoughts fix'd firmly on the spot,
    And ere her early beams Aurora sent,
    My hasty steps toward the hill I bent,
    And rear'd the bower and to its verdant side,
    The waving, hazle branches, closely tied;
    See, sister, see, the work at length is done;
    Betray me not till I've his blessing won,
    Till he himself shall thither bend his way;
    Ah, then, with joy we'll celebrate the day.

                    DAPHNE.

    How grateful, brother, will be his surprize,
    When first the distant bower shall greet his eyes!
    But let me haste and gently o'er their bed,
    My morning offering of fragrance spread.

                    MYRTIL.

      When they shall wake amid the fragrant pile,
    They'll greet each other with a tender smile;
    And say, this is our Daphne's work, sweet child;
    Thus has our love the morning hours beguil'd.
    For our delight, how tender 'tis to keep
    A studious care whilst we were lock'd in sleep.

                    DAPHNE.

    Yes, brother, when at his accustomed hour,
    Opening his casement he shall view thy bower,
    "Sure (he'll exclaim) I do not see aright,
    Or on yon hill an arbor greets my sight;
    Yes, that is Myrtil's work,--for this bereft
    Of his sweet sleep, his nightly couch he left:
    Such are the plans, his filial thoughts engage,
    And thus he soothes our fast declining age."
      And when with joy we'll greet the morning ray,
    With joy we'll celebrate the happy day,
    Each work to-day commenc'd shall prosper well,
    And peace and joy in every grove shall dwell.

                                        P. D.

_Port Folio_, I-80, Mar. 7, 1801, Phila.

[S. Gessner, _Mirtil und Daphne_.]


                TRANSLATION FROM THE IDYLS OF GESSNER.

      Delia! when in your lover's eyes,
    At your approach soft lustre rise,
    When with charm'd ear, from thy sweet tongue,
    He listens to the thrilling song,
    O'er saddest scenes delights you fling,
    And winter wears the smile of spring.

      When o'er the mead with you I stray,
    More fragrant is the new-mown hay,
    When gath'ring flow'rets at your side,
    The buds more vivid swell with pride,
    And bend, your snowy hand to meet,
    Or am'rous twine beneath your feet.

      But when within your arms you press me,
    When with a long, long kiss you bless me,
    Ah! then in vain, the fairest flow'rs
    Exert their balmy-breathing pow'rs;
    In vain her sweets does Nature bring,
    In vain she wears the smile of spring.

      Then Delia! nought on earth but thee,
    My ravish'd senses feel or see,
    With Love's wild frenzy then possessed,
    My trembling heart beats 'gainst thy breast,
    Then fondly sink, o'erpower'd with bliss,
    Only alive to Delia's kiss.

                                        Q. V.

_Port Folio_, I-87, Mar. 14, 1801, Phila.


                             LEONORA. [b].
                       A Tale, from the German.

    "Ah, William! art thou false or dead?"
    Cried Leonora from her bed.
      "I dreamt thou'dst ne'er return."
    William had fought in Frederick's host
    At Prague--and what his fate--if lost
      Or false, she could not learn.

    Hungaria's queen and Prussia's king,
    Wearied, at length with bickering,
      Resolv'd to end the strife;
    And homewards, then, their separate routs
    The armies took, with songs and shouts,
      With cymbals, drum and fife.

    As deck'd with boughs they march'd along,
    From every door, the old and young
      Rush'd forth the troops to greet.
    "Thank God," each child and parent cry'd,
    And "welcome, welcome," many a bride,
      As friends long parted meet.

    They joy'd, poor Leonora griev'd:
    No kiss she gave, no kiss receiv'd;
      Of William none could tell;
    She rung her hands, and tore her hair;
    Till left alone in deep despair,
      Bereft of sense, she fell.

    Swift to her aid her mother came,
    "Ah! say," cried she, "in mercy's name,
      "What means this frantic grief?"
    "Mother 'tis past--all hopes are fled,
    "God hath no mercy, William's dead,
      "My woe is past relief."

    "Pardon, O pardon, Lord above!
    "My child, with pray'rs invoke his love,
      "The Almighty never errs?"
    "O, mother! mother! idle prate,
    "Can he be anxious for my fate,
      "Who never heard my prayers?"

    "Be patient child, in God believe,
    "The good he can, and will relieve,
      "To trust his power endeavour."
    "O, mother! mother! all is vain,
    "What trust can bring to life again?
      "The past, is past for ever."

    "Who knows, but that he yet survives;
    "Perchance, far off from hence he lives,
      "And thinks no more of you.
    "Forget, forget, the faithless youth,
    "Away with grief, your sorrow soothe,
      "Since William proves untrue."

    "Mother, all hope has fled my mind,
    "The past, is past, our God's unkind;
      "Why did he give me breath?
    "Oh that this hated loathsome light
    "Would fade for ever from my sight,
      "Come, death, come, welcome death!"

    "Indulgent Father, spare my child,
    "Her agony hath made her wild,
      "She knows not what she does.
    "Daughter, forget thy earthly love,
    "Look up to him who reigns above,
      "Where joys succeed to woes."

    "Mother what now are joys to me?
    "With William, Hell a Heaven could be,
      "Without him, Heaven a Hell.
    "Fade, fade away, thou hated light,
    "Death bear me hence to endless night,
      "With love all hope farewell."

    Thus rashly, Leonora strove
    To doubt the truth of heavenly love.
      She wept, and beat her breast;
    She pray'd for death, until the moon
    With all the stars with silence shone,
      And sooth'd the world to rest.

    When, hark! without, what sudden sound!
    She hears a trampling o'er the ground,
      Some horseman must be near!
    He stops, he rings, Hark! as the noise
    Dies soft away, a well-known voice
      Thus greets her list'ning ear.

    "Wake, Leonora;--dost thou sleep,
    "Or thoughtless laugh, or constant weep,
      "Is William welcome home?"
    "Dear William, you!--return'd, and well!
    "I've wak'd and wept--but why, ah! tell,
      "So late--at night you come?"

    "At midnight only dare we roam,
    "For thee from Prague, though late, I come."
      "For me!--stay here and rest;
    "The wild winds whistle o'er the waste,
    "Ah, dear William! why such haste?
      "First warm thee in my breast."

    "Let the winds whistle o'er the waste,
    "My duty bids me be in haste;
      "Quick, mount upon my steed:
    "Let the winds whistle far and wide,
    "Ere morn, two hundred leagues we'll ride,
      "To reach our marriage bed."

    "What, William! for a bridal room,
    "Travel to night so far from home?"
      "Leonora, 'tis decreed.
    "Look round thee, love, the moon shines clear,
    "The dead ride swiftly; never fear,
      "We'll reach our marriage bed."

    "Ah, William! whither would'st thou speed,
    "What! where! this distant marriage bed?"
      "Leonora, no delay.
    "'Tis far from hence; still--cold--and small:
    "Six planks, no more, compose it all;
      "Our guests await, away!"

    She lightly on the courser sprung,
    And her white arms round William flung,
      Like to a lily wreath.
    In swiftest gallop off they go,
    The stones and sparks around them throw,
      And pant the way for breath.

    The objects fly on every side,
    The bridges thunder as they ride;
      "Art thou my love afraid?
    "Death swiftly rides, the moon shines clear,
    "The dead doth Leonora fear?"
      "Ah, no! why name the dead?"

    Hark! as their rapid course they urge,
    A passing bell, a solemn dirge;
      Hoarse ravens join the strain.
    They see a coffin on a bier,
    A priest and mourners too appear,
      Slow moving o'er the plain.

    And sad was heard the funeral lay;
    "What the Lord gives, he takes away;
      "Life's but a fleeting shade.
    "A tale that's told,--a flower that falls;
    "Death, when the least expected, calls,
      "And bears us to his bed."

    "Forbear;"--imperious William cry'd
    "I carry home, a beauteous bride,
      "Come, to our marriage feast;
    "Mourners, away, we want your song;
    "And as we swiftly haste along,
      "Give us your blessing, priest.

    "Sing on, that life is like a shade;
    "A tale that's told, or flowers which fade:
      "Such strains will yield delight.
    "And, when we to our chamber go,
    "Bury your dead, with wail and woe;
      "The service suits the night."

    While William speaks, they silent stand,
    Then run obedient to command,
      But, on with furious bound,
    The foaming courser forward flew,
    Fire and stones his heels pursue,
      Like whirlwinds dash'd around.

    On right and left, on left and right,
    Trees, hills, and towns flew past their sight,
      As on they breathless prest;
    "With the bright moon, like death we speed,
    "Doth Leonora fear the dead?"
      "Ah! leave the dead at rest."

    Behold, where in the moon's pale beam,
    As wheels and gibbets faintly gleam,
      Join'd hand in hand, a crowd
    Of imps and spectres hover nigh,
    Or round a wasted wretch they fly,
      When William calls aloud:

    "Hither, ye airy rabble, come,
    "And follow till I reach my home;
      "We want a marriage dance."
    As when the leaves on wither'd trees,
    Are rustled by an edying breeze,
      The muttering sprites advance.

    But, soon with hurried steps, the crew
    Rush'd prattling on, for William flew,
      Clasp'd by the frighted fair:
    Swifter than shafts, or than the wind,
    While struck from earth fire flash'd behind,
      Like lightnings through the air.

    Not only flew the landscape by,
    The clouds and stars appear'd to fly.
      "Thus over hills and heath
    "We ride like death; say, lovely maid,
    "By moon-light dost thou fear the dead?"
      "Ah! speak no more of death."

    "The cock hath crow'd--Away! away!
    "The sand ebbs out: I scent the day.
      "On! on! away from here!
    "Soon must our destin'd course be run,
    "The dead ride swift,--hurrah! 'tis done,
      "The marriage bed is near."

    High grated iron doors, in vain
    Barr'd their way.--With loosened rein
      Whil'st William urg'd the steed,
    He struck the bolts;--they open flew,
    A churchyard drear appear'd in view;
      Their path was o'er the dead.

    As now, half veil'd by clouds, the moon
    With feebler ray, o'er objects shone,
      Where tombstones faint appear,
    A grave new dug arrests the pair,
    Cry'd William, and embrac'd the fair,
      "Our marriage bed is here."

    Scarce had he spoke, when, dire to tell,
    His flesh like touchwood from him fell,
      His eyes forsook his head.
    A skull, and naked bones alone,
    Supply the place of William gone,
      'Twas Death that clasp'd the maid.

    Wild, snorting fire, the courser rear'd,
    As wrapp'd in smoke he disappear'd,
      Poor Leonora fell;
    The hideous spectres hover round,
    Deep groans she hears from under ground,
      And fiends ascend from hell.

    They dance, and say, in dreadful howl,
    "She asks no mercy for her soul;
      "Her earthly course is done.
    "When mortals, rash and impious! dare
    "Contend with God, and court despair,
      "We claim them as our own."

    "Yet," thus was heard, in milder strains,
    "Call on the Lord, while life remains,
      "Unite your heart to his;
    "When man repents and is resign'd,
    "God loves to soothe his suff'ring mind,
      "And grant him future bliss."

    "We claim as ours, who impious dare
    "Contend with God, and court despair;"
      Again the spectres cry'd.
    "Fate threats in vain, when man's resign'd,
    "God loves to soothe the suff'ring mind,"
      The gentler voice reply'd.

    Leonora, e'er her sense was gone,
    Thus faint exclaim'd,--"thy Will be done,
      "Lord, let thy anger cease."
    Soft on the wind was borne the pray'r;
    The spectres vanish'd into air,
      And all was hush'd in peace.

    Now redd'ning tints the skies adorn,
    And streaks of gold, proclaim the morn;
      The night is chas'd away.
    The sun ascends, new warmth he gives,
    New hope, new joy; all nature lives,
      And hails the glorious day.

    No more are dreadful fantoms near;
    Love and his smiling train, appear;
      They cull each sweetest flow'r,
    To scatter o'er the path of youth,
    To deck the bridal bed, when Truth
      And Beauty own their pow'r.

    Ah,--could your pow'r avert the blast
    Which threatens Bliss!--could passion last!
      Ye dear enchanters tell;
    What purer joy could Heaven bestow,
    Than when with shar'd affection's glow
      Our panting bosoms swell?

    Sweet spirits wave the airy wand,
    Two faithful hearts your care demand;
      Lo! bounding o'er the plain,
    Led by your charm, a youth returns;
    With hope, his breast impatient burns;
      Hope is not always vain.

    "Wake, Leonora!--wake to Love!
    For thee, his choicest wreath he wove;"
      Death vainly aim'd his Dart.
    The Past was all a dream; she woke--
    He lives;--'twas William's self who spoke,
      And clasp'd her to his Heart.

_Balto. Weekly Mag._, I-280, Apr. 29, 1801, Balto.

[G. A. Bürger, _Lenore_. The last eight stanzas are an invention of
the translator.]


                                        For the Portfolio.

Mr. Old School,

If you permit a truant to peep into your literary seminary, he will
venture to present you with the inclosed hastily written lines, as a
peace offering; but shall not be irritated beyond measure, should you
choose to convert it into a _burnt offering_, as a just punishment for
time misspent.

At any rate, the sentence you shall pass, shall not be appealed from.

                                        Your sincere well-wisher,

                                                          The Author.


                      DAMON AND DAPHNE, AN IDYLL,
                            (Matrimonial,)
                        Attempted from Gessner.

                    DAMON.

      The gloomy tempest, Daphne, has blown o'er,
    The thunder's awful voice is heard no more;
    Tremble not then, my girl, the lightning's blaze
    Through the dark cloud, no longer darts its rays.
    Let us this arbour leave, the blue sky greet,
    For, see, the sheep that sought this safe retreat,
    Now from their fleeces shake the drops of rain,
    And spread them o'er the bright'ning mead again,
    Let us then leave this fav'rite shelt'ring bower,
    To taste the beauties of this balmy hour;
    To view the sunbeams gild the moisten'd ground,
    And throw their rich and radiant glory round.
      As from the grotto, hand in hand they past,
    The gentle Daphne on her partner cast
    Her swimming eyes, pressing his honest hand.

                    DAPHNE.

      How lovely looks the gay, the smiling land,
    She said; while through the scattering cloud appears
    The blue sky, dissipating all our fears.
    The clouds, as through the air they quickly pass,
    Hurry their shadows o'er the glist'ning grass.
    See, Damon, now, o'er yonder hill they throw
    Their shade o'er herds and cottages, and lo!
    They're flown, and while o'er flowery meads they run,
    The hill's again illumin'd by the sun.

                    DAMON.

      The rainbow view, from hill to hill expand,
    Its radiant arches o'er the laughing land;
    'Midst the grey cloud, a happy omen shows;
    With peace and safety every colour glows:
    The quiet valley smiles beneath its beams,
    And owns its beauties in her gliding streams.
    Daphne with gentle arm embrac'd her swain;
    And cried;

                    DAPHNE.

      See balmy zephyrs breathe again;
    More cheerful with the flowers they sport and play,
    Dress'd by the drops of rain and light of day.
    The butterflies, in richest coats array'd,
    And fluttering insects joy to leave the shade,
    Their velvet wings in quick vibrations shake,
    While on the surface of the neighbouring lake,
    Of shrubs and willows, wash'd from every stain,
    The trembling branches glitter once again;
    Again the peasant in its bosom sees
    The heaven's blue concave and the spreading trees.

                    DAMON.

      Daphne, embrace me with thy circling arms,
    What sacred joy my swelling bosom warms,
    Where'er we turn what glories meet our eyes,
    What unexhausted springs of rapture rise.
    From the least plant to the bright star of day,
    That kindles nature with its quickening ray,
    All, all, our admiration ought to raise,
    And tune our voices to the notes of praise!
    How my heart swells, when from yon mountain's brow,
    I view the spreading country stretch'd below.
    Or, when amid the grass, in rural ease,
    Laying my limbs beneath the branching trees,
    I contemplate the various flowers and plants,
    And their minutely fine inhabitants.
    Or when amid the solemn hours of night,
    I view the stars adorn the heavens with light;
    The grateful changes of the seasons trace,
    The progress of the vegetable race.
    When all these wonders thro' my senses roll,
    They fill with purest awe my swelling soul;
    Thoughts urge on thoughts in quick successive birth,
    Weeping, I kneel to him who made the earth;
    To him, my admiration I confess,
    Father of light, of life, of every bliss:
    Nought then my soul with equal joy can move,
    Save the delight to know my Daphne's love.

                    DAPHNE.

      Damon, around me also wonders rise,
    And fill my bosom with a sweet surprize.
    Oh let us then, lock'd in a soft embrace,
    When Morn approaching lifts her ruddy face,
    When gentle Eve her milder beauties shows,
    Or moonlight through the air its radiance throws,
    Thus let our thoughts upon such objects rest,
    Whilst to each others beating bosoms prest,
    In broken accents we our wonder own,
    And turn our minds tow'rds heaven's eternal throne.
    How inexpressible is the delight,
    When transports such as these, with tend'rest love unite.

                                        P. D.

_Port Folio_, I-171, May 30, 1801, Phila.

[S. Gessner, _Damon. Daphne_.]


                                        For the Port Folio.
                           THE FLY, A FABLE.
                      From the German of Gellert.

    That insects think, as well as speak,
    Needs, at this day, small eloquence to show;
    Esop, whom even children prize in Greek,
    Affirm'd as much, some thousand years ago.
    Fontaine, in French, asserted just the same;
    Who then shall dare deny the reptile claim
    To faculties, the world esteems so low,
    As scarce to notice, if you think or no?

      Within a temple, where the builder's art,
    Grandeur and elegance at once had join'd;
    While due proportion, reign'd in every part,
    And simple grace, with solid strength combin'd.
    In such a temple's wall, sat perch'd on high,
    A solemn, thoughtful, philosophic fly.
    For flies, an air so grave, of wisdom take,
    And on one leg, the head will often hold,
    And into wrinkles, oft the forehead fold,
    Only because they deep reflection's make;
    And to the bottom dive to know,
    The source of all things here below.

    Thus then, involv'd in contemplation deep,
    With half a dozen wrinkles on his brow,
    This fly began, around himself to peep,
    And question whence the building rose, and how?
    No _maker_ of this work can I perceive,
    Quoth he--and that there is one, scarce believe;
    For who should such a maker be?
      "Art," said a spider sage. "Art built the work you see,
    For, wheresoever turns your eye,
    Fix'd laws, and order you descry;
    And hence, a fair conclusion grows,
    That from the hand of Art, the building rose."
      At this the fly, in his conceptions proud,
    Laugh'd out aloud,
    And with a sneer of scorn, replied--
      "Most learned sir, I oft have tried,
    At this same Art to get a sight,
    But never on him yet could light;
    And now, the more I think, the more I find,
    Your Art is but a fiction of the mind.
      Now learn from me how this same temple grew:
    Once on a time, it so by chance befel
    That pebbles numberless together flew,
    And settling, form'd this hollow shell,
    Where you, and I, friend spider, dwell;
    Say, what can be more evidently true?"
      A fly, for such a system, we forgive;
    But if great geniuses should live,
    Who deem this world's well-order'd frame,
    Sprung from blind accident alone,
    And chance, as author of their lives proclaim,
    Rather than bow to God's eternal throne,
    The sole excuse a creed, like this admits,
    Is, that its votaries have lost their wits.

                                        L.

_Port Folio_, I-192, June 13, 1801, Phila.

[C. F. Gellert, _Die Fliege_.]


                                        For the Port Folio.
                             THE SUICIDE.
                      From the German of Gellert.

    Oh, youth, from what I now relate,
      While gentle tears bedew your eyes,
    Lament the lover's hapless fate,
      And learn, what woes from love arise.

    A youth of exemplary worth,
      The comfort of his aged sire,
    Whose virtues, early bursting forth,
      The fairest hopes might well inspire.

    By beauty's potent charms subdued,
      For Chloe felt a tender pain;
    Her equal love with ardour sued,
      But found his fond entreaties vain.

    While at her feet he pleads his flame,
      The cruel Chloe bids him fly;
    Yes! cried he, yes! insulting dame,
      You never more shall hear me sigh.

    Then, on his sword, his hand he lays,
      While wild despair his gestures breathe;
    Draws it--the deadly point surveys,
      And thrusts it--_back into its sheath_.

                                        U.

_Port Folio_, I-192, June 13, 1801, Phila.

[C. F. Gellert, _Der Selbstmord_.]


                           FROM THE GERMAN.

    While yon enlivening orb of day
      To William yields its light,
    He to no other lass will stray
      Nor faithful Anna slight.

    Thus Will to Nance, with ardour, said;
      And kept his word, I ween,
    Nor, till the sun had gone to bed,
      Met Sophy on the green.

_Port Folio_, I-280, Aug. 29, 1801, Phila.


                                        For the Port Folio.
                      FROM THE GERMAN OF GELLERT.
                           THE DANCING BEAR
                               A Fable.

    A bear, who long had danced for bread,
    One morning from his keeper fled;
    Back to his native woods retreated,
    And, by his brother brutes, was kindly greeted:
    Their joy to see him made the forest roar,
    They lick'd his chaps, they stroak'd him with the paw;
    And when each bear his neighbour saw,
    Their news was, So!--Our Bruin's here once more.
      Straightway the travell'd youth went on
    All his adventures to relate,
    And whatsoever he had seen, or done,
    Or heard, in foreign parts to state.
    And when it came the turn to tell
    His dancing deeds, to capering he fell,
    As though his former master's chain
    Were fasten'd round his neck again.

      Bears of the woods are seldom trained to dance;
    Yet, seeing Bruin throw his limbs about,
    The fancy seiz'd them all, themselves to prance,
    And strive, with clumsy aim, his motions to make out.

      Scarce one of all the brood but quickly trip'd,
    And stumbling, staggering, fell his whole length down;
    The more they fail'd, the brisker Bruin skip'd,
    To show their skill at fault and prove his own.
    But now, their fury kindles at his play;
    Away! Begone, you tumbling fool! they bawl;
    Must you, forsooth, be wiser than us all?
    And straight, with one accord, they hooted him away.

    Your neighbour's hatred would you shun?
    His talents to surpass beware!
    And still the higher your attainments run,
    Conceal them still with greater care.
    For though, at first, the voice of fame
    Shall sound your praises to the sky:
    Anon shall Envy blast your name,
    And turn your fairest arts to crimes of deepest dye.

                                        L.

27 November 1801.

_Port Folio_, I-400, Dec. 12, 1801, Phila.

[C. F. Gellert, _Der Tanzbär_.]


                         BENEVOLENCE. A FABLE.
                 Imitated from the German of Galleret.

_Balance and Columbian Repos._, I-132, Apr. 27, 1802, Hudson (N. Y.).

[Gellert, _Die Gutthat_. Also in _Amer. Universal Mag._, I-28, Jan. 2,
1797, Phila.]


                                AMINTA.
                         An Idyl,--By Gessner.

[Prose translation.]

_Weekly Visitor or Ladies' Misc._, I-20, Oct. 23, 1802, N. Y.

[S. Gessner, _Daphne_. Mary Collyer, _Gessner's Idyls_, 1802,
Liverpool. II-121, _Aminta_.]


                          INVITATION TO JOY.
                           From the German.

    Say, who could mope in joyless plight,
      While youth and spring bedeck the scene,
    And scorn the profer'd gay delight,
      With thankless heart and frowning mien?
    See Joy with becks and smiles appear,
      While roses strew the devious way;
    The feast of life she bids us share,
      Where'er our pilgrim footsteps stray.

    And still the grove is cool and green,
      And clear the bubbling fountain flows,
    Still shines the night's resplendent queen,
      As erst in Paradise she rose:
    The grapes their purple nectar pour,
      To 'suage the heart that griefs oppress;
    And still the lonely ev'ning bow'r
      Invites and screens the stolen kiss.

    Still Philomela's melting strain,
      Responsive to the dying gale,
    Beguiles the bosom's throbbing pain,
      And sweetly charms the list'ning vale;
    Creation's scene expanded lies:--
      Blest scene! how wond'rous bright and fair!
    Till Death's cold hand shall close my eyes,
      Let me the lavish'd bounties share!

_Weekly Visitor or Ladies' Misc._, I-64, Nov. 27, 1802, N. Y.


                           ORIGINAL PAPERS.

                          For the Port Folio.
                         THE AMERICAN LOUNGER.
                        By SAMUEL SAUNTER, Esq.
                              No. XLIII.

    Et vos, O lauri, carpam, et te proxima myrtus,
    Sic positae, quoniam suaves miscetis odores.

                                        --_Virgil._


                       To SAMUEL SAUNTER, _Esq._

Sir,

As I perceive your plan, like that of Coleman and Thornton, in the
"Connoisseur," and like that of your relation, _Solomon_ Saunter, in
"Literary Leisure," admits Poetry as well as Prose, which one may feed
upon alternately, as we eat bread and cheese, I send you a
translation, from the German of Lessing, and some fugitive originals.

                                        I am, yours
                                              HARLEY.

      I ask'd my fair, one happy day,
      What should I call her in my lay,
    By what sweet name, from Rome or Greece,
      Iphigenia, Clelia, Chloris,
      Laura, Lesbia, Delia, Doris,
    Dorimene or Lucrece?

      Ah, replied my gentle fair,
      Beloved, what are names but air?
    Take thou whatever suits the line,
      Clelia, Iphigenia, Chloris,
      Laura, Lesbia, Delia, Doris--
    But don't forget to call me--_thine_.

_Port Folio_, III-25, Jan. 1803, Phila.

[Lessing, _Die Namen_.]


                            THE NAVIGATION
                Translated from the French of Gessner.

      It flies! the vessel flies, that bears away
    To distant shores my Daphne, fair as May.
    Guard her, ye loves! be lull'd each ruder gale;
    Let Zephyrs only fill the swelling sail;
    Ye waves flow gently by the vessel's side,
    While pensive she surveys you idly glide;
    Ah! softly glide, prolong her reverie,
    For then, ye Gods! 'tis then she thinks of me.
    When near the nodding groves that shade the shore,
    To her, ye birds, your sweetest warbling pour;
    No sounds be heard, but such as gently sooth,
    And be, O sea, thy azure surface smooth.
    Ne'er since thy daughters sought their liquid caves,
    A lovelier charge, was trusted to thy waves.
    Her clear, her bright unsullied beauty shews
    The lilly's white, and freshness of the rose.
    Not Venus had more charms, more beauteous bloom,
    When, rising from the sea's resplendent foam,
    She smiling mounted first her silver car,
    And shone effulgent as the morning star.
    The enchanted Tritons left their noisy sport,
    And nymphs cerulian in their crystal court;
    Regardless of their frowns, or jealous smiles,
    While beauty's queen each eager eye beguiles.
    They gaze, and held in most delightful trance,
    Pursue her moving o'er the smooth expanse.

                                        H***T.

_Boston Weekly Mag._, 1-72, Feb. 19, 1803, Boston.

[S. Gessner, _La Navigation_. French translation of _Die
Schiffahrt_.]


Mr. HOGAN;

The subjoined Pieces under the signature of Oscar, are the production
of a gentleman residing in a distant part of the state. They were
written solely with a view to amuse his leisure hours. If you think
them worthy of publication, you are at liberty to insert them in the
Repository.

                                        --A SUBSCRIBER.


                        MORNING SONG OF PRAISE.
                      From the German of Patzke.
                  "Lobt den Herrn! Die morgensonne."

    O praise the Lord! the morning sun,
      From sleep awakes the cheerful swain;
      And all creation's joys again,
    To us, in streams renewed, run.

    O praise the Lord! ye sweetest flow'rs,
      To him your earliest fragrance yield;
    Ye birds exert your tuneful pow'rs;
      Praise him in meadow and in field.

    O praise the Lord!--Ev'n from his den
      The desert's savage roars his praise;
    And, oh! my soul! how much more then,
      Should'st thou thy voice in Paeans raise?

                                        --Oscar.

_Phila. Repos._, III-152, May 7, 1803, Phila.


                             ODE TO SPRING
                           From the German.
                    "Freude wirbelt in den Lüften."

    Joy comes laughing with the breeze;
      Gladness spreads itself around;
    Songsters warble in the trees;
      Nature gaily decks the ground.

    Heav'n unfolds its richest vesture,
      Sparkling stars--etherial blue;
    Fairies dance with antic gesture;
      Or sip, delighted, morning dew.

    Gentle, smiling, Zephyrs, wander,
      Thro' the groves of verdant green;
    Toying with the lilac yonder--
      Here, with the rose of blooming mien.

    Humming bees, on wafer pinions,
      Careful, thro' the blossoms roam:
    Searching all their flow'r dominions,
      The nectar tribute gather home.

    In th'embroider'd violet vale,
      Love, attended by the Graces,
    Tells his soft bewitching tale,
      While blushing fair ones hide their faces.

    How beautiful is the creation,
      In this time of mirth and joy?
    All is life--all animation:
      Nought our pleasures to annoy.

                                        --Oscar.

_Phila. Repos._, III-152, May 7, 1803, Phila.

[For introductory note, cf. the preceding.]


                       UNIVERSAL SONG OF PRAISE.
                            A Sapphic Ode.
                       From the German of Bürde.
                 "Alles was odem hat, lobe den Herrn!"

    All ye that live and breathe, O praise the Lord!
    With holy streams of joy, and exultation,
    Our souls are penetrated.

    O taste and see, how great, how good He is!
    His love and mercy, his truth and grace alone,
    Leads us to joys eternal.

    O ye enwraptur'd souls that serve the Lord
    Cherubim! Seraphim! Angels and Spirits!
    Love is your felicity.

    Thirst on, our souls--thirst for the living streams;
    Bless'd and holy! and for ever love Him!
    Who us, in love, created.

    Yes, we'll love and adore Him! yes, the dust
    Loves its Redeemer; and all our anxious tears
    Himself shall wipe away.

                                        --Oscar.

_Phila. Repos._, III-152, May 7, 1803, Phila.

[For introductory note, cf. _Morning Song of Praise_, preceding.]


                           THE SHOE PINCHES.
                    A Song of Shoe-maker, William.
                            From Kotzebue.

    Though idlers riot, eat and drink,
    And on soft downy pillows sink,
      They are not free from woe:
    For every man must have his share
    Of trouble, and must know best where
      _The shoe does pinch his toe_.

    When rainy, wise men boots will wear,
    But shoes put on when all is fair,
      And take times as they go;
    No man that ever wore a shoe
    Will say if he be fair and true,
      _It never pinch'd his toe_.

_Balance and Columbian Repos._, II-288, Sept. 6, 1803, Hudson, (N.
Y.).


                        BENEVOLENCE.--A FABLE.
                 Imitated from the German of Gellert.

_Port Folio_, III-352, Oct. 29, 1803, Phila.

[Also in _Amer. Universal Mag._, I-28, Jan. 2, 1797, Phila.]


                             THE NOSEGAY.

[Prose translation.]

_Phila. Repos._, IV-4, Jan. 7, 1804, Phila.

[S. Gessner, _Der Blumenstrauss_. W. Hooper, _New Idylles_, p. 37.]


                                        For the Philadelphia Repository.
                               HOFFNUNG.

    Wie des morgens helle licht
    Die dunkeln 'nachts durchbricht,
    Und die ganze welt erfrout
    Mit des tages herlichkeit

    So wann grosse traurigkeit--
    Laest den menschen keine freud,
    Wann verzweiflung angst und schmertze
    Fuelt das arme, banges hertze.

    Geht die sonne _Hoffnungs_ auf,
    Und im traur'gem brust sein lauf
    Beginnt; dann flichtet traurigkeit,
    Und die brust ist voller freud.

    Von verzweiflung, angst und schmertze
    Ist befreyt das bange hertze,
    O! es bringt die _Hoffnungs_ sonne,
    Seeligkeit, und grosse wonne.

                                        --ADELIO.

* * *A poetical translation is requested.

_Phila. Repos._, IV-56, Feb. 18, 1804, Phila.


                                        For the Philadelphia Repository.
                              TRANSLATION
             Of Adelio's German Lines in last Repository.

                                 HOPE.

    As does the morn's resplendent light
    Dispel the gloomy shades of night,
    And the whole universe delight,
    With the day's illustrious sight--

    So when the adverse fates decree
    Nothing to man but misery,
    When they despair and pain impart
    To the keen agonized heart--

    Then does his course, _Hope's_ sun from rest
    Take thro' the troubled heaving breast;
    Then disappears adversity,
    And leaves behind felicity.

    Exempt from horror is the breast,
    Despair and pain sink into rest;
    The sun of _Hope_ affords delight,
    And happiness supremely bright.

                                        Translator.

_Phila. Repos._, IV-64, Feb. 25, 1804, Phila.


                   PASSAGE FROM KLOPSTOCK'S MESSIAH.

    So at the midnight hour draws nigh to the slumbering city
    Pestilence. Couch'd on his broad spread wings lurks under the rampart
    Death, bale-breathing. As yet unalarmed are the peaceable dwellers;
    Close to his nightly-lamp the sage yet watches; and high friends
    Over wine not unhallow'd, in shelter of odorous bowers,
    Talk of the soul and of friendship, and weigh their immortal duration.
    But too soon shall frightful Death, in a day of affliction
    Pouncing over them, over them spread; in a day of moaning and
         anguish....
    When with wringing of hands the bride for the bridegroom loud wails;
    When, now of all her children bereft, the desperate mother
    Furious curses the day on which she bore, and was born ... when
    Weary with hollower eye, amid the carcases totter
    Even the buriers ... till the sent Death-angel, descending,
    Thoughtful on thunder-clouds, beholds all lonesome and silent,
    Gazes the wide desolation, and long broods over the graves, fixt.

"Perhaps some other writer will throw this fine picture into blank
verse so well, as to convince the public, that the beauties of
Klopstock can be naturalized without strangeness, and his
peculiarities retained without affectation; that quaintness, the
unavoidable companion of neologism, is as needless to genius, as
hostile to grace; the hexameter, until it is familiar, must repel,
and, when it is familiar, may annoy; that it wants a musical
orderliness of sound; and that its cantering capricious movement
opposes the grave march of solemn majesty, and better suits the
ordinary scenery of Theocritus than the empyreal visions of
Klopstock."

From "Criticism on Klopstock's Messiah."

_Lit. Mag. and Amer. Reg._, I-468, Mar. 1804, Phila.

[F. G. Klopstock, _Messias_.]


                         THE GUARDIAN SPIRIT.
                     From the German of Matthison.

    Whene'er day-light's parting gleam
      A smiling form salutes my love,
    And loiters near the murm'ring stream,
      And glides beneath the conscious grove:
    Ah! then my Henry's spirit see:
    Soft joy and peace it brings to thee.

    And when at moon-light's sober ray
      Thou dream'st perchance of love and me,
    As thro' the pines the breezes play,
      And whisper dying melody--
    When tender bodings prompt the sigh--
    Thy Henry's spirit hovers nigh.

    When o'er the mind soft musings steal,
      As thou the pleasing past hast scann'd;
    Should'st thou a gentle pressure feel,
      Like zephyr's kiss o'er lip and hand;--
    And should the glimmering taper fade--
    Then near thee 'bides thy lover's shade.

    And when at midnights' solemn tide,
      As soft the rolling planets shine--
    Like Aeol's harp, thy couch beside,
      Thou hear'st the words--'forever thine!'
    Then slumber sweet, my spirit's there,
    And peace and joy it brings my fair.

_Phila. Repos._, IV-160, May 19, 1804, Phila.

[Friedrich Matthisson, _Lied aus der Ferne_.]


                        BÜRGER'S LEONORA. [g].

[In an article on Bürger's _Lenore_, three eight-lined stanzas of
Spencer's translation, and two six-lined stanzas of Stanley's
translation are given.

W. R. Spencer, _Leonora_. Trans. from the German of G. A. Bürgher.
London, 1796.

J. T. Stanley, _Leonora_. Trans. freely from the German; 2nd ed.,
London, 1796.]

_Port Folio_, IV-167, May 26, 1804, Phila.


                               A SONNET
                        Translated from Jacobi.

    Tell me where's the vi'let fled
      Late so gaily blowing;
    Springing 'neath fair Flora's tread,
      Choicest sweets bestowing?
        Swains the vernal scene is o'er,
        And the vi'let blooms no more.

    Say where hides the blushing rose,
      Pride of fragrant morning;
    Garland meet for beauty's brows,
      Hill and dale adorning?
        Gentle maid the summer's fled
        And the hopeless Rose is dead!

    Bear me then to yonder rill,
      Late so freely flowing;
    Wat'ring many a daffodil,
      On its margin glowing--
        Sun and wind exhaust its store:
        Yonder riv'let glides no more!

    Lead me to the bow'ry shade,
      Late with roses flaunting;
    Lov'd resort of youth and maid,
      Am'rous ditty chanting--
        Hail and storm with fury show'rs,
        Leafless mourn with rifled bow'rs!

    Say where hides the village maid,
      Late yon cot adorning;
    Oft I've met her in the glade,
      Fair and fresh as morning?
        Swain how short is beauty's bloom,
        Seek her in the grassy tomb!

    Whither roves the tuneful swain
      Who of rural pleasures,
    Rose and vi'let, rill and plain,
      Sung in deftest measures?
        Maiden, swift life's vision flies,
        Death has clos'd the Poet's eyes.

_Companion and Weekly Misc._, I-104, Jan. 26, 1805, Balto.

[J. G. Jacobi, _Vergänglichkeit_.
W. Taylor of Norwich, _op. cit._ II-106, _Elegy_. (Variants in stanza V).]


The following is a German drinking song, popular in the Rhingau, and
probably the inspiration of the _old Hock_, which it celebrates.

    Bekranzt mit laub den liebe vollen becher,
      Und trinkt ihn frölich leer;
    In ganz Europa, ihr herren recher,
      Ist solch ein wein nicht mehr.

    Ihn bringt das vatterland aus seiner fülle,
      Wie war er sonst so gut?
    Wie war er sonst so edel stille,
      Und doch voll kraft und muth?

    Am Rhein, am Rhein, da wachsen unsre reben;
      Gesegnet sey der Rhein!
    Da wachsen sie am ufer hin, und geben
      Uns diesen lieben wein.

    So trinkt hin dann, and last uns alle wege
      Uns freun und frölich seyn;
    Und, wisten wir wo jemand traurig läge,
      Wir gäben ihm den wein.


                             TRANSLATION.

    The brimful goblet crown with wines,
      And drink the cordial juice,
    Europe itself can't boast such vines
      As these bless'd hills produce.

    Yes, Germany's the copious source
      Of wines that all excel;
    So mild, so generous, full of force,
      None cheer the heart so well.

    Rhingau alone such grapes can boast,
      Huzza! here's to the Rhine!
    And may the wretch, who slights the toast,
      Forget the taste of wine.

    Come, drink about, and let's be gay,
      With nectar so divine,
    Is any man to grief a prey?
      We'll comfort him with wine.

_Port Folio_, V-110, Apr. 13, 1805, Phila.


                               EPIGRAMS.
                   From the German of G. E. Lessing.

    Adam awhile in Paradise
      Enjoy'd his novel life:
    He was caught napping; in a thrice
      His rib was made a wife.

    Poor father Adam, what a guest!
      This most unlucky dose
    Made the first minute of thy rest
      The last of thy repose.

       *       *       *       *       *

    But one bad woman at a time
      On earth arises.
    That every one should think he has her,
      I own--surprises.

       *       *       *       *       *

    A long way off--Lucinda strikes the men.
        As she draws near,
        And one see clear,
    A long way off--one wishes her again.

_Phila. Repos._, V-128, Apr. 20, 1805, Phila.


In Dr. Cogan's amusing and _Shandean_ Travels on the Rhine, he has
preserved a _German_ Ode to Evening. They, who are curious to behold
the _Teutonic_ Muse, in the character of a pensive minstrel, may here
be gratified.

    Komm, stiller abend, neider,
      Auf unsre kleine flur;
    Dir tönen unsre lieder,
      Wie schön bist du, natur!

    Schon steigt die abendröthe
      Herab ins kühle thal;
    Bald glantz in sanfter röthe
      Der sonne letzter strahl.

    All uberal herrscht schweigen
      Nur schwingt der vogel chor
    Hoch aus den dunkeln zweigen
      Den nacht gesang empor.

    Komm, lieber abend, neider
      Auf unsre kleine flur;
    Dir tönen unsre lieder,
      Wie schön bist du natur.


                             TRANSLATION.

    Come, silent Eve, return again,
      Our homely cottage view,
    And hear us sing a cheerful strain,
      To thee, and nature due.

    The sun retires yon hills behind,
      And sinks into the sea,
    Glancing his rays both mild and kind,
      Oh, blushing maid, on thee.

    To thee he yields the soothing sway,
      Inviting all to rest;
    The birds conclude the happy day
      With singing on thy breast.

    Come, silent Eve, return again,
      Our homely cottage view,
    And hear us sing a cheerful strain,
      To thee and nature due.

_Port Folio_, V-149, May 18, 1805, Phila.


                      FROM THE GERMAN OF LESSING.

    Ah! why am I so transient, ask'd of Jupiter, Beauty?
    Only the transient is fair, smiling answer'd the God!
    Love, and Youth, and the Spring, and the Flow'rs, and the Dew,
        they all heard it;
    Slowly they turn'd away, weeping from Jupiter's throne!

_Port Folio_, I-40, Jan. 25, 1806, Phila.


                         THE WOODEN LEG. [a].
                          An Helvetick Tale.
                  From the German of Solomon Gessner.

[Prose translation.]

_Polyanthos_, I-192, Feb., 1806, Boston.

[S. Gessner, _Das hölzerne Bein_. W. Hooper, _New Idylles_, p. 78.]


It is but seldom that the Muses of the North sing more sweetly than in
the following strain:

                        SONG--FROM THE GERMAN.

    Scarce sixteen summers had I seen,
      And rov'd my native bow'rs;
    Nor stray'd my thoughts beyond the green,
      Bedew'd with shrubs and flow'rs.

    When late a stranger youth appear'd;
      I neither wish'd nor sought him;
    He came, but whence I never heard,
      And spake what love had taught him.

    His hair in graceful ringlets play'd,
      All eyes are charm'd that view them,
    And o'er his comely shoulders stray'd,
      Where wanton zephyrs blew them.

    His speaking eye of azure hue
      Seem'd ever softly suing,
    And such an eye, so clear and blue,
      Ne'er shone for maid's undoing.

    His face was fair, his cheek was red,
      With blushes ever burning;
    And all he spoke was deftly said,
      Though far beyond my learning.

    Where'er I stray'd, the youth was nigh,
      His look soft sorrows speaking;
    Sweet maid! he'd say, then gaze and sigh,
      As if his heart were breaking.

    And once, as low his head he hung,
      I fain would ask the meaning;
    When round my neck his arms he flung,
      Soft tears his grief explaining.

    Such freedom ne'er was ta'en till now,
      And now 'twas unoffending;
    Shame spread my cheek with ruddy glow,
      My eyes kept downward bending.

    Nor aught I spoke, my looks he read,
      As if with anger burning;
    No--not one word--away he sped,
      Ah! would he were returning.

_Port Folio_, I-189, Mar. 29, 1806, Phila.


                           PASTORAL POETRY.

                      From Gessner's "New Idyls."
                           THE ZEPHYRS. [b].

[Prose translation.] _Weekly Visitant_, I-158, May 17, 1806, Salem.

[S. Gessner, _Die Zephyre_.
W. Hooper, _New Idylles_, p. 16.]


                     From Gessner's "New Idylles."
                            THE CARNATION.

[Prose translation.] _Weekly Visitant_, I-159, May 17, 1806, Salem.

[S. Gessner, _Die Nelke_.
W. Hooper, _New Idylles_, p. 7.]


                           THE NAME UNKNOWN.

Imitated from Klopstock's ode to his future mistress. By Thomas
Campbell, Esq., author of Pleasures of Hope.

_Evening Fire-Side or Lit. Misc._, II-165, May 24, 1806, Phila.

[F. G. Klopstock, _Die künftige Geliebte_.

The above imitation appeared first in a newspaper, _Newport Mercury_,
No. 2160, Aug. 30, 1803, Newport.]


                          THE FOWLER--A SONG.
     Altered from a German air, in the opera of "Die Zauberlôte."

    A CARELESS whistling lad am I,
    On sky-lark wings my moments fly;
    There's not a _Fowler_ more renown'd
    In all the world--for ten miles round!
    Ah! who like me can spread the net?
    Or tune the merry flageolet?

    Then why--O why should I repine,
    Since all the roving birds are mine?
      The thrush and linnet in the vale,
    The sweet sequester'd nightingale,
    The bulfinch, wren, and wood-lark, all
    Obey my summons when I call:
    O! could I form some cunning snare
    To catch the coy, coquetting fair,
    In _Cupid's_ filmy web so fine,
    The pretty girls should all be mine!

      When all were mine--among the rest,
    I'd choose the Lass I lik'd the best;
    And should my charming mate be kind;
    And smile, and kiss me to my mind,
    With her I'd tie the nuptial knot,
    Make _Hymen's_ cage of my poor cot,
    And love away this fleeting life,
    Like Robin Redbreast and his wife!

_Mo. Anthology and Boston Rev._, III-591, Nov. 1806, Boston.

[E. Schickaneder, _Die Zauberflöte_. Oper in zwei Aufzügen von Mozart.
Dichtung nach Ludwig Giesecke von E. Schickaneder.

James Montgomery, _The Wanderer of Switzerland and Other Poems_,
London, 1806. First Amer. ed. from second London ed., N. Y., 1807. P.
93.]


                              THE CHASE.

In the third number[33] of the Port Folio we inserted a very humorous
parody of the following ballad of Bürger. We understand from the
criticks in the German Language that the original is eminently
beautiful. Its merit was once so highly appreciated in England that a
host of translators started at once in the race for public favor. The
ensuing version which is, we believe, by Sir Walter Scott, Esqr., well
deserves a place in this journal.

    [Footnote 33: _Parody on Bürger's Earl Walter_ in _Port
    Folio_, III-44, Jan. 17, 1807. Cf. p. 165.]

[The translation by Scott follows.]

_Port Folio_, III-100, Feb. 14, 1807, Phila.

[Also in _Weekly Mag._, II-413, July 28, 1798, Phila.]


                        The following charming
                                 SONG
             is translated from the German by Mr. Herbert.

     "Hail, orient sun, auspicious light!
      Hail, new-born orb of day!
    Lo, from behind the wood-crown'd height,
      Breaks forth thy glittering ray.
    Behold it sparkle in the stream,
      And on the dew drop shine!
    O, may sweet joy's enlivening beam
      Mix his pure rays with thine!
    The Zephyrs now, with frolic wing,
      Their rosy beds forsake;
    And, shedding round the sweets of spring,
      Their drowsy comrades wake.
    Soft sleep and all his airy forms
      Fly from the dawning day:
    Like little loves O may their swarms
      On Chloe's bosom play!
    Ye Zephyrs haste; from every flower
      The sweetest perfumes take;
    And bear them hence to Chloe's bower;
      For soon the maid must wake!
    And, hovering round her fragrant bed,
      In breezes call my fair;
    Go, frolic round her graceful head,
      And scent her golden hair!
    Then gently whisper in her ear,
      That ere the sun gan rise,
    By the soft murmuring fountain here
      I breath'd her name in sighs."

_Observer_, I-352, May 30, 1807, Balto.


                                        Selected Poetry.
                     THE POEM OF HALLER VERSIFIED.
                    By HENRY JAMES PYE, Esq., P.L.

    Ah! woods forever dear! whose branches spread
    Their verdant arch o'er Hasel's breezy head,
    When shall I once again, supinely laid,
    Hear Philomela charm your list'ning shade?
    When shall I stretch my careless limbs again,
    Where, gently rising from the velvet plain,
    O'er the green hills, in easy curve that bend,
    The mossy carpet Nature's hands extend?
    Where all is silent! save the gales that move
    The leafy umbrage of the whisp'ring grove;
    Or the soft murmurs of the rivulet's wave,
    Whose chearing streams the lonely meadows lave.

      O Heav'n! when shall once more these eyes be cast
    On scenes where all my spring of life was pass'd;
    Where, oft responsive to the falling rill,
    Sylvia and love my artless lays would fill?
    While Zephyr's fragrant breeze, soft breathing, stole
    A pleasing sadness o'er my pensive soul:
    Care, and her ghastly train, were far away;     }
    While calm, beneath the sheltering woods I lay  }
    Mid shades, impervious to the beams of day.     }

    Here--sad reverse!--from scenes of pleasure far,
    I wage with sorrow unremitting war:
    Oppress'd with grief, my ling'ring moments flow,
    Nor aught of joy, or aught of quiet, know.
    Far from the scenes that gave my being birth,
    From parents far, an outcast of the earth!
    In youth's warm hours, from each restriction free,
    Left to myself in dangerous liberty.

      Ah! scenes of earthly joy! ah, much-lov'd shades!
    Soon may my footsteps tread your vernal glades.
    Ah! should kind Heav'n permit me to explore
    Your seats of still tranquillity once more!
    E'en now to Fancy's visionary eye,
    Hope shews the flattering hour of transport nigh,
    Blue shines the aether, when the storm is past;
    And calm repose succeeds to sorrow's blast.
    Flourished, ye scenes of every new delight!
    Wave wide your branches to my raptur'd sight!
    While, ne'er to roam again, my wearied feet
    Seek the kind refuge of your calm retreat.

      Now pale disease shoots thro' my languid frame,
    And checks the zeal for wisdom and for fame.
    Now droops fond hope, by Disappointment cross'd;
    Chill'd by neglect, each sanguine wish is lost.
    O'er the weak mound stern Ocean's billows ride,
    And waft destruction in with every tide;
    While Mars, descending from his crimson car,
    Fans with fierce hands the kindling flames of war.

      Her gentle aid let Consolation lend;
    All human evils hasten to their end.
    The storm abates at every gust it blows;
    Past ills enhance the comforts of repose.
    He who ne'er felt the pressure of distress,
    Ne'er felt returning pleasure's keen excess.
    Time who Affliction bore on rapid wing,
    My panting heart to happiness may bring;
    I, on my native hills, may yet inhale
    The purer influence of the ambient gale.

_Observer_, II-95, Aug. 8, 1807, Balto.

[Albrecht von Haller, _Sehnsucht nach dem Vaterlande_.]


Walter Scott, Esq., whose honoured name is now perfectly familiar to
every lover of poetical description, has lately published a ballad
which we are solicitous to preserve in this paper. The gayety of the
beginning, contrasted with the solemnity of the conclusion of this
terrifick ballad cannot fail to strike all who relish The Castle of
Otranto, or The Romance of the Forest.


                         FREDERICK AND ALICE.

This tale is imitated rather than translated from a fragment
introduced in Goethe's "Claudina von Villa Bella," where it is sung by
a member of a gang of banditti to engage the attention of the family,
while his companions break into the castle. It owes any little merit
it may possess to my friend Mr. Lewis, to whom it was sent in an
extremely rude state; and who, after some material improvement,
published it in his "Tales of Wonder."

[The poem follows.]

_Port Folio_, IV-134, Aug. 29, 1807, Phila.

[Goethe, _Claudine von Villa Bella_, Act II. Song by "Rugantino"
(Karlos von Castellvecchio).

M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Wonder_.]


                        THE LASS OF FAIR WONE.
                      From the German of Buerger.

_Charms of Lit._, p. 103, 1808, Trenton.

[Also in _Phila. Minerva_, II, Dec. 17, 1796, Phila.]


                         THE WOODEN LEG. [b].
                            A Swiss Idyll.
                              By GESSNER.

[Prose translation.]

_Charms of Lit._, p. 401, 1808, Trenton.

[S. Gessner, _Das hölzerne Bein_.]


                      FROM THE GERMAN OF GESNER.

    Hail, Morning, to thy rising beam
      That gilds with light the mountain's brow,
    And shines and glitters in the stream
      That winds along the vale below!

    Joy, and health, and glad delight
      Await thy steps, thy march pursue;
    The Zephyr now that slept the night
      In flowers that weep beneath the dew,

    His plumes with new-born vigour tries,
      And lifts him from his balmy bed;
    And dreams that round the wearied eyes
      Of mortals hover'd, now are fled.

    Haste, ye Gales, and thro' the air
      Waft the sweets from every flower,
    And wave your wings around my Fair,
      What slumbers in yon rosy bower;

    Paint o'er her lips and cheek's bright hues,
      And heave upon her heaving breast,
    And when yo've chas'd Sleep's balmy dews,
      And gently burst the bonds of rest,

    Oh whisper to her list'ning ear,
      That e'er bright Morn had deck'd the sky,
    These streams beheld me shed the tear,
      And heard me pour for her the sigh!

_Lady's Weekly Misc._, VII-112, June 11, 1808, N. Y.

[S. Gessner, _Morgenlied_.]


                             MORNING SONG.
                (Morgenlied) from the German of Gesner.

    Welcome, early orb of morn!
      Welcome, infant day!
    O'er the wood-top'd mountain borne,
      Mark its coming ray!
    Now o'er babbling brooks it beams;
      Sips from each flower its _dew_;
    Now with glorious gladdening gleams
      Wakes the world anew.
    Zephyrs first, o'er flowers that slumber'd,
      Quit their couch, and play;
    Breathe o'er flowers in sighs unnumber'd,
      Breathe the scent of day.
    Fancy now her reign gives o'er,
      Every vision flies;
    Chloe's cheek is wan no more,
      Cupids round it rise.
    Hasten, Zephyr, waft from roses
      All their loveliest bloom!
    Haste where Chloe now reposes,
      Wake her from her tomb!
    To the fairest's couch repair,
      Wanton round her pillow;
    O'er her lip and bosom fair
      Bathe thy blandest billow!
    She wakes the whispers to the gale,
      Wakes from her morning dream;
    Whilst so the stream, and thro' the vale,
      I er'st have breathed her name.

_Emerald_, n. s., I-562, Sept. 10, 1808, Boston.

[S. Gessner, _Morgenlied_.]


               TRANSLATION OF SHELLER'S "FORGET ME NOT."
                          (From the German.)

    Belov'd of my bosom, alas my fond heart
      Does weep for the fate of my heart-rending lot;
    To range the wide world, now from me you depart,
      Yet remember me ever, "forget me not."

    If moving in circles of beauty and love,
      Perchance to adore some sweet maid, be your lot,
    O! then may my spirit thy wav'rings reprove,
      And whisper thee gently, "forget me not."

    If hap'ly hard fate should you e'er from me sever,
      How drearily mournful would be my sad lot,
    In sorrow's dark path I would wander forever,
      Nor smile more with joy, then "forget me not."

    If in the fresh bloom of my life's early blossom,
      To leave you my dear, and this world, be my lot,
    Thine be the last sigh that escapes from my bosom,
      Then think how I love you; "O! forget me not."

    Yet tho' we now part, in the bless'd realms above,
      We will meet soon again, free from life's woeful lot;
    We will meet to dear joy, we will meet to sweet love,
      Then no more need I say "O! forget me not."

                                        Z.

_Gleaner_, I-325, Mar. 1809, Lancaster (Penn.).


                     TRANSLATION FROM THE GERMAN.

Whoever has perused the prophetick metrical compositions of Van Vander
Horderclogeth must surely remember the poem on the 3697 fol. of which
the following is a translation; it commences thus--

         Vrom Grouter gruder grout gropstock, Zordur zoop, &c.

    All gloomy and sorrowful Beelzebub sat,
      With his imps and his devils around,
    When the thundering knocker of Hell's outer grate
    Rang a peal so terrifick and loud on the gate,
      That all Erebus echoed the sound.

    Full swift to the portal the young devils flew,
      And the long gloomy passage unbarr'd;
    When a lanthorn-jaw'd monster stood forth to their view,
    So meagre his figure, so pale was his hue,
      That the devils all trembled and star'd.

    All green were his eyes in their sockets decay'd,
      His nose was projecting and wide,
    In a dusty frock-coat was his carcase array'd,
    On his scull he a three-corner'd scraper display'd,
      And two volumes[34] he bore at his side.

    So foul were his breath and the words that he said,
      That his teeth had long rotted away--
    And now to the devils a signal he made,
    To show him their master, the devils obey'd,
      And brought him where Beelzebub lay.

    Old Beelzebub rose, as the monster came in,
      And stood for a moment in dread,
    For they look'd like each other enough to be kin,
    Save that one had whole feet and a light-colour'd skin,
      And the other had horns on his head.

    'Whence art thou?' said Beelzebub; 'stranger, proclaim,
      For if Satan can rightly divine,
    Thou art surely some hero of throat-cutting fame,
    For ne'er to these regions a spirit there came,
      With figure so hellish as thine.'

    'No throats have I cut,' the lank goblin replied,
      With voice that was hollow and shrill;
    'I have cheated, and bullied, and swindled, and lied,
    Sedition and falsehood I've spread far and wide,
      And in mischief I never was still.

    'My name is ---- ----;' no sooner said he,
      Than Beelzebub rose with a grin;
    He embrac'd the foul monster, who also display'd
    His joy at the meeting; and both of them made
      All Hell echo round with their din.

_Ordeal_, I-157, Mar. 11, 1809, Boston.

    [Footnote 34: I have not been able to discover what these
    volumes were. There is a short note in the German, which
    implies that they were entitled Dulder Soudth.]


                              THE FOWLER.

A Song. Altered from a German air, in the opera of "Dizauberlote."
_Gleaner_, I-374, Apr. 1809, Lancaster (Penn.).

[Also in _Mo. Anthology and Boston Rev._, III-591, Nov. 1806, Boston.]


                               TO CHLOE.
                      From the German of Gesner.

[Prose translation.]

_Visitor_, I-154, Nov. 4, 1809, Richmond.

[S. Gessner, _An Chloen_.]


                                 SONG.
                      From the German of Jacobi.

_Boston Mirror_, II-88, Dec. 30, 1809, Boston.

[Same as, _A Sonnet_, by Jacobi, in _Companion and Weekly Misc._,
I-104, Jan. 26, 1805, Balto.]


I publish the following new translation of "The Wild Hunter," first on
account of its superiority over every other, and secondly because it
is my intention in a future number to notice particularly this _chef
d'oeuvre_ of the German poet.

                           THE WILD HUNTER.

    Loud, loud the baron winds his horn;
      And, see, a lordly train
    On horse, on foot, with deafening din,
      Comes scouring o'er the plain.

    O'er heath, o'er field, the yelping pack
      Dash swift, from couples freed;
    O'er heath, o'er field, close on their track,
      Loud neighs the fiery steed.

    And now the Sabbath's holy dawn
      Beam'd high with purple ray,
    And bright each hallowed temple's dome
      Reflected back the day.

    Now deep and clear the pealing bells
      Struck on the list'ning ear,
    And heaven-ward rose from many a voice
      The hymn of praise and prayer.

    Swift, swift along the crossway, still
      They speed with eager cry:
    See! right and left, two horsemen strange
      Their rapid coursers ply.

    Who were the horsemen right and left?
      That may I guess full well:
    Who were the horsemen right and left?
      That may I never tell.

    The right, of fair and beauteous mien,
      A milk-white steed bestrode;
    Mild as the vernal skies, his face
      With heavenly radiance glow'd.

    The left spurr'd fast his fiery barb,
      Red as the furnace flame;
    Sullen he loured, and from his eyes
      The death-like lightning came.

    'Right welcome to our noble sport;'
      The baron greets them fair;
    'For well I wot ye hold it good
      To banish moping care.

    'No pleasure equal to the chase,
      Or earth, or heaven can yield;'
    He spoke,--he waved his cap in air,
      And foremost rushed afield.

    'Turn thee!' the milder horseman cries;
      'Turn thee from horns and hounds!
    Hear'st not the bells, hear'st not the quire,
      Mingle their sacred sounds?

    'They drown the clamor of the chase;
      Oh! hunt not then to-day,
    Nor let a fiend's advice destroy
      Thy better angel's sway.'

    'Hunt on, hunt on,' his comrade cries,
      'Nor heed yon dotard's spell;
    What is the bawling quire to us?
      Or what the jangling bell?

    'Well may the chase delight thee more;
      And well may'st learn from me,
    How brave, how princely is our sport,
      From bigot terrors free.'

    'Well said! well said! in thee I own
      A hero's kindled fire;
    These pious fool'ries move not us,
      We reck nor priest, nor quire.

    'And thou, believe me, saintlike dolt,
      Thy bigot rage is vain;
    From prayers and beadrolls, what delight
      Can sportsmen hope to gain?'

    Still hurry, hurry, on they speed
      O'er valley, hill and plain;
    And ever at the baron's side
      Attend the horsemen twain.

    See, panting, see, a milk-white hart
      Up-springs from yonder thorn:
    'Now swiftly ply both horse and foot;
      Now louder wind the horn!'

    See, falls a huntsman! see, his limbs
      The pangs of death distort!
    'Lay there and rot: no caitiff's death
      Shall mar our princely sport.'

    Light bounds with deftest speed the hart,
      Wide o'er the country borne;
    Now closer prest a refuge seeks
      Where waves the ripening corn.

    See, the poor owner of the field
      Approach with tearful eyes;
    'O pity, pity, good my lords!'
      Alas! in vain he cries.

    'O spare what little store the poor
      By bitter sweat can earn!'
    Now soft the milder horseman warns
      The baron to return.

    Not so persuades his stern compeer,
      Best pleas'd with darkest deeds;
    Tis his to sway the baron's heart,
      Reckless what mercy pleads.

    'Away!' the imperious noble cries;
      'Away, and leave us free!
    Off! or by all the powers of hell,
      Thou too shalt hunted be!

    'Here, fellows! let this villain prove
      My threats were not in vain:
    Loud lash around his piteous face
      The whips of all my train.'

    Tis said, tis done: swift o'er the fence
      The baron foremost springs;
    Swift follow hound, and horse, and man,
      And loud the welkin rings.

    Loud rings the welkin with their shouts,
      While man, and horse, and hound,
    Ruthless tread down each ripening ear,
      Wide o'er the smoking ground.

    O'er heath and field, o'er hill and dale,
      Scared by the approaching cries,
    Still close pursued, yet still unreach'd,
      Their destin'd victim flies.

    Now mid the lowing herds that graze
      Along yon verdant plain,
    He hopes, concealed from every eye,
      A safe retreat to gain.

    In vain, for now the savage train
      Press ravening on his heels:
    See, prostrate at the baron's feet
      The affrighted herdsman kneels.

    Fear for the safety of his charge
      Inspires his faltering tongue;
    'O spare,' he cries, 'these harmless beasts,
      Nor work an orphan's wrong.

    'Think, here thy fury would destroy
      A friendless widow's all!'
    He spoke:--the gentle stranger strove
      To enforce soft pity's call.

    Not so persuades his sullen frere,
      But pleas'd with darkest deeds;
    Tis his to sway the baron's heart,
      Reckless what mercy pleads.

    'Away, audacious hound!' he cries;
      'Twould do my heart's-blood good,
    Might I but see thee transform'd to beasts
      Thee and thy beggar brood.

    'Then, to the very gates of heaven,
      Who dare to say me nay!
    With joy I'd hunt the losel fry;
      Come fellows, no delay!'

    See, far and wide the murderous throng
      Deal many a deadly wound;
    Mid slaughter'd numbers, see, the hart
      Sinks bleeding on the ground.

    Yet still he summons all his strength
      For one poor effort more,
    Staggering he flies; his silver sides
      Drop mingled sweat and gore.

    And now he seeks a last retreat
      Deep in the darkling dell,
    Where stands, amidst embowering oaks,
      A hermit's holy cell.

    E'en here the madly eager train
      Rush swift with impious rage,
    When, lo! persuasion on his tongue,
      Steps forth the reverend sage.

    'O cease thy chase! nor thus invade
      Religion's free abode;
    For know, the tortur'd creature's groans
      E'en now have reach'd his god.

    'They cry at heaven's high mercy seat,
      For vengeance on thy head;
    O turn, repentant turn, ere yet
      The avenging bolt is sped.'

    Once more religion's cause in vain
      The gentle stranger pleads;
    Once more, alas! his sullen frere
      A willing victim leads.

    'Dash on!' the harden'd sinner cries;
      'Shalt thou disturb our sport?
    No! boldly would I urge the chase
      In heaven's own inmost court.

    'What reck I then thy pious rage?
      No mortal man I fear:
    Not god in all his terrors arm'd
      Should stay my fix'd career.'

    He cracks his whip, he winds his horn,
      He calls his vassal-crew;
    Lo! horse and hound, and sage and cell,
      All vanish from his view.

    All, all, are gone!--no single rack
      His eager eye can trace;
    And silence, still as death, has hush'd
      The clamors of the chase.

    In vain he spurs his courser's sides,
      Nor back nor forward borne;
    He winds his horn, he calls aloud,
      But hears no sound return.

    And now inclos'd in deepest night,
      Dark as the silent grave,
    He hears the sullen tempest roar,
      As roars the distant wave.

    Loud and louder still the storm
      Howls through the troubled air;
    Ten thousand thunders from on high
      The voice of judgment bear.

    Accursed before god and man,
      Unmoved by threat or prayer;
    Creator, nor created, aught
      Thy frantic rage would spare.

    'Think not in vain creation's lord
      Has heard his creature's groan;
    E'en now the torch of vengeance flames
      High by his awful throne.

    'Now, hear thy doom! to aftertimes
      A dread example given,
    For ever urge thy wild career,
      By fiendish hell-hounds driven.'

    The voice had ceased; the sulphurous flash
      Shot swift from either pole;
    Sore shook the grove; cold horror seized
      The trembling miscreant's soul.

    Again the rising tempest roars,
      Again the lightnings play;
    And every limb, and every nerve
      Is frozen with dismay.

    He sees a giant's swarthy arm
      Start from the yawning ground;
    He feels a demon grasp his head,
      And rudely wrench it round.

    In torrents now from every side,
      Pours fast a fiery flood;
    On each o'erwhelming wave upborne,
      Loud howls the hellish brood.

    Sullen and grisly gleams the light,
      Now red, now green, now blue;
    Whilst o'er the gulf the fiendish train
      Their destined prey pursue.

    In vain he shrieks with wild despair,
      In vain he strives to fly;
    Still at his back the hell-born crew
      Their cursed business ply.

    By day, full many a fathom deep
      Below earth's smiling face;
    By night, high through the troubled air,
      They speed their endless chase.

    In vain to turn his eyes aside
      He strives with wild affright;
    So never may those maddening scenes
      Escape his tortured sight.

    Still must he see those dogs of hell
      Close hovering on his track;
    Still must he see the avenging scourge
      Uplighted at his back.

    Now this is the wild baron's hunt;
      And many a village youth,
    And many a sportsman (dare they speak)
      Could vouch the awful truth.

    For oft benighted midst the wilds
      The fiendish troop they hear,
    Now shrieking shrill, now cursing loud,
      Come thundering through the air.

    No hand shall stay those dogs of hell
      Or quench that sea of fire,
    Till god's own dreadful day of doom
      Shall bid the world expire!

_Rambler's Mag._, I-137, [1809], N. Y.

[G. A. Bürger, _Der wilde Jäger_.]




                                 III.

  TRANSLATIONS OF DUTCH, DANISH, NORWEGIAN AND ICELANDIC POETRY, AND
           ORIGINAL POEMS REFERRING TO THE GERMAN COUNTRIES.


We hear from _Annopolis-Royal_ that a play was acted the last Winter
for the Entertainment of the Officers and Ladies at that Place and
that the following Lines were Part of the Prologue compos'd and spoke
on that Occasion.

    Whilst to relieve a generous Queen's Distress,
    Whom proud, ambitious Potentates oppress:
    Our king pursues the most effectual Ways,
    Sooths some to Peace, and there the Storm allays;
    And against others, who're more loath to yield,
    He leads his _Britons_ to the _German_ Field:
    Where to his Cost th' insulting Foe has found
    What 'tis with _Britons_ to dispute the Ground:
    We still enjoying Peace in this cold Clime,
    With innocent diversions pass our Time, &c.

_Amer. Mag. and Hist. Chron._, I-348, Apr. 1744, Boston.


                            WINTER, A POEM.
                   By the same [_i. e._, Annandius].

The twelfth stanza:

      Thrice happy they! but why my muse,
    To rural pastimes so profuse?
    The crouded city surely yields,
    More joy than ice and snowy fields?
    Here folks are witty and well dress'd,
    And blooming beauty is caress'd
    In ev'ry form art can devise--       }
    With soothing flattery solemn lies,  }
    And all that nymphs deluded prize    }
    Here fashions reign, and modes prevail,
    And in twelve moons again grow stale,
    Thus ever vary, ever change,
    Yet ever please--a thing most strange!
    And here each thing is told that's new   }
    What _Loundoun_ or what _Richlieu_ do,   }
    Each secret expedition too--             }
    And then great FREDERICK'S _noble_ feats,
    When he th' imperial forces beats.
    Such themes the lazy hours beguile;
    There's nothing else that's worth our while.
           *       *       *       *       *

_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-238, Feb. 1758, Phila.


                        To the Proprietors, &c.

GENTLEMEN:

The honour of becoming a father has made me desirous of ushering the
following _Ode_ into the world, which is my own true, honest, and
lawfully begotten birth. I, therefore know of no better method than to
commit it to the care of gentlemen of your abilities and public
character; for if it remains with me it must live and die in
obscurity.

Philadelphia, February 25th.
                                        PHILANDREIA.


                   ON THE COMPLEAT VICTORY GAIN'D BY
                 HIS PRUSSIAN MAJESTY OVER THE FRENCH
             AND IMPERIAL ARMY, THE 5TH OF NOVEMBER, 1757.

                           A _Pindaric_ Ode.

    'Tis he! 'tis he! I hear him from afar,
    Thundering like the God of War;
    To Rosbach's plains, in dread array,
    The god-like hero bends his way!
    Hark! the rattling rumbling noise of drums!
        He comes, he comes!
    See, _Prussia's_ awful king's at hand!
    He speaks, he speaks! attentive stand!
    His well known voice, the gallant warriours hear,
    And bend their wide-extended wings both front and rear,
        Which half enclose him round.
    Stern as the face of war, and yet serene,  }
    With grace attractive, and majestic mein,  }
    Was the mighty monarch seen.               }
    With martial rage each bosom glow'd,
    While from his lips those moving accents flow'd--
      'My valiant troops, my dear and trusty friends,
    'The hour at last is come, in which depends
    'What ever is, or should to us be dear,
    'Upon the sword-unsheath'd, and glitt'ring spear.
    'For PROTESTANTS-_unborn_ you fight: Your cause is good,
    'Which you have yet maintain'd, thro' seas of richest blood.
    'And, bear me witness, that your Prince thus far,
    'Hath shar'd each danger in this glorious war;
    'Nor shall it e'er by envious[35] tongue be told
    'Your leader shrunk from watching, hunger, cold,
    'And left the burden to his vet'rans bold
        'Oh! no; my faithful bands!
        'With you your FRED'RICK stands,
    'For _Freedom_ ready to impart
    'Those crimson drops that roll around his heart'--
    He spoke: And acclamations loud,
    Like thunder bursting from a cloud,
    Struck th' approaching foe with awe;
        And the madly-floating sound
        Fill'd the wide extended plains around,
          With the wild _Huzza_.
        Each warrior, big with rage,
        Stands panting to engage;
    And now the voice of furious Joy
    Again bursts forth into the vaulted sky;
    And the rude rocks rebound
    The warlike trumpet's solemn sound--
        "Destroy! destroy! destroy!"
      As water roaring from a mountain's side
    Tears down whole rocks with its impetuous tide;
    And rolling through the plains with furious sweep, }
    Bears off the shepherd's cottage, and his sheep,   }
    Into the surging of th' astonish'd deep;           }
        So each band,
        Sword in hand,
        Pour'd on the foe;
        Thund'ring, flashing,
        Fiercely clashing
        Arms on Arms--
        Glory's Charms,
        Fir'd each breast with martial glow,
    Ah, see what piteous scenes appear.
      When warriors yield their breath;
    Now dying groans invade the ear,
      They sink in glorious death.
    _Prussian_ rage the foe confounds,
      Some stagger, fall, are slain,
    Some cover'd o'er with blood and wounds,
      Lie weltring on the plain,
        Surpriz'd and confounded,
        With horror surrounded,
        And pale fear half dead,
        They're vanquish'd and fled.
      Hark! hark! the trumpet's sound
      A shout for _Victory_ spreads around;
        And _Victory_ the vales,
        And _Victory_ the dales,
      And _Victory_ the tufted hills rebound!
      When muttering thunders roll along the sky.
    You may have seen the winged lightnings fly;
    Quick as thought, the flashes glance
    Thro' th' immensurable wide expanse--
    So nimble warriours flew,
    When they gave their foes the rout,
    With this universal shout,
        "Pursue! pursue! pursue!"
    O'er carcasses of heroes slain,
    The mighty victors rode,
    Where shiver'd armour strew'd the plain
    Empurpled o'er with blood;
    Now thund'ring on their broken rear,
    He spreads destruction, death and fear,
    Till day forsakes him, and the sullen night,
    In thickest gloom of hov'ring shades, descends
    To the assistance of her ghastly friends,
    And screens the _vanquish'd_ from the _victor's_ sight!

_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-240, Feb. 1758, Phila.

    [Footnote 35: We have taken the liberty to make two or three
    small alterations here, which we flatter ourselves the
    ingenious author's judgment will approve of and excuse, as
    they do not affect the sense.]


                   ODE ON THE LATE VICTORY OBTAINED
                        BY THE KING OF PRUSSIA,
                   By the same [_i. e._, Annandius].

                    I.

    Hail matchless monarch! prince renown'd!
    Long be thy head with laurels crown'd,
      By victories obtained!
    For liberty long hast thou stood,
    In crimson fields of war and blood
      That peace may be regain'd.

                    II.

    When Austria and aspiring Gaul
    Determin'd kingdoms to enthral,
      Lo Prussia's pow'rful prince!
    With watchful eye and warlike hand,
    Makes them aghast and trembling stand,
      Rais'd up by providence.

                    III.

    As when a Lion rears his head,
    The forest wide is fill'd with dread,
      Each creature seeks his den;
    Or when Leviathan the great
    Displays himself in finny state
      He terrifies the main.

                    IV.

    In fair record shall long remain
    The DAY, when on _Thuringia's_ plain
      SOUBISE before him fled;
    When HILBOURGHAUSEN'S num'rous band
    'Gainst Prussian valor could not stand,
      With terror almost dead.

                    V.

    With haste they fled, and bless'd the night,
    Which hid them from the victor's sight,
      And favoured their retreat.
    Near Freybourg walls, the _Unstrut_ pass'd.
    On hills of Eckersberg harras'd,
      They mourn'd their adverse fate.

                    VI.

    O glorious prince! O warlike train!
    Who hunger, cold and toil sustain
      With brave unyielding mind!
    To you proud Austria shall submit,
    And LOUIS lovingly shall greet
      The _Prussian_ as his friend.

                    VII.

    In characters of purest gold
    Thy speech deserves to be enroll'd,
      Before the battle made;
    Each Soldier stil'd great FRED'RICK'S friend,
    Who can his country's rights defend
      When her fierce foes invade.

                    VIII.

    Who would, in battle lag behind,
    That serves a prince so great, so kind,
      In every danger near?
    When monarchs' lives are laid at stake,
    What subject would his king forsake?
      What room is left for fear?

                    IX.

    Europe on thee has fix'd her eye,
    Great monarch! All on thee rely
      Her balance just to keep.
    May this great end thy labours crown,
    Be sempiternal thy renown,
      When thou in dust shall sleep.

Philadelphia, February 10, 1758.

_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-240, Feb. 1758, Phila.


The same worthy motives that induced the author to send us the
following poem, will induce us to give it place this month, altho we
are already crowded with materials. We think it our duty, as _Britons_
and _Protestants_, to take every opportunity of celebrating such an
illustrious hero as the King of _Prussia_; and, however unequal the
strains may be thought, yet if they contribute ever so little to raise
an imitation of his noble and almost divine atchievments, in the cause
of _Religion_ and _Liberty_, our end will be fully answered.


                  ON THE GLORIOUS VICTORY OBTAINED BY
                 THE HEROICK KING OF PRUSSIA OVER THE
                     IMPERIAL ARMY NEAR NEWMARK IN
                    SILESIA THE 5TH DECEMBER 1757.

                    I.

    My muse! again attempt the lyre;
    Rouse! rouse! thy whole poetic fire!
    Great FREDRICK'S deeds do still require
            More ample praise.
    Let his great acts the verse inspire,
            And tuneful be thy lays.

                    II.

    Illustrious HANNIBAL of old,
    CAESAR the brave and SCIPIO bold,
    For battles won stand high enroll'd
            In hist'ry's page!
    Let Fred'rick's name with theirs be told,
            The HERO of his age!

                    III.

    _Rosbach!_ thy plain the VICTOR owns!
    'Twas fill'd with shrieks and dying groans,
    And mangled limbs and shatter'd bones--
            In heaps they lay!
    The vanquished _Gaul_ as yet bemoans
            That inauspicious day.

                    IV.

    Yea FRED'RICK bent on conquests new,
    Doth ALEXANDER-like pursue,
    As if the world he would subdue--
            Undaunted prince!
    That thou 'rt a _Hero_ great and true
            Each action doth evince.

                    V.

    _Silesia_ first demands relief,
    His losses there augment his grief;
    Thitherward the _Prussians_ and their CHIEF,
            To BEVERN'S aid
    Make hasty marches; and in brief
            Their parts they nobly play'd.

                    VI.

    See! see! the godlike MAN proceed!
    And vet'ran bands to battle lead,
    Inur'd to toil, and warlike deed,
            A hardy race!
    Such troops are princes' friends indeed,
            And do their LEADER grace.

                    VII.

    The trumpet's sound, and loudest noise
    Of martial drums, increase their joys;
    Not by compulsion led, but choice,
            And bold to fight,
    Their _Country's_ cause in mind they poise;
            _War! War!_ is their delight!

                    VIII.

    Now they engage with furious shout;
    And join in battle fierce and stout,
    Th' invet'rate _Foe_ at length they rout;
            And loud they cry--
    O! matchless _Prussians_! ne'er give out;
            Pursue! Cut off! Destroy!

                    IX.

    Th' intrepid victors far and near
    Spread fierce destruction on the rear,
    Their enemies with trembling fear
            Their arms lay down;
    Who whilom haughty and severe,
            Had deem'd the field their own.

                    X.

    See them triumphant bear away
    Th' imperial standards waving gay!
    A thousand trophies line the way;
            As they return,
    Beneath their feet, a hapless prey,
            The vanquish'd mourn.

                    XI.

    Behold the blood impurpled plain,
    And shiver'd armour of the slain!
    Their dreams of honour, ah! how vain?
            Gasping they lie!
    Now of their wounds complain,
            Now sink and faint and die.

                    XII.

    Such is th' event of human things,
    The fates of emp'rors and of kings;
    Death in the rear disaster brings,
            Dreadful to see!
    Such as great POPE or HOMER sings,
            Strains far too high for me.

                    XIII.

    But CHARLES and valiant DAUN retreat,
    Who lately led an army great--
    At _Breslau_ now in shatter'd state
            They rendezvous:
    And there bemoan their adverse fate,
            And dismal overthrow.

                    XIV.

    The _Prussian Chief_ pursues with speed,
    At his approach they're fill'd with dread,
    From whose terrific arm, dismay'd,
            So late they flew!
    O FREDRICK! matchless prince, proceed,
            Thy glorious course pursue!

                    XV.

    To him those _Heros_ yield the town,
    And him a _greater Hero_ own;
    Who soon its walls could batter down,
            And lay them low.
    Long may he wear the _Prussian Crown_,
            And curb each haughty _Foe_.

                                        --Annandius.

March 11th, 1758.

_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-279, Mar. 1757, Phila.


                   A LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE KING
                           OF PRUSSIA'S ODE.

                    I.

        Oh God! all powerful God!
            Invincible, unknown!
          Creator, father of all;
        Whom every nation implores;
    Whom the Barbarian worships in the wind.
        By what name will it please thee
      That I shall address thee? Oh infinite,
            All wise, and eternal spirit!
    At the foot of thy sacred throne I most humbly bow my head.

                    II.

        Forsaken by my only friends,
            In a strange country,
        Where winter was near killing us;
          The enraged enemy on every side,
            With their savage instruments,
            The sword and fire consuming,
                As if sacrificers,
          They came with their deadly rage,
    And hasten'd to destroy us with cries of triumph.

                    III.

            But in thy penetrating view,
          How vain are powerful troops!
        I, still intrepid, dare the combat;
      My buckler and my lance being my cause:
              And behold the armies meet;
    They turn their backs, we following to punish:
              Victorious each of my soldiers
                  Seems to carry of war
                The most terrible thunder;
    And every arm is a thousand in the fury of the combat.

                    IV.

            Then I owe thee success
              To fortune! why so?
              Justice succoured me;
        From on high she cast down her eyes;
    And when she perceived the contending parties,
          She lifted up her hand to weigh
              The right of each side,
    And as she found the balance incline, she employ'd her sword.


The King of Prussia employs himself in times of peace in the following
manner: He rises at five; on business till seven; dresses, and
receives letters and petitions till nine; from nine to eleven with his
ministers; then on the parade, to exercise the guards; dines at half
an hour after twelve with some of his officers; at half an hour after
one he retires till five; then somebody reads to him till seven; then
the concert; at nine come the men of genius; they sup half an hour
after, and converse till eleven; then the king retires, and at twelve
goes to bed.--He is a statesman, soldier, author, and musician;
indefatigable in business; and by method overlooks and directs
everything; very frugal; without farce of state; the idle officers of
the court have the usual titles; but no pay for the drones, tho' they
are mostly officers.


                 THE THIRD PSALM PARAPHRASED, ALLUDING
                       TO HIS PRUSSIAN MAJESTY.

    Look down, O God! regard my cry!
      On thee my hopes depend:
    I'm close beset, without ally;
      Be thou my shield and friend.
    Confed'rate kings and princes league,
      On ev'ry side attack
    To perpetrate the black intrigue
      But thou canst drive them back,
    Long did I fear their wink and nod;
      In close cabals they cry'd,
    _There is no help for him in God_;
      His kingdom we'll divide.
    Amid their army's dreadful glare
      Thou gav'st me inward might,
    Teaching my arm the art of war,
      My fingers how to fight.
    Tho' vet'ran troops my camp invest,
      Expert in war's alarms,
    Calmly I lay me down to rest
      In thy protecting arms.
    Nor will I fear their empty boasts,
      Tho' thousands thousands join;
    Since thou art stil'd _the God of hosts_,
      And victory is thine.
    Arise, O God, and plead my cause,
      O! save me by thy pow'r;
    If e'er I reverenc'd thy laws,
      Guide this important hour!
    'Tis done!--they shudder with dismay;
      My troops maintain their ground:
    Lo! their embattl'd lines give way,
      And we are victors crown'd!
    Success, ye kings, is not your gift;
      To heav'n it does belong:
    The race not always to the swift
      Nor battle to the strong.

_New Amer. Mag._, No. IV-78, Apr. 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.


                   SPEECH OF THE PRINCE OF BRUNSWICK
                     TO THE HANOVERIAN AND HESSIAN
                                TROOPS.

    To injured troops thus gallant BRUNSWICK spoke;
    'Shall we with tameness bear the _Gallic_ yoke!
    'Will ye, O Veterans, inur'd to pains
    'And toils of War, drag ignominious chains?
    'Turn and behold! behold where hostile bands
    'Seize on your properties, lay waste your lands,
    'Your daughters, wives, snatch'd forcibly away,
    'Slaves to proud _Gallia's_ sons, to best a prey!
    'Hark! how with piercing Cries, the tender Maid,
    'By force subdu'd, implores her father's aid;
    'In agonies repeats her brother's name,
    'To flay the ruffians and preserve her fame!
    'Rouze! GERMANS! rouze! a glorious vengeance take;
    'Religion, honour, freedom, all's at stake!'
    ... "Enough," they cry'd, "let FERDINAND proceed,
    "We dare to follow, where he dares to lead."
    Fir'd by their country's wrongs, to arms they fly,
    Resolv'd to save her, or resolved to die.

_New Amer. Mag._, No. IV-80, Apr. 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.


          ON A CARGO OF FRENCH MUFFS SEIZ'D BY THE PRUSSIANS.

    Lewis, the winter harsh, and climate rough,
    To each of his nice captains, sends a muff,
    Knowing his troops too tender to resist
    The foe, without a furr to guard his wrist;
    For who could prime his gun, or pistol hold,
    Whose aching fingers were benumbed with cold.
      _Prussia_, a different scheme in war approves;
    Whose hardy veterans charge without their gloves.
    Defy the rigour of the chilling air,
    And fight, and conquer with their knuckles bare.
      _Bourbon!_ if wreathes and triumphs are thy aim,
    Think of some wiser way to purchase fame:
    Some other arts thy rival to subdue,
    Soft muffs, without keen swords, will never do;
    Thy shivering troops would act a better part,
    Would'st thou send something that could warm their heart;
    Less for their valour than their heels admir'd
    With fighting oft' ... with flying seldom tir'd,
    Success thy arms would never fail to meet,
    Were battles to be won by nimble feet.

_New Amer. Mag._, No. IV-80, Apr. 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.


             THE KING OF PRUSSIA'S ODE IMITATED IN RHIME.

                    1.

        Father of all! all pow'rful Lord!
        Infinitely unknown!
        By heathen, and by saint ador'd,
        Tho' differently, yet one;
        By what great name shall I address
        Thee everlasting king?
        Oh! how my gratitude express?
        Oh! how thy praises sing?
    But, O great God! omniscient ever just,
    Permit towards thy throne to bow, a particle of dust.

                    2.

        By friends forsaken ev'ry where,
        Alone, the brunt to stand,
        Winter's inclement cold to bear,
        And in a foreign Land;
        The foe, enrag'd on ev'ry side,
        Dire implements of war
        In various shapes and forms provide,
        And doom them for our share.
    Heav'ns! with what fury to the charge they fly;
    Forestal the vict'ry, but forget that man was born to die!

                    3.

        Yet he who frequently has said,
        That numbers don't avail,
        Inspir'd us not to be dismay'd,
        But stand, fight, and prevail:
        The battle join'd, the foe gave way,
        Superior valour own'd,
        And left to us a glorious day,
        With spoils and honours crown'd:
    Each single _Prussian_ arm the hero play'd,
    Dealt round an hundred deaths, an hundred conquests made.

                    4.

        Is it to fortune then I owe
        This unthought for success?
        Fortune is blind, it can't be so,
        I must some other guess:
        JUSTICE, bright heav'nly maid, beheld
        The dire contention rise,
        Saw, and her sacred beam she held
        Suspended in the skies:
    The _Austrian_ scale kick'd up, by our's weigh'd down,
    Justice approv'd, and straight ordain'd the field to be our own.

_New Amer. Mag._, No. V-119, May 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.


                        THE RELAXATION OF WAR:
          OR THE HERO'S PHILOSOPHY, &C. WROTE BY THE KING OF
               PRUSSIA, DURING HIS RESIDENCE AT BRESLAU.

    Love by _Hope_ is still sustain'd,
    _Zeal_ by the _Reward_ that's gain'd;
    In _Pow'r_, _Authority_ begins,
    _Weakness_ strength from _Prudence_ wins;
    _Honesty_ is _Credit's_ wealth,
    _Temp'rance_ the support of _Health_;
    _Wit_ from calm _Contentment_ springs,
    _Content_ 'tis _Competence_ that brings,
    _Competence_, as all may see,
    Springs from good _Oeconomy_.
      Maids, to fan a lover's fire,
    _Sweetness_ more than charms require;
    _Authors_ more from _Truth_ may gain
    Than from tropes that please in vain;
    _Arts_ will less than _Virtues_ tend
    _Happiness_ and _Life_ to blend;
    He that _Happiness_ wou'd get
    _Prudence_ more must prize than _Wit_,
    More than _Riches_ rosy _Health_,
    Blameless _Quiet_ more than _Wealth_.
      Nought to _owe_, and nought to _hoard_,
    Little _Land_ and little _Board_,
    Little _Fav'rite_, true and kind,
    These are blessings to my mind.
    I, when winter comes, desire
    Little _Room_ but plenteous _Fire_,
    Temp'rate _Glasses_, gen'rous _Wine_,
    _Dishes few_ whene'er I dine.
    Yes, my sober thoughts are such,
    Man must never have _too_ much;
    _Not too much_ ... What solid sense.
    Three such little words dispense!
    Too much _Rest_ benumbs the mind;
    Too much _Strife_ distracts mankind;
    Too much _Negligence_ is _Sloth_;
    Too much _Zeal_ is _Folly's_ growth;
    Too much _Love_ our peace annoys,
    Too much _Physic_ life destroys;
    Too much _Cunning's_ fraudful art,
    Too much _Firmness_ want of heart
    Too much _sparing_ makes a knave;
    Those are _rash_ that are _too_ brave;
    Too much _Wealth_ like weight oppresses;
    Too much _Fame_ with care distresses;
    Too much _Pleasure_ death will bring,
    Too much _Wit's_ a dang'rous thing;
    Too much _Trust_ is folly's guide,
    Too much _Spirit_ is but pride;
    He's a dupe that is _too free_,
    Too much _Bounty_ weak must be;
    Too much _Complaisance_ a knave,
    Too much _Zeal to please_ a slave.
    This TOO MUCH, tho' bad it seem,
    Chang'd with ease to good you deem;
    But in this you err my friend,
    For on _Trifles_ all depend.
      Trifles great effects produce,
    Both of pleasure and of use;
    Trifles often turn the scale,
    When in love or law we fail;
    Trifles to the great commend,
    Trifles make proud beauty bend;
    Trifles prompt the poet's strain,
    Trifles oft distract the brain;
    Trifles, trifles more or less,
    Give us, or withhold success;
    Trifles, when we _hope_, can cheer,
    Trifles smite us when we fear:
    All the flames that lovers know,
    Trifles quench and trifles blow.

N. B. This little poem is sold for 6d. sterl. in London, and 3d. here.

_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-440, June 1758, Phila.


                 ON READING IN THE PUBLICK PAPERS, OF
                  A LADY THAT HAD ORDER'D THE KING OF
                PRUSSIA A PRESENT OF A THOUSAND POUNDS.

    No more let haughty _Austrians_ cry,
    "_Fred'rick_ our foe, has no ally."
    The _British_ fair are on his side,
    And for the next campaign provide;
    Their fortunes to his chests transfer ...
    Money the sinews is of war.
    For him they plead, and much can say,
    For him they grow devout and pray!
    For him their martial ardours rise,
    And arm afresh their killing eyes;
    Those shining warriors ne'er were beat,
    But gain a conquest by retreat.

_New Amer. Mag._, No. VII-172, July 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.


Gentlemen.

The following small poetical performance was hastily composed at the
request, and for the entertainment, of a select company of publick
spirited friends, who gave me a short notice of their intention to
dine with me, and drink the protestant champion's health, as they
termed the king of _Prussia_. They were indulgent enough to express
their unanimous approbation of the piece, and insisted on my sending
it up to you, in order (if you would be of their opinion) to occupy a
leaf in your _Magazine_. I hope no reader will think the dignity of
the subject, lessened merely by the familiar strain, in which it is
written: when they consider, that _such_ seemed most suitable to the
occasion, the verses consisting of eleven feet, are to be read, like
the _Greek Iambics_ (which were, anciently, much used in convivial
festivities) with less solemnity and more rapidity, than the common
heroic measure of ten feet in our language will admit.

                                        Kent, Maryland, July 14, 1758.


                           THE ROYAL COMET.

    Mistaken astronomers, gaze not so high:
    The _Comet_ foretold is not _yet_ in the sky.
    It shines here on earth, tho' deputed from Heav'n;
    And remarkably flam'd last year--_Fifty sev'n_.
    In _Wodon's_[36] bold figure, three thousand years past,
    O'er ancient Germania its lustre it cast.
    Next, wearing _Arminius_[37], thy form, it return'd;
    And, fatal to _Rome's_ blasted legions, it burn'd.
    Now, attended with all the thunders of war,
    Our _Prussia's_ great _Frederick_ is that _Blazing Star_!
    Heav'ns proxy to nations opprest; but a _Sign_
    To tyrants he comes of a vengeance divine.
    Eccentric and rapid the north saw him rowl:
    (For heroes and stars seem most bright near the pole)
    To _Britain_ propitious he sheds forth his rays;
    While _Babel's_ lewd _Harlot_, his terrors amaze.
    The fierce _Russian Bear_ his splendors affright;
    And _Austria's_ proud _Eagle_ now shrinks from his light.
    While freedom's glad sons with due warmth he inspires;
    The _Lillies_ of _France_ are all scorch'd in his fires.
    False _Stockholm_ shall find the _Baltic_ no bar is.
    Now at _Vienna_, he'll soon be at _Paris_.
    O'er _Ocean_ from _Europe_ his influence hurl'd
    Shall animate here, O _George_, thy new world.
    Our laws, our religion, our rights he befriends,
    And conquest o'er savage invaders portends;
    O'er christians miscall'd, who their nature disgrace,
    Bely human form, and god's image deface.

      Hail, _Living Effulgence_, whose all honour'd name
    Shall grace, first of mortals, the annals of fame!
    Whose glory shall spread, thro' each age and each clime,
    To the final extent of space and of time!
    Who the Virtues _Trajan_ and _Titus_ unite;
    The victor of empires, and _Mankind's Delight_!
    Hail, radiance auspicious, from light's fountain born
    Each dark hemisphere to relume and adorn!
    To whom if compar'd, other kings all appear,
    Like little dim _Sparklers_, round _Cynthia's_ bright sphere.
    The wonder of monarchs, a patriot imperial,
    Endow'd with a spirit of vigour aetherial!
    For worth, less than your's in pale envy's despite,
    Old chiefs claim'd to honours celestial a right!
    From their funeral piles in flames eagles soar'd;
    Earth's heroes grew gods, and dead kings were ador'd.
    Defensive, fair justice, he fights in thy cause,
    And his sword, lightning pointed, reluctant he draws,
    His courage on aggregate perils still grows;
    And his triumphs increase from multiply'd foes.
    Ye _Cæsars_, ye _Bourbons_, ye scourges of God,
    Ye saw on the wings of the wind how he rode:
    Revere then heav'ns champion, who, charg'd with your doom,
    Shall quell the leagu'd hosts of _Gaul_, _Satan_ and _Rome_!
    When earth's giant crew, each with manifold hands,
    Assaulted _Jove's_ seat, in confederate bands;
    Thus _Evius_ asserted the throne of his sire,
    And heap'd o'er th' aggressors a mountain of fire!

      Ye numberless suns, his kindred, on high,
    For six thousand years whom cou'd ye descry;
    Whom, like him, have seen of meer mortal birth;
    Tho _Alfred_ and _Edward_ once dignify'd earth?
    Blush, blush, scepter'd pirates, who trail your faint fire:
    Ye meteors, that transiently dazzling expire!
    Whose lust of vain pow'r stains the page of your story:
    What glow worms ye look, and how lost in his glory?
    Blush, butchers, whose banners red massacre shames,
    That _Honest_ and _Great_ should bear different names!
    Go waste the creation for empire and pelf:
    The globe you may win, but _he_ conquers himself!
    To spare he subdues; as he sought to defend;
    Dire war's his forc'd mean: but fair peace his lov'd end.
    Tho' trophies in battles o'er your's he can raise;
    Yet these he accounts but a second rate praise.
    Who by victories plum'd ne'er thinks it disgrace,
    To sigh that they're earn'd by the blood of his race.
    The public's first servant, and humble in station;
    He found his firm glory on wise legislation.
    His country's great father, in blessings most blest,
    Who loses his own for the world's peace and rest!
    Still only ambitious of fair-won renown,
    And olives with laurels to wreath in his crown.
    Say poet, philosopher, critick, divine,
    What art thou?--Since all, but omniscience is thine.
    Self-taught, tho' a king! and now destin'd to prove,
    That _Minerva_, like thee, sprang perfect from _Jove_.
    Like thee, fam'd for wisdom; like thee for alarms:
    The goddess of science, and goddess of arms!
      In his words, in his deeds, we read his great heart;
    Too gen'rous for fraud, and too wise for mean art.
    With aw still reflecting whence all grandeur springs;
    And only dependent on thee, King of Kings!
    The mate of his vet'rans in each noble feat;
    The first in the charge, and the last in retreat,
    A statesman and monarch, yet true to his word;
    A soldier with honour, more bright than his sword.
    Whom pow'r ne'er corrupted; whom learning adorns:
    Who, ev'n in idea, court-turpitude scorns:
    --Yet why should we wonder, that _this_ he disdains;
    When the blood of good _George_ flows rich in his veins?

_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-551, Aug. 1758, Phila.

    [Footnote 36: The founder and first legislator of the German
    nation, to whom after his deification the fourth day of our
    week was consecrated, now contracted from Wodon's day to
    Wednesday.]

    [Footnote 37: The brave assertor of his country's liberty
    against the Roman invasions, who cut to pieces three legions
    commanded by _Quintilius Varus_ in the reign of _Augustus
    Cæsar_.]


            MR. VOLTAIRE'S LETTER TO HIS PRUSSIAN MAJESTY.
                              Translated.

    Kind Prince! whom the admiring world must own
    By truth and nature form'd to grace a throne:
    Whose dawn of empire like the solar ray,
    Chears half the _North_ with hopes of lasting day;
    Receive the homage which the Muses send,
    Their fav'rite thou! their guardian! and their friend!
    ARE you enthron'd?... And does your goodness deign
    To own your poet, and regard his strain?
    O blissful moment! dear auspicious grace!
    Does FRED'RICK'S smile my wand'ring steps embrace?
    Does his great soul possess'd of wisdom's balm,
    (Ever benevolent, and ever calm!)
    Leave all the dignity of state behind,
    To meet the humble lover of mankind?
    And can your hand the royal gift impart
    To style me friend of your _distinguish'd_ heart?
      Fame says of old, that _Phoebus_ heavenly bright,
    O'er the wide world who spreads the living light,
    So _Jove_ ordain'd ... his splendid carr resign'd,
    To live below and humanize mankind:
    No more his brows their wonted rays reveal'd,
    A shepherd's form the exil'd god conceal'd;
    In _Phrygian_ wilds to an unletter'd race,
    He sung with such divinely-pleasing grace,
    The savage nation in their softened hearts,
    Receiv'd the love of virtue and of arts!
    The rudest breasts the strong persuasion felt,
    Were taught to think, to reason, and to melt!
    Themselves to know, the social tye to own,
    And learn they were not made to live alone!
    Then every useful science sprung to birth,
    And peaceful labour blest the smiling earth:
    Men now united lost their antient rage,
    Nature rejoic'd and blest her _golden age_;
    An _age_ by heav'n design'd for man no more,
    Unless a FREDERICK shall _that_ age restore!
      It chanc'd as thro' the wood _Apollo_ stray'd,
    Ere gathering numbers peopled half the shade;
    As near the cooling stream he pass'd the day
    And wak'd the golden lyre to wisdom's lay!
    Attentive to the sound a _stranger swain_,
    His reed attun'd to imitate the strain;
    The god well-pleas'd the rustic genius spy'd,
    Approv'd his aim, and deign'd to be his guide!
    Aided his trembling hands to touch the string,
    Whisper'd the words, and shew'd him how to sing!
    The swain improving blest the care bestow'd,
    Nor in the _master_ yet perceiv'd the _god_:
    Nor knew the immortal flame his bosom fir'd,
    But like a shepherd lov'd him, and admir'd!
      In me, _great prince_, the image stands renew'd,
    I feel myself with kindred warmth indu'd;
    As to thy praise I tune the conscious lyre,
    I ask whence draws my breast the noble fire?
    Tell what inspires me, happy people tell?
    Beneath my Fred'rick's orient sway who dwell:
    From rapid _Rhine_ to silver-streaming _Meine_,
    The peaceful subjects of his placid reign?
    Or ye on _Prussia's_ amber yielding shore,
    Who bless his name, and hail his guardian power!
    Yes ... let consenting lands his virtues raise,
    And fame with all her tongues repeat his praise!
    Whose scepter shall _Astrea's_ rule restore,
    And bid dejected MERIT[38] sigh no more.
      As once directed by the voice of fame
    To _wisdom's King_ the _southern princess_ came;
    At FREDERICK'S call ... see ravish'd to obey,
    The sons of learning take their chearful way;
    To hear _that_ sense which still attention draws;
    And bless _that_ goodness which directs his laws;
    Close by his throne _Philosophy_ shall smile,
    To view her prince approve her children's toil!
    While _Science_ joys to see his kind regards
    Inspire the muse, his bounty still rewards;
    Not distant far, calm _Charity_ shall stand,
    Stretching to _Piety_ her social hand:
    _Justice_ shall banish _arbitrary might_,
    And _Commerce_ chearful _Plenty_ shall invite:
    But _Goodness_ chief ... in form angelic drest,
    (Such as she lives in FREDERICK'S royal breast!)
    Beneath her wings shall bid the worthy find
    A shelter from the storms that vex mankind;
    The friend of truth, by fraud or malice hurl'd
    Through all the mazes of a faithless world.
    Whom envy persecutes and bigots hate,
    Shall here enjoy an undisturb'd retreat;
    With HIM, who scorns the empty pride or blood,
    But shares his grandeur with the _wise_ and _good_!
    What tho' his prudence guards the chance of war,
    His mildness eyes the mischief from afar!
    What tho' his arms might _Cæsar's_ laurels find,
    The peaceful olive suits his greater mind:
    Yet safe in all events the storm he views,
    In peace or war ... the darling of the Muse!
    In either state, alike insur'd success,
    Since all his aim is to defend and bless!
      Yet while impending clouds their darkness spread,
    He arms for war ... but arms without a dread!
    No _giant forms_[39] compose a vain parade,
    No glittering _figures_ of the _warrior-trade_:
    Valour he courts without the pomp of art,
    And rises on the service of the heart:
    He boasts it all his glory to be just
    (A pride beyond the title of _August_!)
    Which time secures, the most impartial friend,
    And guards his _name_ till nature fells her end!
      So when beneath the curs'd _Cæsarian_ race
    _Rome_ felt the horrors of her first disgrace;
    Great _Trajan_ rose with every virtue blest,
    To give the weary world the sweets of rest:
    No blood, no conquest mark'd his spotless reign,
    'Twas goodness form'd th' inviolable chain;
    E'en _India's_ Kings receiv'd the willing yoke,
    For goodness is a band no savage broke!
      Not _Salem's_ walls defil'd with wilful blood,
    A crime, her victor's clemency withstood:
    Not all her honours levell'd with the dust,
    Styl'd _Titus good_, or _merciful_, or _just_:
    Love knit the charm on which his greatness rose,
    A charm! not worlds united can oppose!
    Behold the glorious pattern marks your rise!
    Nor quit the steps by which he gain'd the skies:
    Try to surpass! (but heav'n his _fate_ refuse!)
    _He wept a day!_ ... which YOU _will never lose_!

_New Amer. Mag._, No. XI-283, Nov. 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.

    [Footnote 38: This alludes to the new order instituted by his
    Prussian Majesty, the badge of which is a gold medal with
    this inscription, For Merit.]

    [Footnote 39: This alludes to the king's allowing liberty to
    the tall soldiers his father forced into his service.]


                  TRANSLATION OF AN EPISTLE FROM THE
                 KING OF PRUSSIA TO MONSIEUR VOLTAIRE.

    Voltaire, believe me, were I now
    In private life's calm station plac'd,
    Yet heav'n for nature's wants allow,
    With cold indifference would I view
    Departing fortune's winged haste,
    And at the goddess laugh like you.
    Th' insipid farce of tedious state,
    Imperial duty's real weight,
    The faithless courtier's supple bow,
    The fickle multitude's caress,
    And flatt'rers wordy emptiness,
    By long experience well I know;
    And, tho' a prince and poet born,
    Vain blandishments of glory scorn.
    For when the ruthless sheers of fate
    Have cut my life's precarious thread,
    And rank me with th' unconscious dead,
    What will't avail that _I was_ great,
    Or that th' uncertain tongue of fame
    In mem'ry's temple chants my name?
    One blissful moment whilst we live
    Weighs more than ages of renown;
    What then do potentates receive
    Of good peculiarly their own?
    Sweet ease, and unaffected joy,
    Domestic peace, and sportive pleasure,
    The regal throne and palace fly,
    And, born for liberty, prefer
    Soft silent scenes of lovely leisure
    To what we monarchs buy so dear,
    The thorny pomp of scepter'd care.
    My pain or bliss shall ne'er depend
    On fickle fortune's casual flight,
    For, whether she's my foe or friend,
    In calm repose I'll pass the night;
    And ne'er by watchful homage own
    I court her smile, nor fear her frown.
    But from our stations we derive
    Unerring precepts how to live,
    And certain deeds each rank calls forth
    By which is measur'd human worth.
    _Voltaire_, within his private cell,
    In realms where ancient honesty
    Is patrimonial property,
    And sacred freedom loves to dwell,
    May give up all _his_ peaceful mind,
    Guided by _Plato's_ deathless page,
    In silent solitude resigned
    To the mild virtues of a sage;
    But I 'gainst whom wild whirlwinds wage
    Fierce war with wreck-denouncing wing,
    Must be to face the tempest's rage,
    In thought, in life, in death a king.

_New Amer. Mag._, No. XVII-470, May 1759, Woodbridge in N. J.


                           A DUTCH PROVERB.

    Fire, water, woman, are man's ruin
    Says wise Professor Vander Brüin
    By flames a house I hir'd was lost
    Last year; and I must pay the cost.
    This spring the rains o'erflow'd my ground;
    And my best Flanders mare was drown'd.
    A slave I am to Clara's eyes:
    The gipsy knows her power and flies.
    Fire, water, woman, are my ruin:
    And great thy wisdom Vander Brüin.

_Boston Mag._, III-81, Feb. 1786, Boston.


                             ODE TO DEATH
                   By Frederick II, King of Prussia.
                 From the French, by Dr. Hawkesworth.

    Yet a few years or days perhaps,
    Or moments pass with silent lapse,
      And time to me shall be no more;
    No more the sun these eyes shall view,
    Earth o'er these limbs her dust shall strew,
      And life's fantastick dream be o'er.

    Alas! I touch the dreadful brink,
    From nature's verge impell'd I sink,
      And endless darkness wraps me round!
    Yes, Death, is ever at my hand,
    Fast by my bed he takes his stand,
      And constant at my board is found.

    Earth, air and fire, and water join
    Against this fleeting life of mine,
      And where for succour can I fly?
    If art with flattering wiles pretend
    To shield me like a guardian friend,
      By Art, ere Nature bids, I die.

    I see this tyrant of the mind,
    This idol Flesh to dust consigned,
      Once call'd from dust by power divine:
    Its features change, 'tis pale, 'tis cold--
    Hence dreadful spectre! to behold
      Thy aspect, is to make it mine.

    And can I then with guilty pride,
    Which fear nor shame can quell or hide,
      This flesh still pamper and adorn?
    Thus viewing what I soon shall be,
    Can what I am demand the knee,
      Or look on aught around with scorn?

    But then this spark that warms, that guides,
    That lives, that thinks, what fate betides?
      Can this be dust, a kneaded clod!
    This yield to death! the soul, the mind,
    That measures heaven, and mounts the wind,
      That knows at once itself and God?

    Great Cause of all, above, below,
    Who knows thee must forever know,
      Immortal and divine!
    Thy image on my soul imprest,
    Of endless being is the test,
      And bids Eternity be mine.

    Transporting thought!--but I am sure
    That endless life will joy secure?
      Joys only to the just decreed!
    The guilty wretch expiring goes,
    Where vengeance endless life bestows,
      That endless mis'ry may succeed.

    Great God, how awful is the scene!
    A breath, a transient breath between;
      And can I jest, and laugh and play?
    To earth, alas! too firmly bound,
    Trees, deeply rooted in the ground,
      Are shiver'd when they're torn away.

    Vain joys, which envy'd greatness gains,
    How do ye bind with silken claims,
      Which ask Herculean strength to break!
    How with new terrours have ye arm'd
    The power whose slightest glance alarm'd!
      How many deaths of one ye make!

    Yet, dumb with wonder, I behold
    Man's thoughtless race in errour bold,
      Forget or scorn, the laws of death;
    With these no projects coincide,
    Nor vows nor toils, nor hopes they guide,
      Each thinks he draws immortal breath.

    Each blind to fate's approaching hour,
    Intrigues, or fights for wealth or power,
      And slumb'ring dangers dare provoke:
    And he who tott'ring scarce sustains
    A century's age, plans future gains,
      And feels an unexpected stroke.

    Go on, unbridled desp'rate band,
    Scorn rocks, gulfs, winds, search sea and land,
      And spoil new worlds wherever found.
    Seize, haste to seize the glittering prize,
    And sighs, and tears and prayers despise,
      Nor spare the temple's holy ground.

    They go, succeed, but look again,
    The desperate hand you seek in vain,
      Now trod in dust the peasant's scorn.
    But who, that saw their treasures swell,
    That heard th' insatiate rebel,
      Would e'er have thought them mortal born?

    See the world's victor mount his car,
    Blood marks his progress wide and far,
      Sure he shall reign while ages fly;
    No, vanish'd like a morning cloud,
    The hero was but just allow'd
      To fight, to conquer, and to die.

    And is it true, I ask with dread,
    That nations heap'd on nations bled
      Beneath his chariot's fervid wheel,
    With trophies to adorn the spot,
    Where his pale corse was left to rot,
      And doom'd the hungry reptile's meal?

    Yes, fortune weary'd with her play,
    Her toy, this hero, casts away,
      And scarce the form of man is seen:
    Awe chills my breast, my eyes o'erflow,
    Around my brows no roses glow,
      The cypress mine, funereal green.

    Yet in this hour of grief and fears,
    When awful Truth unveil'd appears,
      Some power unknown usurps my breast;
    Back to the world my thoughts are led,
    My feet in folly's labyrinth tread,
      And Fancy dreams that life is blest.

    How weak an empress is the mind,
    Whom Pleasure's flowery wreaths can bind,
      And captive to her altars lead!
    Weak Reason yields to Frenzy's rage,
    And all the world is Folly's stage,
      And all that act are fools indeed.

    And yet this strange and sudden flight,
    From gloomy cares to gay delight,
      This fickleness so light and vain,
    In life's delusive transient dream,
    Where men nor things are what they seem,
      Is all the real good we gain.

_New Haven Gaz. and Conn. Mag._, I-339, Dec. 7, 1786, New Haven.


                               NARCISSA
          [A poem, the third stanza of which is as follows:]

    Perhaps, like Werter[40], pensive in the shade,
      I mourn in vain, and curse relentless fate
    Or while I love the sympathetic maid,
      Adversity's black clouds around me wait.

_Columbian Mag. or Mo. Misc._, I-245, Jan. 1787, Phila.

    [Footnote 40: An unfortunate lover.]


            CHARLOTTE'S SOLILOQUY--TO THE MANES OF WERTER.
                       By the late doctor Ladd.

    Why, Werter, dost thou leave me so?
      I wander through the gloom:
    And with the tears of silent woe,
      Each night bedew thy tomb.

    Why, Werter, dost thou leave me so?
      Thy friends, thy kindred flee?
    Dost thou no longer Charlotte know?
      Have friends no charms for thee?

    Why, Werter, dost thou leave me so,
      All lonely, full of fears?
    Behold thy friends are left to woe,
      And Charlotte left in tears.

    Why, Werter, dost thou leave me so,
      To wander round thy tomb?
    Alas! presentiments of woe
      Foretold thy fatal doom.

    Why Werter didst thou leave me so,
      In terrible despair?
    Those pistols did thy fate foreknow:
      Ah! why was Charlotte there!

    Why, Werter, didst thou leave me so?
      Alas! thou wrong'dst my love,
    To leave me weeping here below,
      While thou art blest above.

    Werter, thou shalt not leave me so:
      We must not parted be:
    I quit the world--to heav'n I go!
      Werter, I fly to thee.

_Amer. Museum_, I-180, Feb. 1787, Phila.


                           DEATH OF WERTER.

                    I

    And say, did Charlotte's hand these pistols give?
    Come, ye dear pledges, sacred to my love--
    Since giv'n by her, 'twould be a crime to live--
    No; come ye pistols; all your death I prove.

                    II

    But first one kiss, for there did Charlotte touch,
    Ye sacred relics, now are ye most dear;
    Tho' o'er your deeds will Charlotte sorrow much,
    And even Albert drop a pitying tear.

                    III

    May heav'n forgive the unconsider'd deed!
    It gave me passions, nor could I controul:
    But if, poor Werter, 'tis a crime to bleed,
    The God of heav'n have mercy on thy soul.

                    IV

    Charlotte I go!--my pistols have their load:
    My last, my dying thoughts are fix'd on you!
    I go! I go thro' death's untrodden road;
    Once, and for ever, Charlotte--Oh! adieu!

_Amer. Museum_, I-474, May 1787, Phila.


                           WERTER'S EPITAPH.

                    I

      Stranger! whoe'er thou art, that from below
    This grass-green hill, with steady steps dost press;
    Shed sympathetic tears; for stranger know,
    Here lies the son of sorrow and distress.

                    II

      Although his soul with ev'ry virtue mov'd,
    Tho' at his birth deceitful fortune smil'd,
    In one sad hour, too fatally he lov'd;
    False fortune frown'd, and he was sorrow's child.

                    III

      Heav'n gave him passions, as she virtue gave,
    But gave not pow'r those passions to suppress:
    By them subdu'd he slumbers in the grave--
    The soul's last refuge from terrene distress.

                    IV

      Around his tomb, the sweetest grass shall spring;
    And annual flowers shall ever blossom here;
    Here fairy forms their loveliest gifts shall bring,
    And passing strangers shed the pitying tear.

_Amer. Museum_, I-474, May 1787, Phila.

[Dr. Ladd, _Werter's Epitaph_.]


                       DESCENT OF ODIN. AN ODE.

_New Haven Gaz. and Conn. Mag._, III-No. 21, May 29, 1788, New Haven.

[Thomas Gray, _Poems_. Publ. by Dodsley--London, July 1768. Publ. by
Foulis--Glasgow, Sept. 1768.

Both editions contain the _Descent of Odin_. "The poem was written at
Cambridge in 1761. It is a paraphrase of the ancient Icelandic lay
called _Vegtams Kvida_, and sometimes _Baldrs draumar_. The original
is to be found in Bartholinus, _de causis contemnendæ mortis_; Hafniæ,
1689, quarto. Gray has omitted to translate the first four lines." Cf.
_Works of Thomas Gray_, ed. by Edmund Gosse. N. Y., 1885. I-60.]


            CHARACTERISTIC SKETCH OF THE LONG ISLAND DUTCH.

    Still on those plains their num'rous race survive,
    And, born to labour, still are found to thrive;
    Through rain and sunshine, toiling for their heirs,
    They hold no nation on this earth like theirs.
    Where'er they fix, all nature smiles around--
    Groves bend with fruit, and plenty clothes the ground;
    No barren trees to shade their domes, are seen;
    Trees must be fertile, and their dwellings clean;
    No idle fancy dares its whims apply,
    Or hope attention from the master's eye.
    All tends to something that must pelf produce,
    All for some end, and ev'ry thing its use.
    Eternal scow'rings keep their floors afloat,
    Neat as the outside of the Sunday coat.
    The wheel, the loom, the female band employ,--
    These all their pleasure, these their darling joy.
    The strong-ribb'd lass no idle passions move,
    No nice ideas of romantic love;
    He to her heart the readiest path can find,
    Who comes with gold, and courts her to be kind.
    She heeds not valour, learning, wit, or birth,
    Minds not the swain--but asks him, what he's worth?
    No female fears in her firm breast prevail,
    The helm she governs, and she trims the sail;
    In some small barque the way to market finds,
    Hauls aft the sheet, or veers it to the winds:
    While, lac'd ahead, subservient to her will,
    Hans smokes his pipe, and wonders at her skill.
      Health to their toils--thus may they still go on--
    Curse on my pen! what virtues have I drawn!
    Is this the gen'ral taste? No--truth replies--
    If fond of beauty, guiltless of disguise,
    See (where the social circle meant to grace)
    The handsome Yorker shades her lovely face;
    She, early led to happier talks at home,
    Prefers the labours that her sex become;
    Remote from view, directs some fav'rite art,
    And leaves to hardier man the ruder part.

_Amer. Museum_, VII, Jan.-June 1790, Appendix I-42, Phila.


                   ON READING THE SORROWS OF WERTER.

    Mistaken youth! thy love, to frenzy wrought,
    Spurn'd calm reflection and each sober thought.
    A little time had shewn e'en Charlotte's charms
    Had shrunk and faded in a Werter's arms:
    For guilt and meanness ne'er could dwell with thee;
    And virtuous friendship soon had set thee free.
    But hadst thou triumph'd o'er the fair one's fall,
    Thou then, as now, hadst met the fatal ball;
    Still keener anguish had attack'd thy mind
    Than e'en now dying thy stung soul did find.
    None dare say Mercy wont extend its aid;      }
    But who of that would not have been afraid,   }
    If with a kiss thou Charlotte hadst betray'd. }

                                        --Laura.

_Universal Asylum and Columbian Mag._, V-269, Oct. 1790, Phila.


                           WERTER'S EPITAPH
                         By the late Dr. Ladd.

_Mass. Mag._, III-114, Feb. 1791, Boston.

[Also in _Amer. Museum_, I-474, May 1787, Phila.]


                             ELLA. A TALE.

History says that Sivard, King of Sweden, entered Norway with a
numerous army, and committed the greatest enormities; but was at last
overthrown, his army routed, and himself slain by one of those women
whom he had brutally abused.

    Between Norwegian hills wide spreads a plain,
      By nature form'd for sport;
    The Vet'ran warrior here, and hardy swain,
      To annual games resort.

    High o'er their heads was hung the hoary brow,
      Which cast an ample shade;
    From thence these words majestic seem'd to flow--
      "Fierce foes your sports invade!"

    They upward gaze--a warrior struck their sight;
      He bore aloft his lance,
    All sheath'd in arms, unsufferably bright,
      Where beamy splendors dance.

    The western sun-beam round his helmit flies,
      He more than man appears;
    And more than mortal seem'd to sound the voice
      That rang upon their ears.

    "Ye sons of Norway! harken to my tale,
      "Your rural games oh cease;
    "Sivard is marching thro' Dulvellon's vale,
      "Break off the sports of peace!

    "The bloody Sivard leads his conqu'ring Swedes,
      "He riots in our shame;
    "The man, the matron, and the infant bleeds--
      "Norway is but a name!

    "The husband sees--curse on the tyrant's lust--
      "He sees his beauteous bride--
    "Her virtue, worth, and honor in the dust--
      "Oh where is Norway's pride!

    "Rouse! rouse Norwegians! take your arms amain,
      "Let helms o'ershade each brow;
    "Let's meet these Swedish dæmons in the plain,
      "And lay their triumphs low.

    "O had you seen what these poor eyes have seen!
      "'Twas Sivard done the deed--
    "Our hoary monarch, and our helpless queen,
      "I--yes, I saw them bleed.

    "Their daughter Ella--no, I will not tell!
      "Norwegians ne'er enquire--
    "Ne'er hear it--what the royal maid befel;
      "I see your souls on fire.

    "Oh seize your swords, your spears, helms, and shields!
      "Oh vindicate your fame!
    "Sivard and Sweden glare on Norway's fields;
      "Remember Norway's name."

    He said--tears flow apace, fierce glow the swains,
      Rage fills each honest breast;
    In Swedish blood to wipe away their stains,
      Was ev'ry thought address'd.

    Then red-hair'd Rollo, fierce advancing cri'd,--
      "Who'er thou art, come down,
    "We live on hills, to ev'ry toil we're tri'd,
      "And war is all our own.

    "Let Sivard come, we'll meet the tyrant here:
      "But stranger come thou down."
    He came--Old Athold gaz'd with look severe;--
      He gaz'd--but ceas'd to frown.

    "Or Athold has forgot his monarch's face,
      "Or sure thou art his son!
    "Eric, of mighty Norway's royal race!"--
      Full quick the tidings run.

    With shouts they press to see the beauteous chief;
      The aged kiss his hand:
    On either side, fast roll'd the marks of grief,
      Then Athold spoke the band--

    "Ye sons of Norway, to your homes repair,
      "There seize the sword and shield,
    "And ere the morning's purple streaks the air,
      "Meet Eric in the field.

    "Oh prince! do you with aged Athold go,
      "And take refreshing sleep;
    "Athold will sing and soothe the rising woe,
      "Or break his harp and weep!"

    'Twas night--in Athold's hall each took his place;
      Of other times he sung;
    Fast stream'd the tears adown the hero's face,
      And groans responsive rung.

    Bright came the morn; and bright in batter'd arms,
      The rustic vet'rans came:
    And many a youth, untri'd in rough alarms,
      Now hop'd a patriot's name.

    They heard from far the hum of Sivard's host;
      Young Eric struck his shield;
    Then high in air his heavy spear he tost,
      And blaz'd along the field.

    Next aged Athold follow'd; Rollo strong;
      Black Calmar lifts his mace;
    Culullin, Marco, Streno, rush along,
      And all the rugged race.

    Fierce came the Swede;--in strength of numbers proud;
      He scorn'd his feeble foe;
    But soon the voice of battle roar'd aloud,
      And many a Swede lay low.

    Strong Rollo struck the tow'ring Olaus dead,
      Full fifteen bleed beside:
    Old Athold cleft the brave Adolphus head,
      In all his youthful pride.

    But Eric! Eric! rang'd the field around,
      On Sivard still he cri'd;
    The gasping Swedes lay heap'd upon the ground--
      Sivard! the hills repli'd.

    In fury Sivard seiz'd his shining shield,
      His mail, his helm, and spear;
    He mounts his car, and thunders o'er the field;
      Now Norway knows no fear.

    Great Rollo falls beneath his dreadful arm,
      His steeds are stain'd with blood;
    Young Eric smil'd to hear the loud alarm,
      And flew to stop the flood.

    He rag'd, he foam'd--fierce flew the thirsty spear,
      Down fell the foremost steed:
    Astonish'd Sivard felt unusual fear,
      "Tyrant thou'rt doom'd to bleed!"

    Up sprang the youth--deep fell the sword,
      Sunk in the tyrant's brow:
    Fast fly the Swedes, and leave their hated lord,
      His mighty pride laid low.

    Now Norway's sons their great deliv'rer hail,
      But lo! he bleeds! he falls!
    Old Athold strips the helm and beamy mail,
      And on his Gods he calls.

    He lifts the helm, and down the snowy neck
      Fast falls the silky hair--
    And could those limbs, the conq'ring Sivard check!
      Oh pow'r of great despair!

    Life ebbs apace--she lifts her languid head,
      She strives her hand to wave;
    Confess to all, the beauteous Ella said--
      "Thanks, thanks companions brave:

    "Freedom rewards you--naught can Ella give,
      "Low, low poor Ella lies;
    "Sivard is dead! and Ella wou'd not live."
      She bleeds--she faints--she dies!

_N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, II-235, Apr. 1791, N. Y.


                         PEASANT OF THE ALPS.

      Where cliffs arise by Winter crown'd,
      And through dark groves of pine around,
    Down the deep chasms, the snowed torrents foam,
      Within some hollow, shelter'd from the storms,
      The PEASANT of the ALPS his cottage forms,
    And builds his humble, happy home.

      Unenvied is the rich domain,
      That far beneath him on the plain,
    Waves its wide harvests and its olive groves;
      More dear to him his hut, with plantain thatch'd,
      Where long his unambitious heart attach'd,
    Finds all he wishes, all he loves.

      There dwells the mistress of his heart,
      And _Love_ who teaches ev'ry art,
    Has bid him dress the spot with fondest care;
      When borrowing from the vale its fertile soil,
      He climbs the precipice with patient toil,
    To plant her fav'rite flow'rets there.

      With native shrubs, a hardy race,
      There the green myrtle finds a place,
    And roses there, the dewy leaves decline;
      While from the crags' abrupt and tangled steeps,
      With bloom and fruit the Alpine berry peeps,
    And, blushing, mingles with the vine.

      His garden's simple produce stor'd,
      Prepared for him by hands ador'd
    Is all the little luxury he knows:
      And by the same dear hands are softly spread,
      The Chamois' velvet spoil that forms the bed,
    Where in her arms he finds repose.

      But absent from the calm abode
      Dark thunder gathers round his road,
    Wild raves the wind, the arrowy light'nings flash,
      Returning quick the murmuring rocks among,
      His faint heart trembling as he winds along;
    Alarm'd he listens to the crash.

      Of rifted ice!--Oh, man of woe!
      O'er his dear cot--a mass of snow,
    By the storm sever'd from the cliff above,
      Has fall'n--and buried in its marble breast,
      All that for him--lost wretch--the world possest,
    His home, his happiness, his love!

      Aghast the heartstruck mourner stands!
      Glaz'd are his eyes--convuls'd his hands,
    O'erwhelming anguish checks his labouring breath;
      Crush'd by Despair's intolerable weight,
      Frantic he seeks the mountain's giddiest height,
    And headlong seeks relief in death.

      A fate too similar is mine,
      But I--in ling'ring pain repine,
    And still my last felicity deplore;
      Cold, cold to me is that dear breast become,
      Where this poor heart had fondly fix'd its home,
    And love and happiness are mine no more.

_N. Y. Mag., or Lit. Repos._, III-443, July 1792, N. Y.


                             ELLA. A TALE.

_Lady's Mag. and Repos._, I-97, Jan. 1793, Phila.

[Also in _N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, II-235, Apr. 1791, N. Y.]


              A GENERAL VIEW OF SWITZERLAND AND THE ALPS,
                      WITH AN AFFECTING ANECDOTE.

       *       *       *       *       *

But to return to our Alps. Here, savage rocks of an inaccessible
height; there, torrents bursting, as it were, from the clouds, and
rolling down the rugged precipices:

                        The gay train,
    Of fog, thick roll'd into romantic shape,

may, perhaps, excite your wonder, but not exceed the compass of your
imagination. But how shall I convey to you an idea of the ever-varying
and accidental beauties of this majestic scenery! Sometimes the
vapour-winged tempest, flitting along some lonely vale, embrowns it
with a solemn shade, whilst every thing around glitters in the
fullness of meridian splendour. On a sudden, all is dark and gloomy;
the thunder rolls from rock to rock, till echo seems tired with the
dreadful repetition: add to this, the gradual approach of the evening,
the last gleam of sunshine fading on the mountain-brow, the lingering
twilight still warding off the veil of night, till the rising moon
just continues, in vision, a glimmering of its faded glories:

    Now all's at rest--and ere the wearied swain
      Rise to his labour on the upland lawn,
    Shall not the muse from nature catch a strain,
      To wake, and greet him at the morning dawn?

    Oh! let her tell him that the feeling heart,
      Oft to the mountain side by memory led,
    Shall seek those blessings wealth can ne'er impart,
      And wish to share the quiet of his shed:

    Where ev'ry sordid passion lull'd to rest,
      Man knows each gift of nature how to prize:
    Flies from the storm unto his fair one's breast,
      And there reposing waits serener skies.

    Say, ye proud sons of fortune and of power,
      Can aught the joys you feel, with these compare?
    Can the full triumph of ambition's hour,
      When tempests threaten, sooth your anxious care?

    Or shall the tenant of yon lonely cot,
      That smiles with pity on your pageant state,
    Pleas'd with his poor but independent lot,
      Expose the wretchedness of being great?

    Unknown to you, the houseless child of woe,
      The friendless pilgrim, or the hungry poor;
    Unleft the good ye carelessly bestow,
      The hand that feeds them, drives them from your door.

    Here cruel charity no off'ring makes,
      That whilst it aids, insults the big distress,
    The heart that welcomes, ev'ry grief partakes,
      And only pities where it can't redress.

Such are the scenes, my dear Lord, such the hospitality I am now going
to quit. I know not why I wished to jingle their virtues into rhyme,
unless it was, that my prose began to run upon stilts, or that I
mistook a momentary enthusiasm for a poetical inspiration. In fact,
every thought and conception is so far raised above the common train
of ideas, that the error is excusable, especially too when the
imaginary poet sets out with

Sublimi seriens sidera vertice.

       *       *       *       *       *

                                        Adieu,
                                                  Ever your's.

_Lady's Mag. and Repos._, I-253, May 1793, Phila.


                           A DUTCH PROVERB.

_Weekly Museum_, VII, Mar. 14, 1795, N. Y.

[Also in _Boston Mag._, III-81, Feb. 1786, Boston.]


                           A DUTCH PROVERB.

_Phila. Minerva_, I, May 16, 1795, Phila.

[Also in _Boston Mag._, III-81, Feb. 1786, Boston.]


                  VERSES BY THE LATE KING OF PRUSSIA.

_Rural Mag. or Vt. Repos._, I-494, Oct. 1795, Rutland.

[Same as _The Relaxation of War_ in _Amer. Mag. or Mo. Chron._, I-440,
June 1758, Phila.]


                                        For the Weekly Museum.
                          THE GOTHIC CASTLE.

                   "The Days of Chivalry are gone."
                                Burke's Letter on the French Revolution.

    See! now the landscape fades away,
    As westward flies the orb of day:
    See the solemn night appear,
    With silence her sedate compeer.

    Hark! the surgy shore resounds,
    As from the rocks the wave rebounds:
    Rocks, on whose o'er-hanging brows,
    The ragged surf-fed samphire grows.

    Lo! the beacon's distant rays
    O'er the waste of water plays,
    Friendly to the port-bound bark,
    On his watch, the seaman's mark.

    Mark! yon dreary Gothic pile,
    --Where murder oft did glut and smile,--
    Dungeons dire of vanquish'd hosts,
    --Hark! the screams of wandering ghosts!--

    Now a double gloom is spread
    O'er each turret's murky head,
    While from th' Owlet's dismal cry
    Intruding joys affrighted fly.

    Ye vengeful walls for ruin built!
    Scenes accurs'd of hell-born guilt!
    Direful were your fierce alarms--
    Hist! the sentry calls--"To arms!"

    How many barons here were slain,
    In coats of armour lock'd in vain!--
    How many feudal vassals dy'd,
    Ebbing here life's crimson tide!

    What secret woes lay close immur'd!
    What anguish wretches erst endur'd!
    When in your sable cells confin'd
    Oppression's chosen victims pin'd.

    How sullen stands yon rugged tow'r!
    Seems it not on the cot to low'r?
    As it looks, with proud disdain,
    O'er the wide-extended plain.

    Here the feudal times I trace;
    The lordling's power--the poor's disgrace--
    Here while it moulders, all may see
    "A Monument of Chivalry."

Aug. 13, 1796.
                                        ORLANDO.

_Weekly Museum_, IX, Aug. 13, 1796, N. Y.


                         PEASANT OF THE ALPS.

_Phila. Minerva_, III, Aug. 19, 1797, Phila.

[Also in _N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, III-443, July 1792, N. Y.]


                     BY THE LATE KING OF PRUSSIA.

_Rural Mag._, I, July 21, 1798, Newark.

[Same as _The Relaxation of War_ in _Amer. Mag. or Mo. Chron._, I-440,
June 1758, Phila.]


                            THE WATER-KING.

A Danish Ballad. By the Author of Alonzo the Brave.

[The poem follows.]

Since writing these stanzas, I have met with two old Scotch ballads
which have some resemblance with "The Water King"; one is called "May
Colvin," and relates the story of a king's daughter who was beguiled
from her father's house by a false Sir John; the other, intitled
"Clerk Colvil," treats of a young man who fell into the snares of a
false mermaid; the latter, indeed, bears a still stranger resemblance
to the Danish tradition of "The Erl-King's Daughter." The fragment of
"The Water King" may be found in "Herder's Volkslieder."

Many inquiries have been made respecting the elementary monarchs
mentioned a few pages back; I must inform my readers that all I know
respecting the Water King (called in the German translation "Der
Wasser-Mann") and the Erl-King (called in German Erlkönig) is gathered
from the foregoing ballad and two others which I shall here insert.
With respect to the Fire King and the Cloud King, they are entirely of
my own creation; but if my readers choose to ascribe their birth to
the "Comte de Gabalis," they are very welcome.

_Weekly Mag._, III-92, Aug. 18, 1798, Phila.

[J. G. Herder, _Der Wassermann_ in the Fourth Book (_Nordische
Lieder_) of _Stimmen der Völker in Liedern_. Trans. from the German.

M. G. Lewis, _The Monk_ and _Tales of Wonder_. Cf. note to _The
Erl-King_ in _Weekly Mag._, III-93, Aug. 18, 1798.]


                    WERTER'S FAREWELL TO CHARLOTTE.

          "Sunt lacrimae rerum; et mentem mortalia tangunt."

                                                  Virg. Ae. I-466.

    The conflict's o'er--ah! lovely maid, adieu!
    Before these sad, these parting lines, you view;
    Before the fields with early dawn shall bloom,
    Your Werter rests beneath the silent tomb:
    No more to view the beauties of the day,
    No more to listen to thy heavenly lay,
    To sit, in transport, and to hear thee talk,
    Or with thee wander, in an ev'ning walk,
    Along the margin of the winding flood,
    Thro' the green fields, or in the shady wood.
      O! Charlotte! when you see the floods arise,
    And wintry storms descending from the skies,
    The wat'ry gloom that fills the plain below,
    And all around one dreary waste of snow;
    Will you not then, a sigh in sorrow heave,
    For the lost pleasures of a summer's eve,
    Recall the time when you so oft have seen
    Thy hapless lover on the verdant green,
    Or thro' the vale approaching from the grove,
    To view thy charms and pine in hopeless love,
    Gaze on thy angel form, for without she,
    The world appear'd a boundless blank to me.
    As when to seamen, from the midnight skies
    The moon's bright beams in brilliant glory rise,
    To guide them wand'ring thro' the wat'ry plain,
    Or land them on their native shores again;
    Thus, Charlotte, I no other joy could see,
    Than pass the vacant day, and gaze on thee,
    Live in thy joys, or in thy sorrows die,
    "And drink delicious poison from thine eye,"
    As the lost insect round the taper flies,
    And courts the fatal flame by which it dies.
    But, Charlotte, now those fleeting joys are fled,
    And Werter sinks among the silent dead
    From the bright hopes of life forever gone,
    His mem'ry lost, and e'en his name unknown,
    The time shall come, when in the vacant mind,
    The fondest friend no trace of me shall find;
    When e'en my kindred my sad fate shall hear,
    And view my mould'ring grave without a tear,
    Think on the light impressions of the mind,
    Which flee as midnight dreams, and leave no trace behind.
      This eve I wander'd thro' each beauteous scene,
    Each fertile valley, and each level green,
    Pensive and sad I view'd the foaming flood;
    And the wild winds disturb the silent wood.
    Beheld the sun's great orb, in glory bright,
    Descend behind the western surge in night;
    While on the hill to see its beams, I stood,
    And view'd it sinking in the briny flood,
    I felt my heart with double sorrows prest,
    And life's last hope desert my throbbing breast;
    The world's vast scene forever clos'd from sight,
    And all involv'd in one eternal night.
      Ah! shall I ne'er again thy image know,
    In these sad realms of misery and woe,
    Or is there yet a place in heaven design'd,
    For hapless mortals by th' eternal mind,
    Some winding valley, or some shady grove,
    Some blissful mansions in the realms above,
    Where Charlotte's shade and mine may one day meet,
    Our suff'rings ended and our bliss complete,
    In the bright regions of eternal light,
    Where all is perfect joy and pure delight.
      When in the summer's eve you chance to stray
    Thro' the low vale, or on the broad highway,
    Or in the churchyard, thro' the shady trees,
    You hear the whistling of the midnight breeze,
    Wave high the grass, in solitary gloom,
    Around the heap that shews thy lover's tomb--
    Ah, then will you not one sad thought bestow,
    On him who could no greater blessing know
    Than pass the hour with fleeting joys with thee,
    Gaze on thy charms and watch thy wand'ring eye,
    Observe the beauteous image of thy mind,
    Disclose a soul for heaven alone design'd,
    Or view thy distant form amidst the trees,
    And thy white tresses floating in the breeze;
    Or see thy fingers strike, with tender lays,
    Such notes as bards in heaven alone can raise;
    Such notes as Orpheus' self might lean to hear,
    And force from Pluto's soul the melting tear.
    Yes, Charlotte's self, my sad remains shall see,
    And Charlotte's tender heart will heave a sigh for me.

_Dessert to the True American_, I-No. 20, Nov. 24, 1798, [Phila.].


The following burlesque on the style, in which most of the German
romantic ballads are written, is replete with wit and humour; and we
trust will prove amusing even to the greatest admirers of that style
of writing. It is only necessary to premise that Lord Hoppergallop has
left his servant maid at his country mansion, where she has fallen
with the gardener.

      Cold blows the blast:--the night's obscure:
    The mansion's crazy wainscots crack:
      The sun had sunk:--and all the moor,
    Like ev'ry other moor--was black.

      Alone, pale, trembling, near the fire,
    The lovely Molly Dumpling sat,
      Much did she fear, and much admire,
    What Thomas, gard'ner could be at.

      Listening, her hand supports her chin,
    But, ah! no foot is heard to stir:
      He comes not, from the garden, in;
    Nor he, nor little Bobtail cur.

      They cannot come, sweet maid, to thee!
    Flesh, both of cur and man, is grass!
      And what's impossible, can't be;
    And never, never, comes to pass!

      She paces through the hall antique,
    To call her Thomas from his toil;
      Opes the huge door;--the hinges creak,--
    Because the hinges wanted oil.

      Thrice on the threshold of the hall,
    She "Thomas" cried, with many a sob;
      And thrice on Bobtail did she call,
    Exclaiming sweetly--"Bob! Bob! Bob!"

      Vain maid! a gard'ners corpse, 'tis said
    In answers can but ill succeed;
      And, dogs that hear when they are dead
    Are very cunning dogs, indeed!

      Back through the hall she bent her way,
    All, all was solitude around!
      The candle shed a feeble ray--
    Though a large mould of four to th' pound.

      Full closely to the fire she drew;
    Adown her cheek a salt tear stole,
      When, lo! a coffin out there flew,
    And in her apron burnt a hole!

      Spiders their busy death watch tick'd;
    A certain sign that fate will frown;
      The clumsy kitchen clock, too, click'd;
    A certain sign it was not down.

      More strong and strong her terrors rose;--
    Her shadow did the maid appal;--
      She trembled at her lovely nose--
    It look'd so long against the wall.

      Up to her chamber, damp and cold,
    She clim'd lord Hoppergallop's stair;--
      Three stories high, long, dull and old--
    As great lords' stories often are.

      All Nature now appear'd to pause;
    And "o'er the one half world seem'd dead;"
      No "curtain'd sleep" had she;--because
    She had no curtains to her bed.

      Listening she lay;--with iron din,
    The clock struck twelve; the door flew wide;
      When Thomas grimly glided in,
    With little Bobtail by his side.

      Tall, like the poplar, was his size;
    Green, green his waistcoat was, as leeks,
      Red, red as beet root, were his eyes;
    And, pale, as turnips, were his cheeks!

      Soon as the spectre she espied,
    The fear struck damsel faintly said,
      "What would my Thomas?"--he replied,
    "O! Molly Dumpling! I am dead."

      "All in the flower of youth I fell,
    Cut off with health's full blossom crown'd;
      I was not ill--but in the well
    I tumbled backwards, and was drown'd.

      "Four fathom deep thy love doth lie;
    His faithful dog his fate doth share;
      We're friends;--this is not he and I;
    We are not here--for we are there.

      "Yes;--two foul water fiends are we;
    Maid of the moor! attend us now!
      Thy hour's at hand;--we come for thee!
    The little fiend cur said "bow wow!"

      "To wind her in her cold grave,
    A Holland sheet a maiden likes;
      A sheet of water thou shalt have;
    Such sheets there are in Holland dykes."

      The fiends approach; the maid did shrink;
    Swift through the night's foul air they spin;
      They took her to the green well's brink,
    And, with a souse, they plump'd her in.

_Dessert to the True American_, I-No. 27, Jan. 12, 1799, Phila.

[The author evidently had Bürger's _Lenore_ in mind when writing the
above.]


[Burlesque on the Style, in which most of the German romantic Ballads
are written.]

_Phil. Repos._, I-328, Aug. 22, 1801, Phila.

[Also in _Dessert to the True American_, I-No. 27, Jan. 12, 1799,
Phila.]


                                        For the Port Folio.
                         AN AUTHOR'S EVENINGS.
              From the shop of Messrs. Colon and Spondee.

Among the newest and most delightful miscellanies, lately received
from England, may be ranked a poetical work, entitled "_Tales of
Terror_." This is partly intended as a burlesque of the various
ballads in Lewis's celebrated romance, "_The Monk_." We well remember,
that this member of the British parliament has amused himself, and
alarmed his readers, by resorting to the cells of Gothic superstition,
and invoking all the forms of German horror, to appal every timid
heart. Hence, we have been haunted by ghosts of all complexions; and
"_Cloud Kings_," and "_Water Kings_," and "_Fire Kings_," have been
crowned by this poetical magician, to rule with despotism in the
realms of Fancy. A lively satirist, endowed with the gifts of Genius,
easy in versification, pleasant in his humour, and inimitably
successful in parody, has, in some of his "_Tales of Terror_"
undertaken to mock the doleful tones of Mr. Lewis's muse, or shall we
rather say the hoarse caw of the German raven. The midnight hour has
been beguiled, by transcribing the following sarcasm, founded on a
well-known nursery story, and our readers will thank us for sitting up
so late for their amusement.


                            THE WOLF KING;
                                  OR
                        LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.
                         An Old Woman's Tale.

Veteres avias tibi de pulmone revello           _Persius_.

Translated from the Danish of the author of the Water King, etc., and
respectfully inscribed to M. G. Lewis, Esq., M.P., as an humble
attempt to imitate his excellent version of that celebrated ballad.

    The birds they sung, the morning smil'd
    The mother kiss'd her darling child,
    And said ... "My dear, take custards three,
    And carry to your grandmummie."

    The pretty maid had on her head
    A little riding hood of red,
    And as she pass'd the lonely wood,
    They call'd her small red riding hood.

    Her basket on her arm she hung,
    And as she went thus artless sung:
    "A lady lived beneath a hill,
    Who if not gone, resides there still."

    The wolf king saw her pass along,
    He ey'd her custards heard her song,
    And cried "That child and custards three
    This evening shall my supper be!"

    Now swift the maid pursu'd her way,
    And heedless trill'd her plaintive lay;
    Nor had she pass'd the murky wood,
    When lo! the wolf king near her stood.

    "Oh! stop my pretty child so gay!
    Oh! whither do you bend your way?"
    "My little self and custards three
    Are going to my grandmummie."

    "While you by yonder mountain go,
    On which the azure blue bells grow,
    I'll take this road; then haste thee, dear,
    Or I before you will be there.

    "And when our racing shall be done,
    A kiss you forfeit, if I've won;
    Your prize shall be, if first you come,
    Some barley sugar and a plumb."

    "Oh! thank you, good sir Wolf," said she,
    And dropt a pretty courtesie:
    The little maid then onward hied,
    And sought the blue bell mountain side.

    The wolf sped on o'er marsh and moor,
    And faintly tapp'd at granny's door:
    "Oh! let me in, grandmummy good,
    For I am small red riding hood."

    "The bobbin pull (the grandam cried),
    The door will then fly open wide."
    The crafty wolf the bobbin drew,
    And straight the door wide open flew.

    He pac'd the bed room eight times four,
    And utter'd thrice a hideous roar;
    He pac'd the bed room nine times three,
    And then devour'd poor grandmummie.

    He dash'd her brains out on the stones,
    He gnaw'd her sinews, crack'd her bones;
    He munch'd her heart, he quaff'd her gore,
    And up her lights and liver tore.[41]!!!!

    Grandmummy's bed he straight got in,
    Her night-cap tied beneath his chin;
    And, waiting for his destin'd prey,
    All snug between the sheets he lay.

    Now at the door a voice heard he,
    Which cried ... "I've brought you custards three;
    Oh! let me in, grandmummy good,
    For I am small red riding hood."

    "The bobbin pull (the wolf king cried),
    The door will then fly open wide."
    The little dear the bobbin drew,
    And straight the door wide open flew.[42]

    She plac'd the custards on the floor,
    And sigh'd ... "I wish I'd brought you _four_.[43]
    I'm very tir'd, dear grandmummie;
    Oh! may I come to bed to thee?"

    "Oh come! (the wolf king softly cried),
    And lie, my sweet one, by my side:"
    Ah! little thought the child so gay
    The cruel wolf king near her lay!

    "Oh! tell me, tell me, granny dear,
    Why does your _voice_ so gruff appear?"
    "Oh! hush, sweetheart (the wolf king said),
    I've got a small cold in my head!"

    "Oh! tell me, grandmummie so kind,
    Why you've a _tail_ grows out _behind_?"
    "Oh! hush thee, hush thee, pretty dear,
    My pincushion I hang on there!"

    "Why do your _eyes_ so glare on me?"
    "They are your pretty face to see."
    "Why do your _ears_ so long appear?"
    "They are your pretty voice to hear."

    "Oh! tell me, granny, why to-night
    Your teeth appear so long and white?"[44]
    Then, growling, cried the wolf so grim,
    "They are to tear you limb from limb!"

    His hungry teeth the wolf king gnash'd,
    His sparkling eyes with fury flash'd,
    He op'd his jaws all sprent with blood,
    And fell on small red riding hood.

    He tore her bowels out one and two,
    "Little maid, I will eat you!"
    But when he tore out three and four,
    The little maid she was no more!

    Take warning hence, ye children fair;
    Of wolves' insidious arts beware;
    And, as you pass each lonely wood,
    Ah! think of small red riding hood!

    With custards sent, nor loiter slow,
    Nor gather blue bells as you go;
    Get not to bed with grandmummie,
    Lest she a ravenous wolf should be!

_Port Folio_, II-173, June 5, 1802, Phila.

    [Footnote 41: This stanza is borrowed from an affecting and
    sanguinary description in a German ballad by Professor Von
    Spluttbach, called Skulth den Balch, or Sour Mthltz; in
    English, as far as a translation can convey an idea of the
    horror of the original, "The Bloody Banquet, or the Gulph of
    Ghosts!!!" a very terrible and meritorious production.]

    [Footnote 42: Repetition is the soul of ballad writing.]

    [Footnote 43: The reader will do my heroine the justice to
    remember that she set out with only _three_, consequently her
    wish that another had been added, arose from a motive purely
    affectionate and characteristic. This benevolent trait,
    ingeniously insinuated, excites the interest of the reader
    for her, and adds horror to the catastrophe.]

    [Footnote 44: Our heroine is here lost in _double_
    astonishment; not only the _length_, but the _whiteness_ of
    her grandmother's teeth excites her wonder and suspicion.]


The following piece of singular and original composition was found
amongst the papers of an old Dutchman, in Albany. The manuscript has
suffered considerably from the tooth of time, and from several marks
of antiquity about it, it may be safely inferred, that a century at
least has elapsed since it was written. It is hardly necessary to
inform the judicious reader, that this piece is no other than a billet
doux, or love epistle, sent by some Dutch swain in the country, to the
girl of his heart, who, it seems, had gone to reside some time in the
city of Albany.

                        HANS LETTER TO NOTCHIE.

      Mine Cot, vat vose does Hans se feel,
    Vile lufly Notchie is avay,
      Vat is de matter, vat de deel,
    Does make you zo vorever stay.

      I sleep none in de day, nor nite,
    Mit such impashuns I duz burn,
      Zo, when de shell drake vings hur vlite,
    Pore Frow she mornes vor his return.

      Zo owls will hoot, und cats will mew,
    Und dogs will howl; und storms will ney,
      Und zhall not I more anguish sho,
    Vile lufly Notchie is avay.

      A shacket I has lately bot,
    Und brokenbrooks zo zoft as zilk,
      Stripd as your under petticote,
    Und vite as any buttermilk.

      Make hase, mine dere, und quikly cum,
    Mine vaders goin to di, you zee,
      Und Yacups cot his viddle home,
    Und we shall haf a daring bee.

      I feres zum Yanky vull uv art,
    More cunnin, as de ferry dele,
      Vill git away yorn little hart,
    Zo as da will our horshes stele.

      If any wun yore hart shool blunder,
    Mine horshes Ill do vaggon yoke,
      Und ghase him quickly by mine dunder,
    I vly zo zwift as any zpoke.

      Vhen yonk Vontoofen, my coot frend
    Zhall cum to zee you vhare you be,
      Dese skarlet carters I zhall zend,
    O die dem on, und dink on me.

_Port Folio_, II-176, June 5, 1802, Phila.

["se feel" (stanza I). "se" is no Dutch word and the verb "feel"
(voelen) is not reflexive in Dutch. In stanzas III and VI "mill"
appears in the place of "will." This is most likely a misprint, since
"_w_ in Dutch is a particularly tenacious sound" and is not replaced
by _m_, as is sometimes the case in German. "Brokenbrooks" is a coined
word.

The author is indebted for the above information to Professor Wm. H.
Carpenter, of Columbia University, and to Arnold Katz, the Dutch
vice-consul at Philadelphia.]


                    HRIM THOR, OR THE WINTER KING.
                           A Lapland Ballad.

I shall not soon tire of copying ballads from the "Tales of Terror."
They are the legitimate offspring of genius. We are conducted by a
versatile guide, sometimes into the vale of tears, and sometimes into
the hall of mirth. But let him lead us where he will, we cheerfully
follow and always find ourselves with a sensible and tuneful
companion. I am half inclined to suspect that Mr. Lewis himself is the
concealed author. We know how he brilliantly travestied his own
ballad, Alonzo the Brave, and it is probable that in this collection
he is alter et idem.

[The poem follows.]

_Port Folio_, II-195, June 26, 1802, Phila.

[M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Terror_, 1799, Kelso. Cf. p. 18.]


                       GRIM, KING OF THE GHOSTS,
                        OR THE DANCE OF DEATH.

_Port Folio_, II-199, June 26, 1802, Phila.

[M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Terror_. Cf. p. 18.]


                  ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED ONLY SON.
                 Translated from a Danish Inscription.
                         By T. CAMPBELL, Esq.

_Port Folio_, II-352, Nov. 1802, Phila.


                 WRITTEN IN GERMANY, IN AUTUMN, 1801.

    Hail, deadly Autumn, and thy fading leaf,
    I love thee, drear and gloomy as thou art;
    Not joyful Spring, like thee can soften grief,
    Nor gaudy Summer soothe the aching heart;
    But in thy cheerless, solitary bower,
    Beneath the varied shade, I love to lie,
    When dusky Evening's melancholy hour
    With boding clouds obscures the low'ring sky,
    And tuneless birds and fading flowers appear
    In grief to hang their heads, and mourn the parting year.

    'Tis not the gloomy sky, the parting year,
    'Tis not the Winter's dreary reign I mourn,
    But absent friends--and _one_ than life more dear,
    And joys departed, never to return!
    O gentle Hope, that 'mid Siberia's snows,
    Can cheer the wretched exile's lingering year,
    And where the sun on curs'd Oppression glows,
    Can check the sigh, and wipe the falling tear,
    Thy gentle care--thy succour I implore;
    O raise thy heavenly voice, and bid me weep no more.

    Thou hears't my prayer--I feel thy holy flame--
    And future joys in bright succession rise,
    And mutual love and friendship--sacred name!
    And home and all the blessings that I prize.
    Thou, Memory, lendst thy aid, and to my view
    Each friend I love, and every scene most dear,
    In forms more bright than ever painter drew,
    Fresh from thy pencil's magic tint appear.
    Roll on, ye lingering hours, that lie between,
    Till Truth shall realize, and Virtue bless, the scene.

                                        --R.

_N. E. Quarterly Mag._, No. III-271, Oct.-Dec. 1802, Boston.


                        ALBERT OF WERDENDORFF.
                                  OR,
                         THE MIDNIGHT EMBRACE.
                           A German Romance.

                    Nocturnus occurram furor. Hor.

_Port Folio_, IV-334, Oct. 20, 1804, Phila.

[M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Terror_, 1799, Kelso.]


                      ON THE DEATH OF MR. HANDEL.

In the midst of the performance of his Lent Oratorio, (1759) of the
Messiah, nature exhausted, he dropt his head upon the keys of the
organ he was playing upon, and with difficulty raised up again. He
recovered his spirits, and went on with the performance until the
whole was finished. He was carried home, and died.

    To melt the soul, to captivate the ear,
    (Angels such melody might deign to hear,)
    To anticipate on earth the joys of heav'n,
    'Twas Handel's task: to him that pow'r was giv'n.

    Ah, when he late attuned Messiah's praise,
    With sound celestial, with melodious lays:
    A last farewell, his languid looks express'd,
    And thus, methinks, th' enraptur'd crowd addrest.

    "Adieu, my dearest friend, and also you,
    "Joint sons of sacred harmony, adieu!
    "Apollo whispering, prompts me to retire,
    "And bids me join the bright seraphic choir:

    "Oh! for Elijah's car!" great Handel cry'd:
    Messiah heard his voice, and Handel died.

_Boston Weekly Mag._, II-208, Oct. 20, 1804, Boston.


            WRITTEN IN GERMANY, ON ONE OF THE COLDEST DAYS
                   OF THE CENTURY, BY W. WORDSWORTH.

_Port Folio_, IV-342, Oct. 27, 1804, Phila.

[William Wordsworth, _idem_.

"The Reader must be apprised, that the stoves in North Germany
generally have the impression of a galloping horse upon them, this
being part of the Brunswick arms."]


                  A HUMBLE IMITATION OF SOME STANZAS,
            WRITTEN BY W. WORDSWORTH, IN GERMANY, ON ONE OF
                   THE COLDEST DAYS OF THE CENTURY.

    'A fig for your languages, German and Norse,
    Let me have the song of the _kettle_
    And the _tongs_ and the _poker_.'--W. W.

[The poem, which contains no references to Germany, follows.]

_Port Folio_, IV-342, Oct. 27, 1804, Phila.


                           AGAINST FAUSTUS.

    In scorn of writers, Faustus still doth hold,
    Nought is now said, but hath been said of old;
    Well, Faustus, say my wits are gross and dull,
    If for that word I give thee not a Gull:
    Thus then I prove thou holdst a false position;
    I say thou art a man of fair condition,
    A man true of thy word, tall of thy hands,
    Of high descent and left good store of lands;
    Thou with false dice and cards hast never play'd,
    Corrupted never widow, wife or maid,
    And, as for swearing, none in all this realm,
    Doth seldomer in speech curse or blaspheme.
    In fine, your virtues are so rare and ample,
    For all our Song thou mayst be made a sample.
      This, I dare swear, _none ever said before_,
      This, I may swear, _none ever will say more_.

_Port Folio_, IV-383, Dec. 1, 1804, Phila.


                       THE CELEBRATED SWISS AIR,
                           RANZ DES VACHES.

"This air, so dear to the Swiss," says Rousseau, "was forbidden by the
French government to be played among the Swiss soldiers, employed in
the service of France, under pain of death; because it excited such a
fond remembrance of the scenes they had witnessed in their own native
country, and such a strong desire of seeing them again, that it caused
them to shed tears, to desert, or, if they despaired of this, to
commit suicide."

    Quand reverrai-je, en un jour,
    Tous les objets de mon amour?
          Nos claires ruisseaux,
          Nos couteaux [_sic_],
          Nos hameaux,
        Nos montagnes,
        Et l'ornament de nos campagnes,
      La si gentille Isabeau?
      A l'ombre d'un ormeau,
      Quand danserai-je au son du chalumeau?

      Quand reverrai-je, en un jour,
      Tous les objects de mon amour?
          Mon père,
          Ma mère,
          Mon frère
          Ma soeur,
        Mes agneaux
        Mes troupeaux,
          Ma bergère?
      Quand reverrai-je, en un jour,
      Tous les objet de mon amour?


                         LITERAL TRANSLATION.

When shall I behold again, in one day, all the pleasing objects of my
affection?--our clear streams, our cottages [_sic_], our hamlets, our
mountains, and the ornament of our fields, the gentle Isabelle?--Under
the shade of a spreading elm, when shall I dance again to the sound of
the tabor?

When shall I behold again, in one day, all pleasing objects of my
love?--my father, mother, brothers, sisters, my lambs, my flocks, and
my faithful shepherdess?--When shall I behold again, in one day, all
the pleasing objects of my affection?

                                        Boston, Jan. 30, 1805.

_Boston Weekly Mag._, III-60, Feb. 2, 1805, Boston.


                                        For the Port Folio.
                        THE SCANDINAVIAN HERO.

                    SKOGUL.

    From midst the dusty fields of war
    To realms beyond the northern star,
    To loud Valhalla's echoing halls,
    I bear the hero ere he falls;
    The valiant dwell in those abodes,
    And sit amid carousing gods;
    Not goblets rich, nor flasks of gold,
    But skulls of mantling mead they hold;
    The coward while he gasps for breath,
    Sinks darkling to Hela beneath.

                    HAROLD.

    O be it mine, from conflict borne,
    To reach the realms of endless morn;
    At Odin's board my lips I'll lave
    In the foam'd bev'rage of the brave.

                    ODIN.

    Who breaks the dusty fields of war,
    Death travels by his clattering car;
    Perch'd on the whirlwind's thund'ring tower,
    On comes the sable tempest's power;
    Ye warriors rise, ye chiefs give room,
    A godlike guest in youthful bloom,
    Harold from fields of battle see,
    Begin th' immortal revelry.

                                        S.

_Port Folio_, V-120, Apr. 20, 1805, Phila.


                           WERTER'S EPITAPH.

_Phila. Repos._, V-164, May 25, 1805, Phila.

[Also in _Amer. Museum_, I-474, May 1787, Phila.]


              PRAYER OF FREDERICK II IN BEHALF OF POETS.

    Ye Gods! from whom each favour'd bard
    Receives those talents verse requires,
    O teach them truth! for sure 'tis hard
    They should be all such wicked liars.

_Boston Mag._, I-12, Nov. 9, 1805, Boston.


                  A SKETCH OF THE ALPS, AT DAYBREAK.

    The sun-beams streak the azure skies,
      And line with light the mountain's brow;
    With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
      And chase the roebuck through the snow.

    From rock to rock, with giant-bound,
      High on their iron poles they pass;
    Mute, lest the air, convuls'd by sound,
      Rend from above a frozen mass.

    The goats wind slow their wonted way,
      Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;
    Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,
      From desert cave or hanging wood.

    And while the torrent thunders loud,
      And as the echoing cliffs reply,
    The huts peep o'er the morning cloud,
      Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.

_Evening Fireside_, II-74, Feb. 8, 1806, Phila.


In the following exquisite Parody, the sentiments are not less
admirable than the talents of the author. We have often expressed our
contempt for German plays, and we are happy to fortify our opinion of
the Teutonic Muse, with the wit of a man of genius, and a polite
scholar.

                       ODE TO THE GERMAN DRAMA,
                            By Mr. SEWARD.
                 A Parody of Gray's Ode to Adversity.

    Daughter of night, chaotic Queen!
      Thou fruitful source of modern lays,
    Whose turbid plot, and tedious scene,
      The monarch spurn, the robber raise.
    Bound in thy necromantic spell
    The audience taste the joys of hell,
    And Briton's sons indignant grown
    With pangs unfelt before, at crimes before unknown.

    When first, to make the nation stare,
      Folly her painted mask display'd,
    Schiller sublimely mad was there,
      And Kotz'bue lent his leaden aid.
    Gigantic pair! their lofty soul
    Disdaining reason's weak control,
    On changeful Britain sped the blow,
    Who, thoughtless of her own, embraced fictitious woe.

    Aw'd by thy scowl tremendous, fly
      Fair Comedy's theatric brood,
    Light satire, wit, and harmless joy,
      And leave us dungeons, chains and blood.
    Swift they disperse, and with them go,
    Mild Otway, sentimental Rowe;
    Congreve averts the indignant eye,
    And Shakespeare mourns to view the exotic prodigy.

    Ruffians, in regal mantle dight,
      Maidens immers'd in thoughts profound,
    Spectres, that haunt the shades of night,
      And spread a waste of ruin round.
    These form thy never-varying theme,
    While, buried in thy Stygian stream,
    Religion mourns her wasted fires
    And Hymen's sacred torch low hisses, and expires.

    O mildly on the British stage,
      Great Anarch! spread thy sable wings;
    Not fired with all the frantic rage,
      With which thou hurl'st thy darts at kings.
    As thou in native garb art seen,
    With scattered tresses, haggard mien,
    Sepulchral chains and hideous cry
    By despot arts immur'd in ghastly poverty.

    In specious form, dread Queen! appear;
      Let falsehood fill the dreary waste;
    Thy democratic rant be here,
      To fire the brain, corrupt the taste.
    The fair, by vicious love misled,
    Teach me to cherish and to wed,
    To low-born arrogance to bend,
    Establish'd order spurn, and call each outcast friend.

_Port Folio_, I-92, Feb. 15, 1806, Phila.


                         THE SWEDISH COTTAGE.
                     From Carr's Northern Summer.

    Here, far from all the pomp ambition seeks,
      Much sought, but only whilst untasted prais'd,
    Content and Innocence, with rosy cheeks,
      Enjoy the simple shed their hands have rais'd.

    On a gay rock it stands, whose fretted base
      The distant cataract's murm'ring waters lave;
    Whilst, o'er its grassy roof, with varying grace,
      The slender branches of the white birch wave.

    Behind, the forest fir is heard to sigh,
      On which the pensive ear delights to dwell;
    And, as the gazing stranger passes by,
      The grazing goat looks up and rings his bell.

      Oh! in my native land, ere life's decline,
      May such a spot, so wild, so sweet, be mine!

_Weekly Visitant_, I-63, Feb. 22, 1806, Salem.

[Sir John Carr, _A Northern Summer; or Travels round the Baltic in
1804_, London, 1805.]


                             ODE TO DEATH.
  By Frederick II, King of Prussia. Translated from the French by Dr.
                             Hawkesworth.

_Polyanthos_, I-270, Mar. 1806, Boston.

[Also in _New Haven Gaz. and Conn. Mag._, I-339, Dec. 7, 1786, New
Haven.]


                      THE DANCING BEAR. A FABLE.

[Perhaps suggested by Gellert's fable of the same title, but differing
much in content. Cf. _Port Folio_, I-400, Dec. 12, 1801, Phila., where
a translation of Gellert's poem is given.]

_Emerald_, I-118, July 5, 1806, Boston.


The following song by M. G. Lewis Esq. is, as we are apprized by that
gentleman, derived from the _French_, though the swain who figures in
it appears to be a German. The thought is pretty and the measure
flowing.

    A wolf, while Julia slept, had made
      Her favorite lamb his prize;
    Young Casper flew to give his aid,
      Who heard the trembler's cries.
    He drove the wolf from off the green,
      But claim'd a kiss for pay.
    Ah! Julia, better 'twould have been,
      Had Casper staid away.

    While grateful feelings warm'd her breast,
      She own'd she loved the swain;
    The youth eternal love professed,
      And kiss'd and kiss'd again.
    A fonder pair was never seen;
      They lov'd the live long day:
    Ah! Julia, better 'twould have been,
      Had Casper staid away.

    At length, the sun his beams withdrew,
      And night inviting sleep,
    Fond Julia rose and bade adieu,
      Then homeward drove her sheep.
    Alas! her thoughts were chang'd, I ween,
      For thus I heard her say;
    Ah! Julia, better 'twould have been,
      Had Casper staid away.

_Port Folio_, II-94, Aug. 16, 1806, Phila.


              EXTRACTS FROM "THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND"
                  by James Montgomery, London, 1806.

_Port Folio_, II-369, 412, Dec. 20, 31, 1806, Phila.

[James Montgomery, _The Wanderer of Switzerland and Other Poems_,
London, 1806. The first American edition from the second London
edition--N. Y., 1807.

Extracts from Parts VI and I respectively. Cf. Preface.]


                              RUNIC ODE.
                       THE HAUNTING OF HAVARDUR.
                          By C. Leftly, Esq.

    Son of Angrym, warrior bold,
    Stay thy travel o'er the wold;
    Stop, Havardur, stop thy steed;
    Thy death, thy bloody death's decreed.
    She, Coronzon's lovely maid,
    Whom thy wizard wiles betray'd,
    Glides along the darken'd coast,
    A frantic, pale, enshrouded ghost.
    Where the fisher dries his net,
    Rebel waves her body beat;
    Seduc'd by thee, she toss'd her form
    To the wild fury of the storm.
      Know thou feeble child of dust,
    Odin's brave, and Odin's just;
    From the Golden Hall I come
    To pronounce thy fatal doom;
    Never shall thou pass the scull
    Of rich metheglin deep and full:
    Late I left the giant throng,
    Yelling loud thy funeral song;
    Imprecating deep and dread
    Curses on thy guilty head.
    Soon with Lok, thy tortur'd soul,
    Must in boiling billows roll;
    Till the God's eternal light
    Bursts athwart thy gloom of night;
    Till Surtur gallops from afar,
    To burn this breathing world of war.
      Bold to brave the spear of death,
    Heroes hurry o'er the heath:
    Hasten to the smoking feast--
    Welcome every helmed guest,
    Listen hymns of sweet renown,
    Battles by thy fathers won;
    Frame thy face in wreathed smiles,
    Mirth the moodiest mind beguiles.--
    Yet I hover always nigh,
    Bid thee think,--and bid thee sigh;
    Yet I goad thy rankling breast;--
    Never, never, shalt thou rest.
      What avails thy bossy shield?
    What the guard thy gauntlets yield?
    What the morion on thy brow?
    Or the hauberk's rings below?
    If to live in anguish fear,
    Danger always threatening near:
    Lift on high thy biting mace,
    See him glaring in thy face;
    Turn--yet meet him, madd'ning fly,
    Curse thy coward soul, and die.
      Not upon the field of fight
    Hela seals thy lips in night;
    A brother, of infernal brood,
    Bathes him in thy heart's hot blood;
    Twice two hundred vassals bend,
    Hail him as their guardian friend;
    Mock thee writhing with the wound,
    Bid thee bite the dusty ground;
    Leave thee suffering, scorn'd alone,
    To die unpitied and unknown.
      Be thy nacked carcase strew'd,
    To give the famish'd eagles food;
    Sea-mews screaming on the shore,
    Dip their beaks, and drink thy gore.
    Be thy fiend-fir'd spirit borne,
    Wreck'd upon the fiery tide,
    An age of agony abide.
      But soft, the morning-bell beats one,
    The glow-worm fades; and, see, the sun
    Flashes his torch behind yon hill.
    At night, when wearied nature's still,
    And horror stalks along the plain,
    Remember--we must meet again.

_Port Folio_, II-415, Dec. 31, 1806, Phila.


Bürger's beautiful ballad,

    Earl Walter winds his bugle horn,
    To horse! to horse! halloo! halloo!.

has given rise in England to a very humorous


                                PARODY.
                   Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

    Earl Walter kicks the waiter's rump,
      Down stairs! down stairs! halloo, halloo!
    They sally forth, they wheel, they jump,
      And fast the scampering watch pursue.

    The jolly bucks from tavern freed,
      Dash fearless on through thick and thin,
    While answering alleys, as they speed,
      Loudly re-echo to their din.

    Saint Dunstan's arm, with massy stroke
      The solemn midnight peal had rung,
    And bawling out, "Past twelve o'clock,"
      Loud, long and deep the watchman sung.

    The clamorous Earl Walter guides,
      Huzza, Huzza, my merry men,
    When, puffing, holding both their sides,
      Two strangers haste to join his train.

    The right-hand stranger's locks were grey,
      But who he was I cannot tell;
    The left was debonnair and gay,
      A dashing blood I know full well.

    He wav'd his beaver hat on high,
      Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord!
    What joys can earth, or sea, or sky,
      To match our midnight sports afford?"

    "Methinks," the other said, "'twere best
      To leave, my friends, your frantick joys,
    And for the balmy sweets of rest,
      Exchange such rude discordant noise."

    But still Earl Walter onward hies,
      And dashing forward, on they go,
    Huzza, huzza, each toper cries,
      "Hark forward, forward, hollo ho!"

    The jovial band Earl Walter guides,
      Along the Fleet, up Ludgate-Hill,
    And puffing, holding both their sides,
      His boon companions follow still.

    From yonder winding lane out springs
      A phantom, white as snow,
    And louder still Earl Walter sings,
      "Hark forward, forward, hollo, ho!"

    A quaker prim has crossed the way,
      He sprawls their nimble feet below,
    But what care they for _yea_-and-_nay_,
      Still forward, forward, on they go.

    See, at the corner of yon street,
      A humble stall, with apples crown'd!
    See, scatter'd by Earl Walter's feet,
      The woman's apples rolling round.

    "O Lord! have mercy on my stall,
      Spare the hard earnings of the poor,
    The helpless widow's little all,
      The fruit of many a watchful hour."

    Earnest the right hand stranger pleads,
      The left still pointing to the prey,
    The impatient Earl no warning heeds,
      But furious holds the onward way.

    "Away, thou poor old wither'd witch,
      Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!"
    Then loud he sung and wav'd his switch,
      "Hark forward, forward, hollo ho!"

    So said, so done; one single bound
      Clears the _green grocer's_ humble stall;
    While through the apples scatter'd round,
      They hurry, hurry, one and all.

    And now behold the tim'rous prey,
      Beyond the reach of Comus' crew,
    Still lightly trip along the way,
      Unconscious who her steps pursue.

    Again they wheel, their nimble feet
      The devious way still quickly trace,
    Down Ludgate-Hill, along the Fleet,
      The unwearied Earl pursues the chase.

    The watch now muster strong and dare
      Dispute the empire of the field;
    They wave their cudgels high in air,
      "Now yield thee, noble Baron yield."

    "Unmanner'd vagabonds! in vain
      You strive to mar our nightly game;
    Come on! come on! my merry men,
      The raggamuffins we can tame."

    In heaps the victims bite the dust,
      Down sinks Earl Walter on the ground,
    Now run who can, and lie who must,
      For loud the _watchmen's rattles_ sound.

    Now to the justice borne along,
      In sullen majesty they go;
    The place receives the motley throng,
      And echoes to their hollo ho!

    All mild amid the rout profane,
      The _justice_ solemn thus began:
    "Forebear your knighthood thus to stain,
      Revere the dignity of man.

    The meanest trull has rights to plead,
      Which wrong'd by cruelty or pride,
    Draw vengeance on thy guilty head,
      Howe'er by titles dignified."

    Cold drops of sweat in many a trill,
      Adown Earl Walter's temples fall,
    And louder, louder, louder still,
      The surly watch for vengeance call.

    The right-hand stranger anxious pleads;
      The clamours of the mob increase,
    The _riot act_ the justice reads,
      And binds the Earl to keep the peace.

    The court broke up, they sally out,
      And raise a loud, a last huzza;
    Then sneak'd away and hung his snout,
      Each disappointed dog of law.

    Muttering full many a curse, and fast
      Homeward to slumber now they go;
    Yet spite of all that now has passed,
      You'll hear next night their hollo ho!

    This is the Earl, and this his train,
      That oft the awaken'd _Cockney_ hears;
    With rage he glows in every vein
      When the wild din invades his ears.

    The dreaming maid sighs sad and oft,
      That she her visions must forego,
    When waken'd from her slumbers soft,
      She hears the cry of hollo ho!

_Port Folio_, III-44, Jan. 17, 1807, Phila.

[Parody on G. A. Bürger's poem _Der wilde Jäger_. Cf. pp. 34, 85.]


                     THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND.
                         By JAMES MONTGOMERY.

_Emerald_, II-108, Feb. 28, 1807, Boston.

[James Montgomery, _op. cit._ Extracts given. Cf. Preface.]


                            SWISS PEASANT.

            Turn we, to survey
    Where rougher climes a nobler race display;
    Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread,
    And force a churlish soil for scanty bread,
    Yet still, e'en here, Content can spread a charm,
    Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm.
    Though poor the peasant's hut his feast though small,
    He sees his little lot, the lot of all;
    Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose,
    Breathes the keen air, and carrols as he goes.
    At night returning, every labour sped,
    He sits him down, the monarch of his shed;
    Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys,
    His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze;
    While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
    Displays her cleanly platter on her board;
    And haply too, some pilgrim, hither led,
    With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

_Emerald_, II-119, Mar. 7, 1807, Boston.


                              RUNIC ODE.
                       THE HAUNTING OF HAVARDUR.
                          By C. LEFTLY, Esq.

_Balance and Columbian Repos._, VI-144, May 5, 1807, Hudson, N. Y.

[Also in _Port Folio_, II-415, Dec. 31, 1806, Phila.]


                 FOREIGN POETICAL, POLITICAL SUMMARY.

                    PRUSSIA.

       *       *       *       *       *
    Still like a Bur she clings and sticks;
    To Russia tho she grins and kicks,
    Holds by the fur, which yet may fail,
    For bears, alas, have got no tail.
       *       *       *       *       *

                    HOLLAND.

    Let Mynheer Vanderschoffeldt flout,
    And swear and rave for sour krout;
    Nay kick his frow with solemn phiz,
    To make her feel how goot it ish.
    Yet after he has gorg'd his maw
    With puttermilks and goot olt slaw,
    Let him remember times are such,
    The French have Holland, not the Dutch.

                    GERMANY.

    With roaring blunderbuss and thunder
    All Germany is torn asunder;
    How num'rous circles near and far
    Encircl'd in the arms of war;
    Her Hessian bullies one and all,
    Pay homage to the spurious Gaul;
    And John Bull's farm, a goodly station,
    Makes soup to please the Gallic nation.

_Norfolk Repos._, II-232, May 26, 1807, Dedham, Mass.


                     ON THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.
                            By T. CAMPBELL.

_Weekly Inspector_, II-272, June 20, 1807, N. Y.

[Thomas Campbell, _idem_.

Battle of Hohenlinden, Bavaria, was fought Dec. 3, 1800, between the
Austrians under Archduke John and the French under General Moreau.]


                      THE SORROWS OF SWITZERLAND.

    Helvetian vales! Where freedom fix'd her sway;
    And all the social virtues lov'd to stray;
    Soft blissful seats of undisturb'd repose,
    Rever'd for ages by contending foes,
    What envious demon, ranging to destroy,
    Has marr'd your sports, and clos'd your song of joy?
    What horrid yells the affrighted ear assail!
    What screams of terror load the passing gale!
    See ruffian hordes, with tiger rage advance,
    The shame of manhood, and the boast of France!
    See trampled, crush'd and torn in lustful strife
    The loathing virgin and indignant wife!
    While wanton carnage sweeps each crowded wood,
    And all the mountain torrents swell with blood!
    Lo! Where yon cliff projects its length of shade
    O'er fields of death, a wounded chief is laid!
    Around the desolated scene he throws
    A look, that speaks insufferable woes:
    Then starting from his trance of dumb despair,
    Thus vents his anguish to the fleeting air:
    "Dear native hills, amidst whose woodland maze,
    I pass'd the tranquil morning of my days,
    On whose green tops malignant planets scowl,
    Where hell hounds ravage, and the furies howl;
    Though chang'd, deform'd, still, still ye meet my view,
    Ye still are left to hear my last adieu!
    My friends, my children, gor'd with many a wound,
    Whose mangled bodies strew the ensanguin'd ground,
    To parch and stiffen in the blaze of day,
    Consign'd to vultures, and to wolves a prey,
    Your toils are past; no more ye wake to feel
    Lust's savage gripe, or rapine's reeking steel!
    And Thou, to whom my wedded faith was given,
    On earth my solace, and my hope in heaven,
    Approv'd in manhood, as in youth ador'd,
    Belov'd while living, as in death deplor'd,
    O stay thy flight! Around this dreary shore
    A moment hover, and we part no more--
    On thy poor corpse, thy bleeding husband hangs,
    Counts all thy wounds, and feels thy ling'ring pangs--
    O righteous fathers! Thou whose fostering care
    Sustains creation, hear my dying prayer!
    Look down, look down on this devoted land,
    O'er my poor country stretch thy saving hand!
    O let the blood that streaming to the skies,
    Still flows in torrents--let that blood suffice!
    To thee the dreadful recompense belongs--
    To thy just vengeance I consign my wrongs;
    O vindicate the rights of nation's sway,
    And sweep the monsters from the blushing day!"

_Weekly Inspector_, II-288, June 27, 1807, N. Y.


                                POETRY.
                               Original.

Gentlemen,

It has been remarked, that the poetick department of the Anthology
abounds rather in selected than original productions; whether this be
the result of choice or necessity, the following lines will not be
considered inapplicable since they partake the nature of both
characters, and hence, if in other respects worthy to appear, it is
presumed they will not be rejected.


                            FROM THE RUNIC.

'The power of Musick is thus hyperbolically commemorated in one of the
songs of the Runic Bards.'[45]

I know a Song, by which I soften and enchant the arms of my enemies,
and render their weapons of no effect.

I know a Song, which I need only to sing when men have loaded me with
bonds, for the moment I sing it, my chains fall in pieces, and I walk
forth at liberty.

I know a Song, useful to all mankind, for as soon as hatred inflames
the sons of men, the moment I sing it they are appeased.

I know a Song of such virtue, that were I caught in a storm, I can
hush the winds and render the air perfectly calm.

_Mo. Anthology_, IV-602, Nov. 1807, Boston.

    [Footnote 45: See Godwin's _Life of Chaucer_.]


                       THE SONG OF A RUNIC BARD.

                      Imitated in English verse.

                    I.

    I know a Song, the magick of whose power
    Can save the Warrior in destruction's hour;
    From the fierce foe his falling vengeance charm,
    And wrest the weapon from his nervous arm.

                    II.

    I know a Song, which, when in bonds I lay,
    Broke from the grinding chain its links away.
    While the sweet notes their swelling numbers rolled,
    Back flew the bolts, the trembling gates unfold;
    Free as the breeze the elastic limbs advance,
    Course the far field, or braid the enlivening dance.

                    III.

    I know a Song, to mend the heart design'd,
    Quenching the fiery passions of mankind;
    When lurking hate and deadly rage combine,
    To charm the serpent of revenge is mine;
    By heavenly verse the furious deed restrain,
    And bid the lost affections live again.

                    IV.

    I know a Song, which when the wild winds blow
    To bend the monarchs of the forests low,
    If to the lay my warbling voice incline,
    Waking its various tones with skill divine,
    Hush'd are the gales, the spirit of the storm
    Calms his bleak breath, and smooths his furrow'd form,
    The day look up, the dripping hills serene
    Through the faint clouds exalt their sparkling green.

                                        CAMBRIA.

_Mo. Anthology_, IV-602, Nov. 1807, Boston.


                         THE SQUEAKING GHOST.

A tale imitated from the German, according to the true and genuine
principles of the horrifick.

    The wind whistled loud! farmer Dobbin's wheat stack
    Fell down! The rain beat 'gainst his door!
    As he sat by the fire he heard the roof crack!
    The cat 'gan to mew and to put up her back!
      And the candle burnt--_just as before_!
    The farmer exclaimed with a piteous sigh,
      "To get rid of this curs'd noise and rout,
    "Wife gi'e us some ale." His dame straight did cry,
    Hemed and coughed three times three, then made this reply--
      "I can't mun! Why? 'cause the cask's out!"
    By the side of the fire sat Roger Gee-ho
      Who had finished his daily vocation,
    With Cicely, whose eyes were as black as a Sloe,
    A damsel indeed who had never said No,
      And because _she ne'er had an occasion_!
    All these were alarmed by the loud piercing cries,
      And were thrown in a terrible state,
    Till open the door, with wide staring eyes,
    They found to their joy, no less than surprise,
      "_'Twas the old sow fast stuck in a gate!_"

_Charms of Lit. in Prose and Verse_, p. 350, 1808, Trenton.


                         THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

_Port Folio_, V-406, June 25, 1808, Phila.

[In a review of _Odes from the Norse and Welch Tongues_ by Thomas
Gray.

Also in _New Haven Gaz. and Conn. Mag._, III-No. 21, May 29, 1788, New
Haven.]


                         THE DESCENT OF ODIN.

_Port Folio_, VI-55, 57, July 23, 1808, Phila.

[Thomas Gray, _idem_. A literal trans.; not the same as the above.
Criticism and reprint.]


                     THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND.
                         By JAMES MONTGOMERY.

_Gleaner_, I-78 etc., Oct. 1808, Lancaster (Penn.).

[James Montgomery, _op. cit._ Entire poem reprinted. Cf. Preface.]


The following imitation of the celebrated Swiss air "Ran des Vaches,"
in which there is great simplicity and sweetness, is from the pen of
the Editor of the Sheffield Iris, author of the Wanderer of
Switzerland.

               THE SONG OF THE SWISS IN A STRANGE LAND.

    O when shall I visit the land of my birth,
    The loveliest land on the face of the earth?
    When shall I those scenes of affection explore,
        Our forests, our fountains,
        Our hamlets, our mountains,
    With the pride of our mountains, the maid I adore?
    O when shall I dance on the daisy white mead,
    In the shade of an elm, to the sound of the reed?

    When shall I return to thy lowly retreat,
    Where all my fond objects of tenderness meet?
    The lambs and the heifers that follow my call;
        My father, my mother,
        My sister, my brother,
    And dear Isabella, the joy of them all?
    O when shall I visit the land of my birth?
    'Tis the loveliest land on the face of the earth.

                                        --J. M.

SHEFFIELD, June 1808.

_Emerald_, n. s., I-624, Oct. 15, 1808, Boston.

[_Ranz des Vaches._

James Montgomery, _The West Indies and Other Poems_, 3rd. ed., Phila.,
1811 (London, 1810).

P. 84, _The Swiss Cowherd's Song, in a Foreign Land_. "Imitated from
the foregoing," _i. e._, the French verses.]


               THE SONG OF THE SWISS, IN A STRANGE LAND

_Lit. Mirror_, I-148, Oct. 29, 1808, Portsmouth, N. H.

[Also in _Emerald_, n. s., I-624, Oct. 15, 1808, Boston.]


               THE SONG OF THE SWISS IN A STRANGE LAND.

_Balance and Columbian Repos._, VII-176, Nov. 1, 1808, Hudson, N. Y.

[Also in _Emerald_, n. s., I-624, Oct. 15, 1808, Boston.]


                 SONG OF THE SWISS IN A STRANGE LAND.

_Norfolk Repos._, III-392, Nov. 8, 1808, Dedham, Mass.

[Also in _Emerald_, n. s., I-624, Oct. 15, 1808, Boston.]


               THE SONG OF THE SWISS, IN A STRANGE LAND.

By the Author of "The Wanderer of Switzerland."

_Lady's Weekly Misc._, VIII-128, Dec. 17, 1808, N. Y.

[Also in _Emerald_, n. s., I-624, Oct. 15, 1808, Boston.]


                       APPOINTMENT DISAPPOINTED!
                                  OR,
                    VON SCHLEMMER, AND "POT LUCK."

    An Englishman invited once
      A German friend to dine
    On plain _pot luck_,--for such his phrase--
      And drink some good port wine.

    Mein Herr repaired at proper time
      With stomach for the treat:
    The viands on the table placed,
      Von Schlemmer took his seat.

    Soup, turkey, beef, by turns were serv'd,
      Mein Herr declin'd each one:
    Fowls, turtle, sauce, they follow'd next,
      Von Schlemmer tasted none.

    His host at length, by kindness urged,
      Press'd him to taste some duck:
    "Ach nein!" with groans Von Schlemmer said,
      "I vait for de POT LUCK."

                                        --QUIZ.

_Select Reviews_, I-71, Jan. 1809, Phila.


On singing to a piano with a friend, the pathetic ballad of Mozart's
"Vergiss me nicht,"[46] a few days previous to quitting my native
country.

    "Forget me not," nor yet the song,
      Its plaintive notes our tears beguiling,
    The fatal words died on my tongue,
    And as you touch'd the trembling keys along,
      Through lucid gems I saw you sadly smiling.

    "Forget me not," ah! song of wo!
      For never more our joys uniting,
    With Sorrow's sigh no more to glow;
    No more shall Pity's tear together flow,
      Our love, our hopes, our joys forever blighting.

    "Forget me not," oh! ever dear,
      Let thrilling mem'ry o'er my fancy stealing,
    As next you sing "Forget me not," a tear
    Shall gently fall, my beating heart to cheer;
      I'll never thee forget while I have life and feeling.

                                        Julia Francesca.

_Port Folio_, VII (n. s. I)-272, Mar. 1809, Phila.

    [Footnote 46: The German of "Forget me not."]


                       THE SOLDIER OF THE ALPS.

    In the vallies yet lingered the shadows of night,
      Though red on the glaciers the morning sun shone,
    When our moss-covered church-tower first broke on my sight,
      As I cross'd the vast oak o'er the cataract thrown.

    For beyond that old church-tower, embosomed in pines,
      Was the spot which contained all the bliss of my life,
    Near yon grey granite rock, where the red ash reclines,
      Stood the cottage where dwelt my loved children and wife.

    Long since did the blasts of the war-trumpet cease,
      The drum slept in silence, the colours were furled,
    Serene over France rose the day-star of Peace,
      And the beams of its splendour gave light to the world.

    When near to the land of my fathers I drew,
      And the drawn light her features of grandeur unveiled,
    As I caught the first glimpse of her ice-mountains blue,
      Our old native Alps with what rapture I hailed.

    "Oh! soon, I exclaimed, will those mountains be passed,
      And soon shall I stop at my own cottage door,
    There my children's caresses will greet me at last,
      And the arms of my wife will enfold me once more.

    "While the fulness of joy leaves me powerless to speak,
      Emotions which language can never define,
    When her sweet tears of transport drop warm on my cheek,
      And I feel her fond heart beat once more against mine.

    "Then my boy, when our tumults of rapture subside,
      Will anxiously ask how our soldiers have sped,
    Will flourish my bay'net with infantile pride,
      And exultingly place my plumed cap on his head.

    "Then my sweet girl will boast how her chamois has grown;
      And make him repeat all his antics with glee,
    Then she'll haste to the vine that she claims as her own,
      And fondly select its ripe clusters for me.

    "And when round our fire we assemble at night,
      With what interest they'll list to my tale of the war,
    How our shining arms gleamed on St. Bernard's vast height,
      While the clouds in white billows rolled under us far.

    "Then I'll tell how the legions of Austria we braved,
      How we fought on Marengo's victorious day,
    When the colours of conquest dejectedly wave
      Where streamed the last blood of the gallant Dessaix."

    'Twas thus in fond fancy my bosom beat light
      As I crossed the rude bridge where the wild waters roll,
    When each well-known scene crowded fast on my sight,
      And Hope's glowing visions came warm to my soul.

    Through the pine-grove I hastened with footsteps of air
      Already my lov'd ones I felt in embrace,
    When I came--of my cot not a vestige was there--
      But a hilloc of snow was heap'd high in its place.

    The heart-rending story too soon did I hear--
      An avalanche, loosed from the near mountain's side,
    Our cottage o'erwhelmed in its thundering career,
      And beneath it my wife and my children had died.

                                        --IMOGEN.

_Port Folio_, VII (n. s. I)-350, Apr. 1809, Phila.


                        BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.
                       By THOMAS CAMPBELL, Esq.

_Visitor_, I-47, Apr. 22, 1809, Richmond.

[Also in _Weekly Inspector_, II-272, June 20, 1807, N. Y.]


                           COW BOY'S CHAUNT.

    Sweet, regretted, native shore;
    Shall I e'er behold thee more,
      And all the objects of my love:
        Thy streams so clear,
        Thy hills so dear,
        The mountain's brow,
        And cots below,
      Where once my feet were wont to rove?

    There with Isabella fair,
    Light of foot, and free from care,
      Shall I to the tabor bound?
    Or at eve, beneath the dale,
    Whisper soft my artless tale,
      And blissful tread on fairy ground?

    Oh! when shall I behold again
    My lowly cot and native plain,
      And every object dear;
    My father, and my mother,
    My sister and my brother,
      And calm their anxious fear.

                                        (European Mag.)

[The above is preceded by the music and the French words of the _Ranz
des Vaches_. Cf. p. 156.]

_Visitor_, I-72, June 3, 1809, Richmond.


               THE SONG OF THE SWISS, IN A STRANGE LAND.

_Gleaner_, I-471, June 1809, Lancaster (Penn.).

[Also in _Emerald_, n. s., I-624, Oct. 15, 1808, Boston.]


                   CHARLOTTE AT THE TOMB OF WERTER.

    With sorrow of heart I draw near,
      The tomb where my Werter's at rest,
    Soft pity oh, give me a tear
      I will lighten the woes of my breast.

    Sleep on thou dear shade, rest in peace,
      Undisturbed by the woes of my breast,
    For sure the soft slumber would cease
      If with grief you know me opprest.

    The meadow, the valley, the field,
      Recesses that once gave delight,
    Alas now how changed! for they yield
      Nothing gayful or joyous to sight.

    On the terrace I often remain,
      And the loss of my Werter deplore,
    While by the pale moon I complain,
      Her beams, his loved image restore.

    It was here the fond hope was inspired,
      That with gladness enlivens my heart
    That when this dull life is expired
      We shall meet again never to part.

    Yes, Werter, thy presage was just;
      To cherish the hope be my care,
    For should it forsake me, how must
      I combat with grief and despair.

                                        --A.

_Visitor_, I-136, Sept. 23, 1809, Richmond.


                         THE SQUEAKING GHOST.
                   A tale imitated from the German.

_Select Reviews_, II-357, Nov. 1809, Phila.

[Also in _Charms of Lit. in Prose and Verse_, p. 350, 1808, Trenton.]


To those who have admired the singular poems of Lewis, Walter Scott,
and others, under the whimsical titles of "The Cloud-King," "The
Fire-King," etc., the following burlesque ballad may afford some
amusement.

                            THE PAINT-KING.

    Fair Ellen, was once the delight of the young;
      No damsel could with her compare;
    Her charms were the theme of the heart and the tongue,
    And bards without number in extacies sung
      The beauties of Ellen, the Fair.

    But Ellen, though lovers in regiments threw
      The darts of their eyes at her heart,
    From the sorrow no pitying sympathy knew;
    For, cold as an icicle-shower, they drew
      Not a drop from that petrified part.

    Yet still did the heart of fair Ellen implore
      A something that could not be found;
    Like a sailor it seem'd on a desolate shore,
    With nor house, nor a tree, nor a sound, but the roar
      Of breakers high-dashing around.

    From object to object, still, still would she stray
      Yet nothing, alas! could she find;
    Through Novelty's mazes she rambled all day,
    And even at midnight, so restless, they say,
      In sleep would run after the wind.

    Nay, rather than sit like a statue so still,
      When the rain made her mansion a pound,
    Up and down would she go like the sails of a mill,
    And pat every stair, like a wood-pecker's bill,
      From the tiles of the roof to the ground.

    One morn, as the maid from her casement reclin'd,
      Pass'd a youth with a frame in his hand.
    The casement she clos'd; not the eye of her mind;
    For do all she could, no, she could not be blind;
      Still before her she saw the youth stand.

    "And what can he do," said the maid with a sigh,
      "Ah! what with that frame can he do?
    I wish I could know it." When suddenly by
    The youth pass'd again; and again did her eye
      The frame, and a sweet picture view.

    "Oh! sweet, lovely picture!" the fair Ellen sigh'd,
      "I must see thee again or I die;"
    Then under her white chin her bonnet she tied,
    And after the youth and the picture she hied,
      Till the youth, looking back, met her eye.

    "Fair damsel," said he (and he chuckled the while),
      "This picture, I see, you admire;
    Then take it, I beg you, perhaps 'twill beguile
    Some moments of sorrow: (pray pardon my smile)
      Or, at least, keep you home by the fire."

    Then Ellen the gift, with delight and surprise,
      From the cunning young stripling receiv'd.
    But she knew not the poison that enter'd her eyes,
    When beaming with rapture they gazed on her prize:
      Yet thus was fair Ellen deceiv'd!

    'Twas a youth o'er the form of a statue inclin'd;
      And the sculptor he seem'd of the stone;
    Yet he languish'd, as though for its beauty he pin'd,
    And gaz'd, as the eyes of the statue so blind
      Reflected the beams of his own.

    'Twas the tale of the sculptor, Pygmalion of old;
      Fair Ellen remember'd and sigh'd,
    "Ah! could'st thou but lift from that marble so cold,
    Thine eyes so enchanting, thy arms should enfold,
      And press me this day as thy bride."

    She said: when, behold, from the canvass arose
      The youth ... and he stepp'd from the frame;
    With a furious joy, his arms did enclose
    The love-plighted Ellen; and, clasping, he froze
      The blood of the maid with his flame!

    She turn'd and beheld on each shoulder a wing
      "Oh! heaven!" cried she, "who art thou?"
    From the roof to the ground did his fierce answer ring,
    When frowning, he thunder'd, "I am the Paint-King!
      And mine, lovely maid, thou art now!"

    Then high from the ground did the grim monster lift
      The loud-screaming maid, like a blast;
    And he sped through the air, like a meteor swift,
    While the clouds, wand'ring by him, did fearfully drift
      To the right and the left as he pass'd.

    Now, suddenly sloping his hurricane flight,
      With an eddying whirl he descends;
    The air all below him becomes black as night,
    And the ground where he treads, as if mov'd with affright,
      Like the surge of the Caspian bends.

    "I am here!" said the fiend, and he thundering knock'd
      At the gates of a mountainous cave:
    The gates open'd wide, as by magick unlock'd,
    While the peaks of the mount, reeling to and fro, rock'd,
      Like an island of ice on the wave.

    "Oh! mercy!" cried Ellen, and swoon'd in his arms.
      But the Paint-King, he scoff'd at her pain.
    "Prithee, love," said the monster, "what mean these alarms?"
    She hears not, she sees not the terrible charms
      That wake her to horror again.

    She opens her lids; but no longer her eyes
      Behold the fair youth she would woo:
    Now appears the Paint-King in his natural guise;
    His face, like a palette of villainous dies,
      Black and white, red and yellow, and blue.

    On a bright polish'd throne, of prismatical[47] spar,
      Sat the mosaick fiend like a clod;
    While he rear'd in his mouth a gigantick cigar
    Twice as big as the light-house, though seen from afar,
      On the coast of the stormy Cape Cod.

    And anon, as he puff'd the vast volumes, were seen,
      In horrid festoons on the wall,
    Legs and arms, head and bodies, emerging between;
    Like the drawing room grim of the Scotch Sawney Beane,
      By the Devil dress'd out for a ball.

    "Ah me!" cried the damsel, and fell at his feet,
      "Must I hang on these walls to be dried?"
    "Oh, no!" said the fiend, while he sprung from his seat,
    "A far nobler fortune thy person shall meet;
      Into paint will I grind thee, my bride!"

    Then, seizing the maid by her dark auburn hair,
      An oil-jug he plung'd her within.
    Seven days, seven nights, with the shrieks of despair
    Did Ellen in torment convulse the dim air,
      All cover'd with oil to the chin.

    On the morn of the eighth on a huge sable stone
      Then Ellen, all reeking, he laid;
    With a rock for his muller, he crush'd every bone;
    But though ground to jelly, still, still did she groan;
      For life had forsook not the maid.

    Now reaching his palette with masterly care,
      Each tint on the surface he spread;
    The blue of her eyes, and the brown of her hair,
    The pearl and the white of her forehead so fair
      And her lips' and her cheeks' rosy red.

    Then stamping his foot, did the monster exclaim,
      "Now I brave, cruel Fairy, thy scorn!"
    When lo! from a chasm unfathom'd there came
    A small tiny chariot of rose-colour'd flame,
      By a team of ten glowworms upborne.

    Enthron'd in the midst on an emerald bright,
      Fair Geraldine sat without peer;
    Her robe was the gleam of the first blush of light,
    And her mantle the fleece of a noon-cloud white,
      And a beam of the moon was her spear.

    In a voice that stole on the still charmed air,
      Like the first gentle accent of Eve,
    Thus spake from her chariot the Fairy so fair:
    "I come at thy call ... but, oh Paint-King! beware,
      Beware if again you deceive."

    "'Tis true," said the monster, "thou queen of my heart!
      Thy portrait I oft have essay'd;
    Yet ne'er to the canvass could I with my art
    The least of thy wonderful beauties impart;
      And my failure with scorn you repaid.

    "Now I swear, by the light of the Comet-King's tail!"
      And he tower'd with pride as he spoke,
    "If again with these magical colours I fail,
    The crater of Etna shall hence be my jail,
      And my food shall be sulphur and smoke.

    "But if I succeed, then, oh! fair Geraldine!
      Thy promise with rapture, I claim,
    And thou, queen of Fairies, shalt ever be mine
    The bride of my bed; and thy portrait divine
      Shall fill all the earth with my fame."

    He spake; when, behold the fair Geraldine's form
      On the canvass enchantingly glow'd;
    His touches, they flew like the leaves in a storm;
    And the pure, pearly white, and the carnation warm,
      Contending in harmony, flow'd.

    And now did the portrait a twin-sister seem
      To the figure of Geraldine fair:
    With the same sweet expression did faithfully teem
    Each muscle, each feature; in short, not a gleam
      Was lost of her beautiful hair.

    'Twas the Fairy herself! but, alas! her blue eyes
      Still a pupil did ruefully lack;
    And who shall describe the terrifick surprise
    That seized the Paint-King, when, behold, he descries
      Not a speck on his palette of black.

    "I am lost!" said the fiend, and he shook like a leaf;
      When, casting his eyes to the ground,
    He saw the lost pupils of Ellen with grief
    In the jaws of a mouse, and the sly little thief
      Whisk away from his sight with a bound.

    "I am lost!" said the fiend, and he fell like a stone:
      Then rising the Fairy in ire,
    With a touch of her finger she loosen'd her zone,
    (While the limbs on the wall gave a terrible groan!)
      And she swell'd to a column of fire.

    Her spear now a thunder-bolt flash'd in the air,
      And sulphur the vault fill'd around:
    She smote the grim monster; and now by the hair
    High lifting, she hurl'd him in speechless despair
      Down the depths of the chasm profound.

    Then waving, with smiles, o'er the picture her spear,
      "Come forth!" said the good Geraldine;
    When, behold, from the canvass fair Ellen appear!
    In feature, in person more lovely than e'er,
      With grace more than ever divine!

_Mo. Anthology_, VII-391, Dec. 1809, Boston.

[Washington Allston, _idem_. Cf. pp. 18, 19.]

    [Footnote 47: This being a _free country_, I have taken the
    liberty, for the sake of the metre, to alter the word
    prismatick, as above!]


                         THE SQUEAKING GHOST.
                   A tale imitated from the German.

_Boston Mirror_, II-96, Jan. 6, 1810, Boston.

[Also in _Charms of Lit. in Prose and Verse_, p. 350, 1808, Trenton.]


                            THE PAINT KING.

_Something_, I-151, Jan. 20, 1810, Boston.

[Also in _Mo. Anthology_, VII-391, Dec. 1809, Boston.]




                                  IV
   LIST OF TRANSLATIONS OF GERMAN PROSE, AND LIST OF ARTICLES ON THE
                           GERMAN COUNTRIES


Many references to Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Holland, etc., are
to be found in the news sections of the magazines, but they are too
numerous and too brief to be noted in the following list.


           =The General Mag. & Hist. Chronicle= for all the
         British Plantations in America.--B. Franklin, Phila.

I--Jan.-June, 1741.

    News from Germany.


               =Amer. Mag. & Hist. Chronicle.=--Boston.

I--Sept. 1743-Dec. 1744.

    499--A Description of the City of Hamburg, with several
    observations on the Hamburghers, and other Germans, &c.

II--1745.

    373--Ld. P----l's Speech, upon the Report of the Hanoverian
    Troops, 1744.

    492--The Dutch method of manning fleets.

III--1746.

    311--Description of the City of Antwerp.

    406--King of Prussia--his character.

    [Foreign affairs--many paragraphs on Vienna, Hague, Utrecht,
    Stockholm in Sweden, Denmark, etc.]


                    =Independent Reflector.=--N. Y.

Nos. 1-52, Nov. 30, 1752-Nov. 22, 1753.

    21--A Vindication of the Moravians, against the aspersions of
    their enemies.


                 =Amer. Mag. & Mo. Chronicle.=--Phila.

I--Oct. 1757-Oct. 1758.

    136--Character of the King of Prussia.

    [Many paragraphs giving news of Germany.]


               =The New Amer. Mag.=--Woodbridge in N. J.

Nos. XIII-XXIV, 1759.

    418--The following remarkable curiosities of Denmark are
    inserted as an agreeable amusement.

    462--On a very useful custom established in Holland; from the
    French of Voltaire.


                    =The Royal Amer. Mag.=--Boston.

Jan.-Dec. 1774.

    416--An account of a topical Remedy for the cure of ulcerated
    Cancer. By M. I. Soultzer, first Physician to his Royal
    Highness the Duke of Saxe Gotha.


                         =Penna. Mag.=--Phila.

I--1775.

    471--The Law of Liberty; a Sermon on American affairs,
    preached at the opening of the Provincial Congress of
    Georgia. With an appendix giving a concise account of the
    struggles of Swisserland, to recover their Liberty. By John
    J. Zubly, D.D. (Select passages from new British
    Publications.)

II--Jan.-June, 1776.

    63--Some account of the Lives of Eminent Persons.--Gustavus
    Adolphus, King of Sweden.

    169--Extraordinary Heroism of the ancient Scandinavians.


                       =The U. S. Mag.=--Phila.

I--1779.

    136--Origin of the Debate between the King of Prussia and the
    Emperor of Germany. Trans. from the Journal Historique &
    Politique.

    186--Particulars relative to the debate between the Emperor
    and Prussia.

    472--Thoughts on the necessity of War. Trans. from the
    German.

    474--Singular Adventures of a German Princess, consort of
    Alexis, the unfortunate son of the Czar Peter the Great. By
    Crito.


                      =The Boston Mag.=--Boston.

I--Oct. 1783-Dec. 1784.

    55--Description (with an elegant engraving) of the celebrated
    tomb of Madame Langhans, executed by Mr. John Augustus Nahl,
    late sculptor to the King of Prussia, and which is to be seen
    in the choir of the parish church of Hindlebanck 2 leagues
    from Berne, [Prose article containing a trans. of a German
    poem from Haller. Cf. p. 21.]

    545--An account of the commencement of the Liberty of
    Switzerland.

III--1786.

    72, 65, 66, 67--New description of Zurich in Switzerland.

    [In a letter from an English gentleman to his friend. Pages
    of vol. III are misnumbered after p. 72.]


               =The Worcester Mag.=--Worcester (Mass.).

I--First week in Apr.--third week in Aug. 1786.

    140--Treaty of Commerce between the U. S. and the King of
    Prussia.

    235--Droll adventure of a Silesian priest, related in the
    King of Prussia's Campaigns.

III--First week in Apr.--2nd week in Aug. 1787.

    5--On the Dutch Loan. From a late N. Y. paper.

IV.--First week in Oct. 1787--4th week in Mar. 1788.

    121--Emperour of Germany's Prayer. A small work has lately
    appeared in Germany under the title of "Joseph Gebetbux"
    [sic], (the Emperour's Prayer Book) from which the following
    is extracted.


                       =Columbian Mag.=--Phila.

I--Sept. 1786-Dec. 1787.

    442--Anecdote of the Siege of Leyden.

II--1788.

    31--A genuine Letter from a Member of the Society called
    Dunkards to a Lady of the Penn Family, with her Answer.

    40--A remarkable Hermitage. From Keysler's Travels.

    323--Account of a very extraordinary Eruption of Fire in
    Iceland, in 1783.

    621--Account of the great Revolution in Denmark, in the year
    1660.

    688--Observations made in a Tour in Swisserland, in 1786, by
    Monsieur De Lazowski.

III--1789.

    38--Anecdote extracted from "The Life of Frederic III late
    King of Prussia," published at Paris and Strassburg in the
    summer of 1788, and now translating in Philadelphia.

    548--Anecdotes--of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia.

IV--Jan.-June 1790.

    26--An Allegory on the Dispute respecting Precedency between
    the Belles Lettres and the Fine Arts. By Mr. Klopstock.
    Trans. from the German.

    32--Extracts from an Essay on the Form of Government, and the
    Duties of Kings. By the late King of Prussia. Sent, in 1781,
    to his Secretary of State, de Hertsberg; but written in 1776,
    or 1777, as appears from his Letters to Voltaire.

    169, 205, 365--Extracts from the correspondence of the
    present King of Sweden when a young man, with the
    superintendents of his education.

V--July-Dec. 1790.

    156--An Account of Miss D. Schlozer, a celebrated learned
    lady, in the Electorate of Hanover, who was thought worthy of
    the highest academical honours in the University of
    Gottengen, at the Grand Jubilee, in the year 1787.

    249--On the Utility of Frost-Conductors. From a late German
    magazine.

    319--On the Modern Manners in Germany.

    362--Letter of the King of Sweden. [Con. from IV.]


             =Universal Asylum and Columbian Mag.=--Phila.

I--Jan.-June 1791.

    46--A Tour in Holland, in 1784. By an American. (Thin Octavo.
    Printed in Boston.)

    134--Extract from the correspondence of the present King of
    Sweden, etc. [Con. from V of _Columbian Mag._]

    400--Anecdotes--II. Of the late King of Prussia.

II--July-Dec. 1791.

    23--Observations on the Cretins, or Idiots, of the Pais de
    Vallais, in Switzerland. By Sir Richard Clayton.

    174--Extraordinary account of certain Hot Springs in the
    Island of Amsterdam. (From Mortimer's Observations, during a
    voyage from Canton to the northwest coast of America and back
    to Canton.)

    378--Anecdote of the Czar Peter of Russia. Trans. from the
    French of Frederick II of Prussia.

I--Jan.-June 1792.

    233--An Account of the National Character, Manners and
    Customs of the Swedes. (From Catteau's "General view of
    Sweden.")

II--July-Dec. 1792.

    177--The Furies, a Fable. From the German of M. Lessing.


              =New Haven Gaz. and Conn. Mag.=--New Haven.

I--Feb. 16, 1786-Feb. 15, 1787.

    8--On a very useful custom which prevails in Holland.

    84--Some particulars of the rise of Peter Schreutzer, whom
    the King of Prussia raised from the ranks to be a General
    Officer.

    296--Anecdote of the King of Prussia, Voltaire, and Lord
    Chesterfield.

    319--Extract from a Treatise on Physiognomy. By M. Lavater.

    395--Anecdote of the Late King of Prussia.


                        =Amer. Museum.=--Phila.

III--Jan.-June 1788.

    539--Speech on the learned languages, by the hon. Francis
    Hopkinson, and delivered by a young gentleman at a public
    commencement in the University of Pennsylvania. [Against the
    study of Latin and Greek.... "It is not necessary to search
    antiquity for a means of a reciprocal communication of ideas,
    because languages most in use, are, in truth, the most useful
    to be known."]

VI--July-Dec. 1789.

    35--Account of the Society of Dunkards in Pennsylvania.
    Communicated by a British officer to the editor of the
    Edinburgh Magazine.

    159--Account of the discovery of America, by the Icelanders,
    in the 11th cent., taken from Mallet's Northern Antiquities.
    Vol. I.

    222--To the President of the United States. The address of
    the ministers and elders of the German Reformed congregations
    in the United States, at their general meeting, held at
    Phila., June 1789.

    223--Washington's reply to the above.

    411--Anecdote of Frederick the Great. [Why he did not help
    the Americans.]

    475--Peter, a German Tale.

    482--Anecdotes. No. 5--Frederick the Great. No. 8--Charles
    XII of Sweden.

VII--Jan.-June 1790.

    168--Anecdote of German soldiers retired to America.

    208--A Hint [on Dutch industry].

    216, 328--The Maid of Switzerland. By Miss Anne Blower.

IX--Jan.-June 1791.

    42 (Appendix III)--Emigration from Germany. [Short
    paragraph.]

X--July-Dec. 1791.

    108--Anecdote of the "late King of Prussia."

    35 (Appendix I)--A hymn on the nativity of Christ, sung in
    the Dutch church, New York.

XI--Jan.-June 1792.

    38--State of the female sex, among the ancient Germans. By
    Gilbert Stuart, LL.D.

    97--Of marriage and modesty among the ancient Germans. By
    Gilbert Stuart.

    102--Productions and Commerce of Germany. From Zimmerman's
    political survey of the present state of Europe.

XIII--1798.

    233--King of Prussia annuls the contracts made by the French
    for corn, at Hamburg, Bremen, etc.

    255--Treaty of Pilnitz.


                        =The Amer. Mag.=--N. Y.

Dec. 1787-Nov. 1788.

    779--A Gothic Story.


                 =Mass. Mag. or Mo. Museum.=--Boston.

I--1789.

    164--Avarice and Glory. An History. By the King of Prussia.
    By the Shepherd his Majesty means himself.

    238--A Singular Species of Folly in the Dutch. [The tulip
    craze.]

    310--The Wisdom of Providence. An Apologue. From the German
    of the celebrated Gellert.

    491--Character of the honourable and learned Emanuel
    Swedenborg. Written by himself.

II--1790.

    53--Anecdote of Frederick, the late King of Prussia.

    151--An Account of a Visit to the Alps. By M. de Saussure.

    177--The Norway Bear.

    456--The Saxon Heroine.

    685--Of the Cleanliness, Order and Economy of Dutch Prisons.
    (By the late celebrated Mr. Howard.)

    708--Account of the Moravian Settlement at Bethlehem, in
    Pennsylvania. (From Capt. Aubrey's Travels through the
    interior parts of America.[48])

        [Footnote 48: An English work, celebrated for its want of
        candour and justice.]

III-1791.

    102, etc.--Various Sketches of the Dutch. (From "A Tour in
    Holland, in 1784, by an American," just published.)

    223--An Account of Miss D. Schlozer. [Dorothy Schlozer in the
    Electorate of Hanover who received academical honors in the
    University of Göttingen.]

    235, etc.--Zohar, an Eastern Tale. By Wieland.

    345--A Prussian Edict.

    365--Description of Bethlehem; in the State of Pennsylvania.
    [References to the Germans.]

    470--Anecdote of Christina, Queen of Sweden.

    559--Sketch of the unfortunate Erick XIV, son of the great
    Augustus Vasa, King of Sweden.

    564--Eulogium of Hacon, King of Norway.

    571--Character of the King of Prussia.

    627--General Character of the Germans.

    756--Various Sketches of the Dutch.

IV--1792.

    166--Character of the Swedish Nation.

    306--History of Margarate of Valdemar. (From Cox's Travels in
    Poland, Russia, Sweden and Denmark.)

    544--Prussian Royal Customs.

V--1793.

    38--Account of the Swedish Revolution.

    133--A Sketch of Berlin.

VI--1794.

    429 ff.--Claudine; A Swiss Tale. (From the French M. de
    Florian.)

    497--Anecdotes of the late Emperor of Germany.

    555--Anecdotes of the late Joseph, Emperor of Germany.

    584--Marriage Rites in Modern Germany.

VII, Nos. 4 (July), 11 (Dec.) 1795.

    21--Lavater. [Mentioned in table of contents.]

    233--Speculator, No. IX. [An article on the drama. Many
    references to the German drama. "Goëthé," Lessing, Schiller,
    Leisewitz, "Garstenberg," Unzer and Klinger mentioned; also,
    "the dramatic poems of Klopstock."]

VIII--Jan., Mar.-Dec. 1796.

    33--Curious characteristic Particulars of the celebrated
    Reformer Luther.

    200--Anecdote of Frederick the Great, late King of Prussia.

    258--Adventure in the Convent of Carmelites at Augsburg. From
    Campbell's journey overland to India.

    303--Marriage Rites in different Nations. [Sweden, Denmark,
    Swedish Livonia, Ancient Germany.]

    343--Martin Luther. [An anecdote.]

    443--Flystone used by the Moravians in Pennsylvania.

    447--Physiognomy. [Reference to Lavater.]

    469--An Account of Moravian Settlements in Pennsylvania.


               =The Christian's, Scholar's, and Farmer's
                     Mag.=--Elizabeth-Town, N. J.

I--Apr. 1789-Mar. 1790.

    46--Great Charity of the Dutch.

    632--Anecdote of the late King of Prussia.

    ---- From a German divine, a doctor of Divinity. [Unnumbered
    page following 656 with heading "To Subscribers."]


                  =N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos.=--N. Y.

II--1791.

    173--Song. Tune, German Spa.

    321--Irus. From the German.

    332--Original Anecdotes of Peter the Great. From a German
    work just published.

    460--Miscellaneous observations on Holland. In a letter
    addressed to the Editor of the Edinburgh Mag.

    526--An Oration delivered by Jacob Morton, Esq., in the
    Luthern Church at the Anniversary meeting of the German
    Society, on the 6th of Jan. 1791.

    534--General Character of the Germans. (From Baron Riesbeck's
    Travels through Germany.)

    730--Anecdote of Christina, Queen of Sweden.

III--1792.

    361--The Generous Mask. A Tale. Imitated from the German.

    391--Anecdote of Frederick III, King of Prussia.

    475--Punishment of John Jacob Ankerstrom, for the
    assassination of Gustavus III, King of Sweden.

IV--1793.

    222--A general View of Switzerland and the Alps, with an
    affecting anecdote. (From "Observations on Denmark, etc.")

    231--William Tell. (From "A Picturesque Description of
    Switzerland.")

    293--An Oration delivered by Gustavus Adolphus III on the
    Foundation of the Swedish Academy, Mar. 20, 1786. (From
    Select Orations and Paper's relative to the Swedish Academy.)

    428--Of the Inhabitants of Loheia. (From Niebuhr's Travels.)

    610--A brief Analysis of the Powers of the Triumvirate,
    Russia, Austria and Prussia; which, according to the ideas of
    the Marquis of Lansdowne, if the present combination against
    France succeeds, will swallow up the other governments of
    Europe.

    730--Occurrence in the Rhaetian Alps; with the general
    Character of the Tyrolese. (From Travels through the Rhaetian
    Alps, in the year 1786, from Italy to Germany through Tyrol;
    by Albanis Beaumont.)

V--1794.

    325--Letter from Mr. Klopstock to the National Convention of
    France. (From "The late Picture of Paris.")

    334--General Reflections on Taste. Trans. from the German.

    425--Account of the State Prison of Konigstein in Saxony.
    (From the Life of Baron Trenk.)

VI--1795.

    269--Account of Extraordinary Springs in Iceland. (From
    Horrebow's Natural History of that Island.)

    496--An extract from the "Ghost-seer, or Apparitionist," an
    Interesting Fragment, found among the Papers of Count
    O----.[49]

    593--Character of the Dunkers. (From Winchester's Universal
    Restoration.)

    663--Account of Travels into Norway, Denmark and Russia, in
    the years 1788, '89, '90, '91. By A. Swinton, Esq.

    752--Description of Iceland. (From Watson's Universal
    Gazateer, or Modern Geographical Index.)

        [Footnote 49: Vide Mo. Rev., for Sept. 1794, p. 21 for merits
        of this work.]

n. s. I, Jan.-July 1796.

    239--Battle of Morat. (From Coxe's Travels in Switzerland.)

    244--Account of the Timber Floats on the Rhine.

    250--Curious Account of the Punishment of State Criminals of
    Family in Holland.

    251--Of the Influence of Countenance on Countenance. [By
    Lavater.]

    311--Ruins of Caithness--A Gothic Tale.

    338--Account of a Dutch Drum. (From Pratt's Gleanings.)

    339--Anecdotes of the Prince Royal of Denmark. (From Mrs.
    Wollstoncraft's Letters.)

    369--Helvetic Confederacy. (From Coxe's Travels in
    Switzerland.)

n. s. II--1797.

    116--Destruction of the Town of Plurs, by the Fall of a
    Mountain. (From Coxe's Travels in Switzerland.)

    141--The Offspring of Mercy. (From Herder's Scattered
    Leaves.)

    141--The Vine. (From the same.)

    247--Sleep. (From Herder's Scattered Leaves.)

    247--The Choice of Flora. (From the same.)

    248--Aurora. (From the same.)

    261--Sports of the Swiss Peasantry. (From Durand's Elementary
    Statistics of Switzerland.)

    308--The Topography and Natural History of the Swiss Alps.
    (From a work of that name by the late Baron Haller.)

    316--Account of the Public Eating-houses of Vienna. (From
    Owen's Travels.)

    322--On the Literature of Geneva. (From Coxe's Travels in
    Switzerland.)

    368--Claudine: A Swiss Tale. (From the French of M. de
    Florian.)

    408--Conversation between Sebaldus and a Military Officer.
    (From Dutton's Translation of Nicolai's Nothanker.)

    481--The Nuptial Funeral. An Historical Fragment. (From a
    German Chronicle.)

    547--State of Chemistry in Germany.


                     =The Amer. Apollo.=--Boston.

I--Jan. 6-Sept. 28, 1792.

    314--Character of Gustavus III, Late King of Sweden.


      =Lady's Mag. and Repos. of Entertaining Knowledge.=--Phila.

I--Dec. 1792-May 1793.

    253--A general view of Switzerland and the Alps, with an
    affecting anecdote. [Containing a poem. Cf. p. 136.]


             =Curiosities of Literature.=--London printed;
                        Phila. reprinted 1793.

    185--The Thirteen Cantons. [i. e., Switzerland.]


                 =Rural Mag. or Vt. Repos.=--Rutland.

I--1795.

    493--(At a moment when the eyes of all Europe are directed to
    the Diet of Ratisbon, a sketch of the German Constitution,
    and of its military forces, cannot be unacceptable to the
    generality of our readers.) [The article follows.]

II--1796.

    76--Germany. [1½ pages.]

    220--Anecdotes of the King of Prussia.

    352--Character of the Dunkers. From Winchester's Universal
    Restoration.

    387--Origin of the University of Leyden. From Dr. Smith's
    tour on the continent.

    535--Letter from the King of Prussia, in his own hand, to M.
    Voltaire. [Trans.]


                       =Amer. Mo. Rev.=--Phila.

I--Jan.-Apr. 1795.

    199, 491--Lit. intelligence from the continent.--Sweden,
    Denmark.

    201, 324--Niebuhr's Travels through Arabia, and Other
    Countries in the East. Trans. into English by Robert Heron.
    [Book notice.]

    271--Iphigenia in Tauris. A Tragedy written originally in
    German by J. W. von Goëthe. Printed at Norwich; sold by
    Johnson, London. [Extracts from the metrical trans. given. By
    Wm. Taylor of Norwich. (?)]

II--May-Aug. 1795.

    201--Onderzoek van der Aart der Voorspellingen. An Inquiry
    into the Nature of Prophecies, by Konynenburg (Prof. in
    Amsterdam). Haarlem 1794. [Notice.]

III--Sept.-Dec. 1795.

    184--Cabal and Love, A Tragedy trans. from the German of F.
    Schiller, Author of the Robbers, Don Carlos, the Conspiracy
    of Fiesco, &c. [Book notice.]

    298--The Count of Hoernsdern; a German Tale. By the Author of
    Constance, the Pharos, Argus, &c. [Notice.]

    304--Introduction of the New Testament. By John David
    Michaelis late Prof. in the University of Gottingen, &c.
    Trans. from the 4th ed. of the German and considerably
    augmented with Notes, explanatory and supplemental. By
    Herbert Marsh, B.D. Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge.
    [Notice.]


                      =The Weekly Museum.=--N. Y.

VIII--May 9, 1795-June 18, 1796.

    May 23, 1795--Dutch Magnanimity.

    June 20--Anecdote of Count Cagliostro.--Letter from Tuscofee,
    Surgeon at Vienna in Austria, to the Editor of "Courier de
    l'Europe," publ. in London.

    Aug. 29--Count Hohenloe. A German Story.

    Feb. 6, 1796--Curious Contest between two Rival Lovers. A
    German Anecdote.

    June 18--The Hermit of the Alps. A Fragment. [A continued
    story.]

IX--June 25-Dec. 31, 1796.

    Nov. 26--Affecting Anecdote of an Officer in the Prussian
    Service.


                      =N. Y. Weekly Mag.=--N. Y.

I--July 1, 1795-June 29, 1796.

    46--The Apparitionist. Trans. from Schiller.

II--July 6, 1796-June 28, 1797.

    4--The Victim of Magical Delusion. Trans. from the German of
    Tschink.


                       =Phila. Minerva.=--Phila.

I--Feb. 7, 1795-Jan. 30, 1796.

    May 9--Amsterdam; Haarlem.

    Aug. 29--Irus. From the German of X. Sehhewio.

    Oct. 31.--Dutch Magnanimity.

II--Feb. 6, 1796-Jan. 21, 1797.

    Feb. 6--A Striking Anecdote of the Late King of Prussia.

    Feb. 6--Military Courtship. A curious old Danish Anecdote.

    Mar. 12--Anecdote [of a Dutchman].

    May 28--Curious Contest between Two Rival Lovers. A German
    Anecdote.

    Nov. 19--of the Late King of Prussia.

III--Jan. 28, 1797-Jan. 27, 1798.

    Apr. 22--The Fatal Effects of a too Susceptible Heart in a
    Young Prussian Officer.

IV--Feb. 3-July 7, 1798.

    20--The Generous Mask. A Tale. Imitated from the German.

    90--A Deluge Scene. (Trans. from the German.)


                     =Mo. Military Repos.=--N. Y.

I--1796.

    23--King of Prussia's Battles.

    25--The Seven Years, or Third Silesian War. By I. W.
    d'Archenholz, Captain in the Prussian Service. Trans. from
    the German by the Editor.

    45--Relation of Charles XII, King of Sweden, being taken
    Prisoner at Varmiza, near Bender.

    139--Reflections on the character and military talents of
    Charles XII, King of Sweden, by the late King of Prussia.

II--1797.

    15--Instruction for the Inspectors of Infantry. By the King
    of Prussia, Frederic the Great. [Trans. from the German.]


                     =Lit. Museum.=--West Chester.

Jan.-June 1797.

    80--Herman of Unna. A Series of Adventures of the fifteenth
    Century, in which the Proceedings of the Secret Tribunal
    under the Emperors Winceslaus and Sigismund are delineated.
    Written in German by Prof. Kramer.

    125--Memoir on Plants which emit Light; by Mr. Haggeron.
    Lecturer on Natural History. Trans. from the Swedish.

    159--Anecdote of M. Lavater.

    175--Origin of the University of Leyden.

    180--The Good Friar of Augsburg. (From Mr. Campbell's Journey
    over Land to India.)

    192--A new view of the city of Copenhagen, with Observations
    on the Character and Manners of the Danes. (From Mrs.
    Wollstoncraft's Letters during a residence in Sweden, Norway
    and Denmark.)

    200--Of the Influence of Countenance on Countenance. By
    Lavater.

    233--Account of a Dutch Drum.

    253--An Interesting Fragment. (From the Ghost-seer, or
    Apparitionist.)

    309--Of the Valteline. From Cox's Travels in Switzerland.


                    =Amer. Universal Mag.=--Phila.

I--Jan. 2-Mar. 20, 1797.

    62--Anecdote of Dr. Franklin and the late King of Sweden.

II--Apr. 3-June 13, 1797.

    79--Account of a Cask in the Castle of Konigstein, reckoned
    the largest in the world.

    172--Extraordinary Anecdote. From the German trans. of
    Linnaeus by Prof. Muller.

III--July 10-Nov. 15, 1797.

    10--Timber Floats on the Rhine.

    128--Occurrences in the Rhaetian Alps. (From the Travels of
    Albanies Beaumont.)

    204--A Portrait of Voltaire, by the late King of Prussia.

    235--General Reflections on Taste. Trans. from the German.

    362--The Prudent Judge. An Eastern Tale. Trans. from the
    German.

    400--Anecdote of Charles XII, King of Sweden.

    407--State of Chemistry in Germany.

IV--Dec. 5, 1797-Mar. 7, 1798.

    102--Description of Mount Blanc. By M. Bourrit.

    237--Some Account of the Tulip-madness, which prevailed in
    Holland in the last century.


               =Amer. Moral and Sentimental Mag.=--N. Y.

I--July 3, 1797-May 21, 1798.

    25--Anecdotes of the late King of Prussia.

    729--Biographical Anecdotes of Peter Anich, an ingenious
    German peasant.


                       =Phila. Mo. Mag.=--Phila.

I--Jan.-June 1798.

    205--Waldemar, a character from the German of Jacobi of
    Dusseldorf.


                         =Weekly Mag.=--Phila.

I--Feb. 3-Apr. 28, 1798.

    124--Whimsical Anecdote of the Princess of Prussia.

    220--Some Account of the Poems of G. A. Bürger. By the
    Translator of Goethe's Iphigenia in Tauris.

II--May 5-July 23, 1798.

    152--Account of the Geyser, a surprising Spring in Iceland.

    335--Anecdotes of Gibbon. From Matthisson's Letters, lately
    published at Zurich.

    349--An Anecdote of Emperor Sigismund.

    396--Singular Method of employing Dogs in Holland.

    397--M. de Saussure's celebrated expedition to Mont Blanc.

    404--German Fondness for Good Eating.

III--Aug. 4, 1798-Apr. 6, 1799.

    59--A Pyrometer. (From the Travels of Count Stolberg through
    Germany, Switzerland, Italy and Sicily. A late Publication.)

    181--The Death of Adam. From Herder's Scattered Leaves and
    Letters.

    243--Sleep. From Herder's Scattered Leaves.


                      =The Key.=--Frederick Town.

I--Jan. 13-July 7, 1798.

    75--The Generous Mask. A Tale. Imitated from the German.

    141--William Tell.

    187--A Deluge Scene. Trans. from the German.


                   =Mo. Mag. and Amer. Rev.=--N. Y.

I--Apr.-Dec. 1799.

    55--An Ecclesiastical History. By the late learned John
    Lawrence Mosheim, D.D. and Chancellor of the Univ. of
    Gottingen. Trans. from the Latin by Archibald Maclaine, D.D.
    [Review.]

    76--Anecdotes of distinguished characters--Kotzebue.

    96--Remarks on Lover's Vows: from the German of Kotzebue. By
    Mrs. Inchbald.

    148--Some particulars respecting the late Embassy of the
    Dutch East India Co. to the Court of Pekin.

    153--Schiller.

    335--Walstein's School of History. From the German of Krants
    of Gotha.

II--Jan.-June 1800.

    8--Literary Industry of the Germans. [Cf. p. 17.]

    73--Description of the Volcano in the Island of St. Lucia. By
    M. Cassan. From Transactions of the Swedish Academy of
    Sciences. Vol. XI.

    133--The Count of Burgundy--Kotzebue. Trans. by Chas. Smith.
    [The same.] Trans. by Ann Plumptre. [Review.]

    225--The Wild Youth--Kotzebue. Trans. by Chas. Smith. The
    Wild Goose Chase--Kotzebue. Trans. by Wm. Dunlap. [Review.]

    284--On the Study of German.

    444--A View of the State of the Stage in Germany.

III--July-Dec. 1800.

    68--Account of the Swedish Island of St. Bartholomew, in the
    West Indies.

    283--Characteristic Anecdotes of Suwarrow; by a German
    Officer, who served under him in Poland.

    303--Account of the political journals, &c., in the Dominion
    of the King of Denmark.

    306--[The same] in Sweden.

    453--Pizarro in Peru, or the Death of Rolla.--Kotzebue.
    Trans. by Wm. Dunlap. [Review.]


                    =Phila. Mag. and Rev.=--Phila.

I--Jan.-June 1799.

    28--Anecdote of Dr. Franklin and the late King of Sweden.

    34--A History of Inventions and Discoveries, by John
    Beckmann, public Professor of Economy, in the Univ. of
    Gottingen. Trans. from the German by Wm. Johnston. 3 vols.
    [Notice.]

    147--Anecdotes of the Police of Milan. From a German Author.

    224--Der Freistaat von Nord-America; or The Free-State of
    North America, described by D. von Bülow. 2 vols. [Notice.]


                        =Phila. Repos.=--Phila.

I--Nov. 15, 1800-Nov. 7, 1801.

    207--Humorous Correspondence. [Dr. Schmidt of the Cathedral
    of Berlin with the King of Prussia.]

    290--A view of the Private Life of the Late King of Prussia.

    331--Remarkable Instance of "the Ruling Passion strong in
    Death." [Anecdote of Frederick William, King of Prussia.]

III--1803.

    313--The Maid of Switzerland. A Tale.

    396--Dr. Laurenzius. The Elwes of Germany.

IV-1804.

    38--Klopstock and Gleim.

    72--From Travels in Switzerland. By Helen Maria Williams. [13
    stanzas given.]

    181--Sleep. From Herder's Scattered Leaves and Letters.

    187--Anecdote of the Emperor of Germany.

    343--A Name to Travel With. (Trans. from the German.)


                     =Columbian Phenix.=--Boston.

I--1800.

    74--On the National Character of the Dutch. (From the MS.
    notes of a German.)

    94--Handel.

    365--Kotzebue.

    370--Account of the Anabaptists in Germany, in the year 1534.


                      =Child of Pallas.=--Balto.

I--1800.

    74--[Reference to Lavater.]

    210--Anecdote of Frederick III....

    Note: Engel has made this anecdote the subject of a little
    drama, entitled "The Page."

    245--Anecdote of Handel.


                     =Balto. Weekly Mag.=--Balto.

Apr. 26, 1800-Mar. 27, 1801.

    68--Account of General Kleber.

    94--The General Advantages of Solitude. From the German of M.
    Zimmerman.


                         =Port Folio.=--Phila.

I--1801.

    1, etc.--Journal of a Tour through Silesia. [By John Quincy
    Adams. Cf. p. 2.]

    58--Gessner. [Prose article.]

    186--Letters from an American resident abroad on various
    types of foreign literature. [Frederick the Great and
    Gellert, a dialogue.]

    193--Principles of the American and French Revolutions
    compared. Trans. from the German of Gentz.

II--1802.

    42--Kotzebue Vindicated.

    337--Interesting Travels in North America. Trans. from the
    German of Bülow.

II--July-Dec. 1806.

    369--Review: The Wanderer of Switzerland and Other Poems. By
    James Montgomery. [For quotations, cf. p. 163.]

IV--July-Dec. 1807.

    228--"On the Olympic Games, &c." From an Original Work,
    entitled "Memoirs of Anacreon, Translated from the Greek by
    Charles Sedley, Esq." [In the review of the above is the
    translation: "On the Power of Beauty."[50]]

        [Footnote 50: "The German poet Uz has imitated this ode.
        Compare also Weisse Scherz. Lieder lib iii der Soldat, Gail,
        Degen."]

V--Jan.-June 1808.

    363--The Signora Aveduta. From the German and French.

    380--David Teniers, Painter.

    394, 406--Critique. Odes from the Norse and Welch tongues.
    Gray. [For quotations, cf. pp. 128, 175.]

VI--July-Dec. 1808.

    10--Memoirs of Baron de Besenval. From the German and French.

    55--Critique. Odes from the Norse, &c. [Gray. For quotations,
    cf. pp. 128, 175.]

I--Jan.-June 1809.

    143--Leipsic Fair.

    240--Military Character.--Austrians.

III--Jan.-June 1810.

    472--Observations on the Music of Handel.

IV--July-Dec. 1810.

    264--Sketch of the Life of Ferdinand von Schill.


                =Lady's Mag. and Musical Repos.=--N. Y.

I--Jan.-June 1801.

    19--All Happiness is Illusion--woe to him who robs us of it.
    A Dramatic Anecdote, from the miscellaneous works of
    Kotzebue. Trans. by C. Smith.

    290--Sketch of Lavater.

II--July-Dec. 1801.

    193--Albert and Laura: A Swiss Tale.

    284--Extract from a Sketch of the Life and Writings of
    Kotzebue.

III--Jan.-June 1802.

    100--Extracts from the Writings of Mary Wollstoncraft Godwin.
    (From Travels into Sweden, Norway and Denmark.)


                 =Amer. Rev. and Lit. Journal.=--N. Y.

I--1801.

    120--New Discoveries in Medicine, patronized by the King of
    Prussia.

    333--Wieland, or the Transformation. An American Tale.
    [Charles Brockden Brown.]

II--1802.

    62--Letter of King Frederick William of Prussia to Major
    Hamelberg.

    204--A Tour through Holland, in the year 1784. By an
    American. Worcester, 1790.


                    =New Eng. Quart. Mag.=--Boston.

No. 1--Apr.-June 1802.

    36--The Art of Prolonging Life. Trans. from the German of Dr.
    Hufeland.

    67--Frederick the Great. Extracted from Wraxall's Memoirs.

    269--An Epigram on the late King of Prussia, and a receipt by
    Voltaire.

No. 2.--July-Sept. 1802.

    18--Present State of Chemistry in Germany.

    52--Boerhaave.

    57--John Paul Fred. Richter.

    61--John Jerome Schröter.

    169--Of the City of Cairo. From Niebuhr's Travels.

    262--German Literature. [A short paragraph.]

No. 3--Oct.-Dec. 1802.

    28--Disputes between the Brunonians and Antibrunonians in
    Germany.

    198--A curious Memoir of M. Emanuel Swedenborg, concerning
    Charles XII of Sweden.


                        =Juvenile Mag.=--Phila.

II--1802.

    94--Life of Lavater, the celebrated Physiognomist.

    94--Anecdote of Professor Junker of the University of Halle.

IV--1802 [1804?].

    198--Luther.


            =Balance and Columbian Repos.=--Hudson (N. Y.)

II--1803.

    240--A Gallant Dutchman.

    304--Anecdote of a German Chemist.

III--1804.

    220--Female Swindler at Vienna. From a London Paper.


                       =Weekly Visitor.=--N. Y.

I--Oct. 9, 1802-Apr. 2, 1803.

    36--Manners of the Arabians in Egypt. From Niebuhr's Travels.

    54--Swiss Insurrection.

    86--Switzerland.

    148--Anecdote of Gerard Dou, a famous Dutch painter.


                     =Boston Weekly Mag.=--Boston.

I--Oct. 30, 1802-Oct. 22, 1803.

    116--Kotzebue's Account of the Illness and Death of his Wife.

    182--Anecdote of Prof. Junker of the Univ. of Halle.

II--Oct. 29, 1803-Oct. 20, 1804.

    74--Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden.

    126--City of Berne.

III--Oct. 27, 1804-Oct. 19, 1805.

    74, 102, 142--Anecdotes of the King of Prussia.


              =Mass. Missionary Mag.=--Salem and Boston.

III--June 1805-May 1806.

    121--Memoir of the late Rev. John Casper Lavater.

    229--Duke of Saxony.

IV--June 1806-May 1807.

    263--Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden.

V--June 1807-May 1808.

    193--Dr. Spener.


                =Lit. Mag. and Amer. Register.=--Phila.

I--Oct. 1803-Mar. 1804.

    168, 171, 253, 254--Journey through part of Pennsylvania.
    [References to the Germans.]

    468--Criticism on Klopstock's Messiah. [Trans. of 15 lines
    given. Cf. p. 66.]

II--Apr.-Dec. 1804.

    33--Particulars respecting Sweden, by Ascerbi.

    39--Description of Dresden and its environs, from an accurate
    and extensive work, which has lately appeared in the form of
    letters, at Berlin.

    105--Account of the Dutch East Indian Settlements.

    138--Some Account of a Mechanical Genius. By Stolberg.

    299--Excursion to the North of Germany. Description of
    Hamburg.

    231, 307, 390--Criticism of Klopstock's Messiah. Continued
    from I-470. [Quotations given.]

    375--Cretins, or Swiss Idiots.

    472--Sketch of Amsterdam, taken from the letter of a
    traveller who visited that city in July, 1799.

    489--Female Swindler at Vienna. From a late London paper.

    514--Zeendorf education, and military system.

    525--A Flemish Pulpit.

    530--Anecdote [of a Dutch merchant].

    550--Schinderhannes, the Robber.

    552--Tager Talpier [a German who had been married eleven
    times].

    553--Anecdote [of a German prince Esterhazy].

    666--The German School of Painting.

    715--The Pastorals of Gesner. [Critique.]

III--Jan.-June 1805.

    138--Klopstock and his Odes.

    207--Passage of the Alps.

    362--Klopstock's Wife.

    438--State of Book-making in Germany.

IV--July-Dec. 1805.

    28--Dutch Industry.

    35--Characteristics of the Military of the French and
    Austrians. From a German publication.

    38--German Cemeteries.

    45--An Account of the Houses of Industry in Flanders.

    117--Anecdotes of Wieland.

    148--Dutch Taste.

    353--Portrait of a Dantzick Merchant.

    353--A Prospect of Sweden.

V--Jan.-June 1806.

    26--Subterranean Sketch of Sweden.

    132--Zurich and Lavater.

    183--Anecdotes of the Character of Frederick the Great of
    Prussia.

    259--Biographical Sketch of Frederick Schiller, the German
    Dramatist.

    340--The Tyrolese. By Kotzebue.

    358--Procession of the Host at Rome. By Kotzebue.

VI--July-Dec. 1806.

    297--Kotzebue. [One paragraph.]

    306--The French and Austrian Military Character compared.

    383--The French in Hanover.

    409--The Neapolitan Post-office. By Kotzebue.

    451--The Sorrows of Werter. [Critique.]

    455, 458--Commercial Sketches.--Prussia, etc.

VII--Jan.-June 1807.

    21--A Sketch of Switzerland and the Swiss.

    106--A View of Amsterdam; with Observations on the Manners of
    the Dutch. By Mr. Holcroft.

    163--Statistical View of the Prussian Dominions.

    175, 243--Memoirs of Dr. Zimmerman. From the French of M.
    Tissot.

    218--Abstract of the Bankrupt Law of the City of Hamburg. By
    P. A. Nimnich, LL.D., of Hamburg.

    283--Abridged History of the Dutch Stage. By M. de Haug.

    335--Memoirs of Frederick Theophilus Klopstock, Author of the
    Messiah and other Poems. [Summary.]

    413--Memoirs of the late Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg,
    Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Prussia.

VIII--July-Dec. 1807.

    28--Life of Godfred Augustus Burger.

    66--Memoirs of the Celebrated Boerhaave.

    200--Extract from the will of an old bachelor, who died at
    the age of 87. From the German.

    202--Anecdote of a Swiss Captain in France.

    237--Denmark.


                       =Mo. Anthology.=--Boston.

IV--1807.

    371--The Robbers. [Critique. Author's name not mentioned, but
    reference made to the characters: Moor, Francis, Amelia, the
    infamous Charles and Kozinski].

V--1808.

    258--Sleep. From Herder's Scattered Leaves.

    374--Aurora. Ibid.

    656--Winkelman. [Short paragraph.]

VIII--Jan.-June 1810.

    89--Letters of a German Baron.

    350, 425--Greek Literature. German Critics and Editors.

IX--July-Dec. 1810.

    55--Biblical Literature. German Critics and Editors.

    70--Map of Germany.

    191--Oberon, a poem from the German of Wieland, by Wm.
    Sotheby. [Review.]


                    =Lit. Tablet.=--Hanover, N. H.

III--Aug. 1805-Aug. 1806.

    27--Sorrows of Werter. "We are informed that this is a true
    story...." [Short paragraph.]

    34--Biog. of Boerhaave. [A noted scientist of Holland.]


                 =Companion and Weekly Misc.=--Balto.

I--Nov. 3, 1804-Oct. 26, 1805.

    34--[Paragraph on "The Stranger" by Kotzebue. No heading.]


                       =Lit. Misc.=--Cambridge.

I--1805.

    26--A Brief View of the Progress of Literature in Germany.

    33--Memoir respecting the Union of the Swiss Cantons, and
    their Emancipation from the House of Austria.

    77--Memoirs of Salomon Gessner, the celebrated Writer.


             =Mo. Register and Rev. of U. S.=--Charleston,
                         S. C., and New York.

I--Jan. 1805-July 1806.

    144--A Protestant Religious Ceremony. Zurich in Switzerland.

    255--Singular Customs in New-Holland.

    364--Defence of Martin Luther.


                      =Evening Fireside.=--Phila.

II--1806.

    47--Anecdote of the late King of Prussia.

    79--Henry, Duke of Saxony.

    87--Negotiations between the emperors of France and Germany.

    108--Biog. of Baron Haller. [Albert Haller.]

    264--The wonderful Boy of Lubeck. [Christian Henry Heineken.]


                    =Norfolk Repos.=--Dedham, Mass.

II--Nov. 11, 1806-Nov. 3, 1807.

    417, 301--Siege of Dantsic.

    436--Worthy of Example. Trans. from the German.

    436--Discovery of a new planet by Olbers, a German.


=Panoplist.=--Boston.

I--June 1805-May 1806.

    35--Lit. Intelligence.--Germany.

    225--A new and most extraordinary Society [in Holland].

    377--Life of Luther. [From the Religious Monitor.]

    467--Distress in Germany.

II--June 1806-May 1807.

    38--State of Religion in Swabia, Bavaria and Hungary.

    460--Reply of Luther.

    484--Lit. Intelligence.--Holland.

III--June 1807-May 1808.

    28--Anecdote of the King of Prussia.

    38--Letter from Wirtemberg to a gentleman in Baltimore,
    regarding the change from Protestantism to Catholicism.

    191, 234, 425--Foreign Lit. Intelligence.--Norway,
    Switzerland, Denmark, Germany.

IV--June 1808-May 1809.

    353--Religious Intelligence.--Sweden.

V--June 1809-May 1810.

    171--Extract from Arndt.


                        =Polyanthos.=--Boston.

II--Apr.-July 1806.

    153--Dramatick Biog. Some Account of Gellert.

    254--Ladies of Sweden. From Carr's Northern Summer.

IV--Dec. 1806-Mar. 1807.

    20--Iceland.

    99--Frederick the Great.

    124--Eckhof. The German Rosicus.

V--Apr.-July 1807.


                      =Weekly Visitant.=--Salem.

I--1806.

    37--The Spectre of the Broaken--A mountain near Hanover, in
    Germany. Extracted from a Gottingen Journal. [The Brocken in
    the Harz Mts.]

    196--Of Latin Inscriptions.--Kotzebue.

    313--Wieland. [Short paragraph.]


                          =Observer.=--Balto.

I--Nov. 29, 1806-June 27, 1807.

    26--Political.--Considerations upon the Rupture of Prussia
    with France.

    108--Political.--Austria.

    172--Reply to the Manifesto of the King of Prussia.

II--July 4-Dec. 26, 1807.

    97--Austrian Dalmatia.

    108--Martin Luther and Calvin.


                          =Emerald.=--Boston.

II--Jan. 3-Oct. 17, 1807.

    108--[Critique of the "Wanderer of Switzerland." By James
    Montgomery, containing extracts. Cf. p. 169.]

    308--Short paragraphs by the late King of Prussia.

I--Oct. 24, 1807-Oct. 15, 1808 (New Establishment).

    495--Original Account of Sweden.


                     =Theatrical Censor.=--Phila.

Nos. 1-17, Dec. 9, 1805-Mar. 3, 1806.

    19--Dimond's "Hunter of the Alps." [16 lines of poetry
    quoted. Critique of the play.]


                       =Amer. Register.=--Phila.

VI--Part II for 1809.

    17--Chap. III. Causes of the Austrian War, its progress and
    termination.

VII--Part I for 1810.

    3--Reflections on the state of Holland.

    215--German Emigrants.


                  =Pastime.=--Albany and Schenectady.

I--Feb. 21-Aug. 1, 1807.

    8--The Vintage Feast. To the Melody of the Ranz des Vaches.

    46--[Mention of Klopstock's use of hexameters in his
    "Messiah."]

    95--Ode, commemorative of the destruction of a corps of
    emigrant hussars, under Prince Conde, on the night of the
    battle of Kamlach. Scene--Banks of the Danube.


                    =Wonderful Mag.=--Carlisle, Pa.

1808.

    98--Account of the fall of Mount Rosenberg, in Switzerland,
    which took place on the second of September 1806.

    266--An account of a Journey to the Volcano of Mount Hecla
    [in Iceland].


                      =Charms of Lit.=--Trenton.

1808.

    254--The Hermitage, or an account of an interesting
    occurrence in the Rhaetian Alps, with the general character
    of the Tyrolese.

    406--Female Heroism. A real fact, related by Meissner.


                   =Lit. Mirror.=--Portsmouth, N. H.

I--Feb. 20, 1808-Feb. 11, 1809. [No. 1 imperfect.]

    5--A short sketch of the life and character of the learned
    and excellent Musaeus. By his pupil Kotzebue. [Continued from
    No. 1.]


                     =Lady's Weekly Misc.=--N. Y.

VII--Apr. 30-Oct. 1, 1808.

    62--Statistic on Europe by a German.

    380--The Kiss. From the German of Gerstenberg.

VIII--Oct. 29, 1808-Apr. 8, 1809.

    152--German Impostor.


                    =Gleaner.=--Lancaster (Penn.).

I--Sept. 1808-May 1809.

    78--The Wanderer of Switzerland. By James Montgomery. [A long
    poem, continued from number to number. Cf. p. 175.]


                       =Boston Mirror.=--Boston.

I--Oct. 22, 1808-Oct. 14, 1809.

    No. 14--[Mention of Klopstock's use of hexameters in his
    "Messiah."]

    No. 17--The Ruling Passion of the Late King of Prussia.

    No. 21--Anecdote [of the King of Prussia].

    No. 30--Rembrandt (van Rhin).

    No. 50--A Comparison of "The Wanderer of Switzerland" with a
    poem called Tid Re I.

II--Oct. 21, 1809-July 21, 1810.

    15--Boston Theatre. On Monday evening, Oct. 30, will be
    presented a much admired Tragedy in three acts, called
    "Werter; or the Fatal Attachment." Taken from the popular
    German tale called Charlotte and Werter, and performed at
    Covent Garden Theatre, London, with great applause. [The cast
    follows.]

    68--Anecdote of Prince Louis Ferdinand, of Prussia.

    85--Biographical.--Hayden.

    156--Life of Mozart.


                    =Amer. Mag. of Wonders.=--N. Y.

II--1809.

    159--Extraordinary Heroism of the Antient Scandinavians.


                      =Thespian Monitor.=--Phila.

I--No. 1. Nov. 25, 1809.

    8--Pizarro; or the Spaniards in Peru. (Kotzebue.)
    Translator--R. B. Sheridan.


                       =Select Reviews.=--Phila.

I--Jan.-June 1809.

    119--Sketches of Vienna.

    151--Vie du Comte de Munnich. Life of Count de Munnich,
    general Field Marshal in the service of Russia. A free trans.
    from the German of Gerard Anthoine de Halem.--Paris. [Book
    notice.]

    361--Voyage en Pologne et en Allemagne fait en 1793 par un
    Lovonien. 1808. [Notice.]

    397--Leontine de Blondheim, &c. By Augustus Kotzebue. Trans.
    (into French) from the German with notes by H. L. C. 3 vols.
    London 1808. [Notice.]

II--July-Dec. 1809.

    370--A Cursory View of Prussia, from the Death of Frederick
    II to the Peace of Tilsit.

III--Jan.-June 1810.

    132--An Icelandick Tour.

    180--Romantic Tales by M. G. Lewis 1804. [Notice. Cf. p. 32.]

    361--Voyage dans le Tyrol, etc., i. e. A Tour in the Tyrol,
    to the Salt Mines of Salzburg and of Reichenall, and through
    Part of Bavaria. By Chevalier de Bray. Paris 1808. [Notice.]


          =Quarterly Rev.=--London printed; N. Y. reprinted.

IV--Aug.-Nov. 1810.

    61--The Daughters of Isenberg: A Bavarian Romance. By Alicia
    Tindal Palmer. 4 vols. London. [Critique.]


                          =Ordeal.=--Boston.

I--Jan.-June 1809.

    266--Austrian and French Troops.

    289, etc.--The Rovers, or the Double Arraignment. "The scene
    lies in the town of Weimar, and the neighbourhood of the
    abbey of Quedlinburgh. Time, from the 12th to the present
    century." [In the next number this play is referred to as
    "the imitation of the German drama, which we presented in our
    last number."]

    382--The Austrians in Arms.


                         =Visitor.=--Richmond.

I--Feb. 11, 1809-Jan. 27, 1810.

    62--The Prince of Hesse and the Gray Ass.

    181--Swedenburg.


                      =Omnium Gatherum.=--Boston.

I--Nov. 1809-Oct. 1810.

    32--Hans Holbein, the celebrated painter.

    67--Curious account of the village of Broek in Westfriesland.

    502--Odd Funeral Ceremonies of the Prussians.


                        =Rambler's Mag.=--N. Y.

No. 4. [1809.]

    54--Sketch of the Life of Mozart, the Composer.


            =Mirror of Taste and Dramatic Censor.=--Phila.

I--Jan.-June 1810.

    ---- Emilia Galotti, a Tragedy. Trans. from the German of G.
    E. Lessing by Miss Fanny Holcroft. Published by Bradford and
    Inskeep, Phila., 1810. [The translation bound at end of Jan.
    number.]

II--July-Dec. 1810.

    95--The Life of Lessing, Author of Emilia Gallotti, a Tragedy
    which will appear in a future number.

    204--Remarks on Emilia Galotti; the Tragedy which accompanies
    this number, by Thomas Holcroft.

    221--History of the Stage. Chap. VIII. German Theatre.


        =The Quarterly Rev.=--London printed; N. Y. reprinted.

II (Aug.-Nov. 1809)--N. Y. 1810.

    118--An Historical Survey of the Ecclesiastical Antiquities
    of France, with a View to illustrate the Rise and Progress of
    Gothic Architecture in Europe. By G. D.
    Whittington.--Cambridge 1809. [Review.]

    278--Travelling Sketches in Russia and Sweden, during the
    years 1805-08. By Robert Ker Porter. London 1809. [Review.]

    338--William Tell, or Swisserland delivered. By Chevalier de
    Florian, &c. Trans. from the French. By Wm. B. Hewetson.
    London 1809. [Review.]

IV (Aug.-Nov. 1810)--N. Y. 1810.

    61--The Daughters of Isenberg: A Bavarian Romance. By Alicia
    Tindal Palmer. 4 vols. London. [Critique.]


                     =Harvard Lyceum.=--Cambridge.

I--July 14, 1810-Mar. 9, 1811.

    264--German Scholars.




                                  V.

                      LIST OF MAGAZINES EXAMINED.


The principal libraries where the work for the present study has been
done are: in Philadelphia--The Philadelphia Library (including the
Ridgway Branch), the Mercantile Library, the libraries of the
University of Pennsylvania, of the Pennsylvania Historical Society,
and of the American Philosophical Society; in Boston--the Boston
Public Library, the Atheneum Library and the library of the
Massachusetts Historical Society; in Cambridge--the library of Harvard
University; in New York City--the New York Public Library (including
the Lenox Branch), the libraries of the New York Historical Society,
of the New York Society, and of Columbia University; in Baltimore--the
libraries of the Peabody Institute, of the Maryland Historical Society
and of Johns Hopkins University, and the Pratt Library; in
Washington--the Library of Congress, and in London--the library of the
British Museum. Some of the smaller libraries visited, which contain
only duplicates of periodicals accessible elsewhere, have been omitted
from the above list.


=The American Mag.=, or a Monthly View of the Political State of the
British Colonies.--Phila.

    Nos. 1-3. Jan., Feb., Mar. 1741.

    [Edited by John Webbe and printed by Andrew Bradford.]


=The General Mag. and Historical Chronicle= for all the British
Plantations in America.--Phila.

    I, Jan.-June 1741.

    [Edited and printed by Benjamin Franklin.]


=The Boston Weekly Mag.=--Boston.

    Nos. 1-3, Mar. 2, 9, 16, 1743.


=Amer. Mag. and Historical Chronicle.=--Boston.

    I-III, Sept. 1743-Dec. 1746.


=The Independent Reflector=, or Weekly Essays on Sundry Important
Subjects.--N. Y.

    Nos. 1-52, Nov. 30, 1752-Nov. 22, 1753.


=The Occasional Reverberator.=--N. Y.

    Nos. 1-4, Sept. 7-Oct. 5, 1753.


=The Amer. Mag. and Monthly Chronicle= for the British Colonies in
America. By a Society of Gentlemen.--Phila.

    I, Oct. 1757-Oct. 1758.


=The New Amer. Mag.=--Woodbridge in New Jersey.

    Nos. I-XXVII, Jan. 1758-Mar. 1760.


=The New England Mag.=--Boston.

    Nos. 1-2, Aug. 1758.


=Universal Amer. Almanack, or Yearly Mag.=--Phila.

    I, 1764.


=The Penny-post.=--Phila.

    Jan. 9-27, 1769.

    [A literary periodical.]


=The Amer. Mag.=; to which are added the transactions of the American
Philosophical Society.--Phila.

    Jan.-Sept. 1769.

    [Nine numbers only were published. Cf. Sabin, _Dictionary of
    Books relating to America_, I-142.]


=The Censor.=--Boston.

    I, Nos. 1-17; II, Nos. 1-7; Nov. 23, 1771--May 2, 1772.

    [Replies to attacks upon Tory officers by the Whigs.]


=The Royal Amer. Mag.=--Boston.

    Jan.-Dec. 1774; Jan.-Feb. 1775.


=Penna. Mag.=--Phila.

    I, 1775; II, Jan.-June 1776.


=U. S. Mag.=--Phila.

    A Repository of History, Politics and Literature.

    I, Jan.-July; Sept.-Oct. 1779.


=The Boston Mag.=, containing a collection of instructive and
entertaining essays.--Boston.

    I-III, Oct. 1783-Dec. 1786.


=The Gentleman and Lady's Town and Country Mag.=, or Repository of
Instruction and Entertainment.--Boston.

    May-Dec. 1784.


=The Gentlemen and Ladies' Town and Country Mag.=--Boston.

    I, Feb. 1789-Jan. 1790; II, Feb., Apr.-Aug. 1790.


=The Arminian Mag.=--Phila.

    I-II, 1789-1790.

    [Chiefly religious, "consisting of extracts and original
    treatises on general redemption."]


=The N. J. Mag. and Monthly Advertiser.=--New Brunswick. 1786.


=The New Haven Gazette and Connecticut Mag.=--New Haven.

    I, Feb. 16, 1786-Feb. 15, 1787.

    III, Nos. 1-50, Jan. 10-Dec. 18, 1788. [No. 1, imperfect.]

    [II, Nos. 1-45, Feb. 22-Dec. 27, 1787      { newspaper.]

    I (imperfect), Nov. 11, 1784-Apr. 7, 1785. {


=The Worcester Mag.=--Worcester, Mass.

    I-IV, First Week in Apr. 1786--Fourth Week in Mar. 1788.


=Columbian Mag. or Monthly Miscellany.=--Phila.

    I-V, Sept. 1786-Dec. 1790.

    Continued as


=Universal Asylum and Columbian Mag.=--Phila.

    I-II, 1791; I-II, 1792.

    Continued as


=Columbian Museum or Universal Asylum.=--Phila.

    Part I, Jan.-June 1793.


=The Amer. Museum= or Repository of Ancient and Modern Fugitive Pieces,
Prose and Poetical.--Phila.

    I-XII, 1787-1792; XIII, 1798.


=The Amer. Mag.=, containing a miscellaneous collection of original and
other valuable essays, in prose and verse, and calculated both for
instruction and amusement.--N. Y.

    Dec. 1787-Nov. 1788.


=Mass. Mag. or Monthly Museum.=--Boston.

    I-VI, 1789-1794; VII, Nos. 4, 7, 1795; VIII, Nos. 1, 3-12,
    1796.


=The Christian's, Scholar's, and Farmer's Mag.=--Elizabeth-Town, N. J.

    I-II, Apr. 1789-Mar. 1791.


=The N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repository.=--N. Y.

    [II, Nos. 1-45, Feb. 22-Dec. 27, 1787.]


=The Amer. Apollo.=--Boston.

    I, Jan. 6-Sept. 28, 1792.

    [II-III, Oct. 5, 1792-Dec. 25, 1794. A newspaper.]


=The Prompter=; or a Commentary on Common Sayings and Subjects, which
are full of Common Sense, the best Sense in the World.--Boston.

    Nos. 1-28, 1792.


=The Lady's Mag.= and Repository of Entertaining Knowledge.--Phila.

    I, June 1792-May 1793.


=Curiosities of Literature= consisting of anecdotes, characters and
observations, literary, critical and historical.

    London printed; Phila. reprinted and sold. 1793. [A
    miscellany.]


=U. S. Mag.= or General Repository of Useful Instruction and Rational
Amusement.--Newark, N. J.

    I, Apr.-Aug. 1794.


=The Monthly Miscellany, or Vermont Mag.=--Benington.

    I, Apr.-Sept. 1794.


=The Rural Mag. or Vermont Repository.=--Rutland.

    I-II, 1795-1796.


=The Amer. Monthly Review, or Lit. Journal.=--Phila.

    I-III, 1795.


=The Weekly Museum.=--N. Y.

    VII-IX, Jan. 3, 1795-Dec. 31, 1796.


=Phila. Minerva.=--Phila.

    I-IV, Feb. 7, 1795-July 7, 1798.


=The Tablet.=--Boston.

    I, Nos. 1-13, May 19-Aug. 11, 1795.


=The N. Y. Weekly Mag., or Miscellaneous Repository.=--N. Y.

    I-II, July 1, 1795-June 28, 1797.


=The Monthly Military Repository.=--N. Y.

    I-II, 1796-1797.


=Miscellanies.=--Moral and Instructive in Prose and Verse, collected
from Various Authors for the Use of Schools ... Second Burlington
Edition. 1796.


=The Nightingale=, or, A Melange de Litterature. A Periodical
Publication.--Boston.

    I, May-Aug. 1796.


=The Lady and Gentleman's Pocket Mag.= of Literary and Polite
Amusement.--N. Y.

    I, Aug.-Nov. 1796.


=The Lit. Museum, or Monthly Mag.=--West Chester.

    Jan.-June 1797.


=The Amer. Universal Mag.=--Phila.

    I-IV, Jan. 2, 1797-Mar. 7, 1798.


=The Amer. Moral and Sentimental Mag.=--N. Y.

    I, July 3, 1797-May 21, 1798.


=The Phila. Monthly Mag.= or Universal Repository of Knowledge and
Entertainment.--Phila.

    I-II, Jan.-Sept. 1798.


=Amer. Museum or Annual Register.=--Phila. 1798.


=The Key.=--Frederick Town.

    Nos. 1-27, Jan. 13-July 7, 1798.

    [Sabin: "The earliest periodical issued in Maryland.
    Twenty-seven numbers were published. Cf. _Hist. Mag._,
    I-317."]


=The Gleaner=, a miscellaneous production in three volumes. By
Constantia [Mrs. Judith Sargent Murray].--Boston.

    I-III, all dated Feb. 1798.


=The Weekly Mag.= of Original Essays, Fugitive Pieces, and Interesting
Intelligence.--Phila.

    I-IV, Feb. 3, 1798-May 25, 1799.


=The Rural Mag.=--Newark.

    I, Feb. 17, 1798-Feb. 9, 1799.


=The Dessert to the True American.=--[Phila.]

    I, July 14, 1798-July 3, 1799.

    [Title of first number: _The Desert_.]


=The Phila. Mag. or Monthly Review.=--Phila.

    I, Jan.-June 1799.


=National Mag.=, or a political, historical, biographical and literary
repository.

    I, Nos. 1-4, 23rd year of American Independence.
    1799--[Richmond.]

    II, No. 5, 24th year of Amer. Independence; no place of publ.

    Nos. 6-7, 25th year [sic] of Amer. Independence. 1800.

    No. 6, Richmond, Va.; No. 7, District of Columbia.

    No. 8, no place of publ., and no date.


=The Monthly Mag. and Amer. Review.=--N. Y.

    I-III, Apr. 1799-Dec. 1800.


=Child of Pallas.= Devoted mostly to Belles Lettres.--Balto.

    I, Nos. 1-8, 1800.


=The Columbian Phenix and Boston Review.=--Boston.

    I, Jan.-July 1800.

    [Title page reads: "Vol. I for 1800."]


=The Ladies' Museum.=--Phila.

    I, Nos. 1-14 (except Nos. 7, 11, 13), Mar. 8-June 7, 1800.

    Feb. 25, 1800--Proposals for printing the Ladies' Museum.


=The Baltimore Weekly Mag.=--Balto.

    Apr. 26, 1800-May 27, 1801.


=The Phila. Repository and Weekly Register.=--Phila.

    I-V, Nov. 15, 1800-June 29, 1805.


=The Port Folio.=--Phila.

    I-V, 1801-1805. I-VI, 1806-1808. I-IV, 1809-1810.


=The Lady's Mag. and Musical Repository.=--N. Y.

    I-III, Jan. 1801-June 1802.


=The Amer. Review and Lit. Journal.=--N. Y.

    I-II, 1801-1802.


=The Repository of Knowledge=, Historical, Literary, Miscellaneous, and
Theological.--Phila.

    I, Nos. 1-2. Apr., May [?] 1801.


=Holcombe's Georgia Analytical Repository.=--Savannah.

    II, 1802.


=The Juvenile Mag.= or Miscellaneous Repository of Useful
Information.--Phila.

    II, 1802; III, 1803; IV, 1802 [1804?].


=The Balance and Columbian Repository.=--Hudson (New York).

    I-VII, 1802-1808.


=The New England Quarterly Mag.=, comprehending literature, morals, and
amusement.--Boston.

    Nos. 1-3, Apr.-Dec. 1802.


=The Weekly Visitor, or Ladies' Miscellany.=--N. Y.

    I, Oct. 9, 1802-Apr. 2, 1803.


=The Boston Weekly Mag.= devoted to Morality, Literature, Biography,
History, the Fine Arts, Agriculture, etc.--Boston.

    I-III, Oct. 30, 1802-Oct. 19, 1805.


=The Mirror.=--Phila.

    I-II, 1803.

    [_The Mirror_, Nos. 1-110, Jan. 23, 1779-May 27, 1780,
    Edinburgh.]


=The Connoisseur.=--Phila.

    I-IV, 1803.

    [Reprint of _Select English Classics_, XXVII-XXX, London
    1775, etc.]


=The Mass. Missionary Mag.=--Salem.

    I-V, May 1803-May 1808.


=The Lit. Mag. and Amer. Register.=--Phila.

    I-VIII, Oct. 1803-Dec. 1807.


=The Monthly Anthology and Boston Review.=--Boston.

    I-IX, 1804-1810.


=The Corrector.= By Toby Tickler.--N. Y.

    Nos. 1-10, Mar. 28-Apr. 26, 1804.

    [Classed as a newspaper, but more like a magazine.]


=The Lit. Tablet.=--Hanover (N. H.).

    II, Nos. 1, 6-10, 13. Sept. 19, 1804-Mar. 6, 1805.

    III, Sept. 25, 1805-Aug. 13, 1806.


=Weekly Monitor.=--Phila.

    I, Nos. 17, 21, 23. Oct. 6-Nov. 17, 1804.


=The Companion Weekly Miscellany.=--Balto.

    I-II, Nov. 3, 1804-Oct. 25, 1806.


=The Evening Fireside=; or Weekly Intelligence in Civil, Natural, Moral,
Literary and Religious Worlds.--Phila.

    I-II, Dec. 7, 1804-Dec. 27, 1806.

    [Title of Vol. II: _The Evening Fireside or Literary
    Miscellany_.]


=The Lit. Miscellany=, including dissertations and essays on subjects of
literature, science, and morals ... with occasional reviews.--Cambridge.

    I-II, 1805-1806.


=The Monthly Register and Review of the U. S.=--Charleston, S. C. and N.
Y.

    I-IV, Jan. 1805-Dec. 1807.


=The Apollo, or Weekly Lit. Mag.=--Wilmington, D.

    I, Nos. 2-11, 17, 19, Feb. 23-June 22, 1805.


=The Norfolk Repository=, devoted to News, Politics, Morals and Polite
Literature.--Dedham, Mass.

    I-III, May 14, 1805-Nov. 29, 1808.


=The Panoplist, or the Christian's Armory.=--Boston.

    I-III, June 1805-May 1808.

    IV-VI, June 1808-May 1811. [Entitled: _The Panoplist and
    Missionary Mag. United_.]


=The Miscellany.=--Trenton.

    I, June 24-Nov. 25, 1805 [imperfect].


=The Boston Mag.=--Boston.

    I, Oct. 26, 1805-Apr. 26, 1806.

    [A continuation of _The Boston Weekly Mag._]


=The Polyanthos.=--Boston.

    I-V, Dec. 1805-July 1807.


=The Theatrical Censor.= By an American.--Phila.

    Nos. 1-17, Dec. 9, 1805-Mar. 3, 1806.


=The Weekly Visitant.=--Salem.

    I, 1806.


=The Thespian Mirror.=--N. Y.

    I, Nos. 2, 3-Jan. 4, 11, 1806.


=The Emerald.=--Boston.

    I-II, n. s. I, May 3, 1806-Oct. 15, 1808.


=The Weekly Inspector.=--N. Y.

    I-II (imperfect), Sept. 6, 1806-Aug. 3, 1807.


=The Theatrical Censor and Critical Miscellany.=--Phila.

    Nos. I-XIII, Sept. 27-Dec. 13, 1806.


=The Lancaster Repository.=--Lancaster.

    I, Nos. 15-19, Nov. 15-Dec. 13, 1806.


=The Observer.=, and Repertory of Original and Selected Essays, in Verse
and Prose, on Topics of Polite Literature, &c.--Balto.

    I-II, Nov. 29, 1806-Dec. 26, 1807.


=The Amer. Register= or General Repository of History, Politics and
Science.--Phila.

    I-VII, for 1806-1810. Printed 1807-1811.


=A Book.= A Periodical Work.--N. Y.

    [pp. 1-20], 1807.


=Salmagundi.=--N. Y.

    I-II, Feb. 4, 1807-Jan. 25, 1808.


=The Pastime.=--Schenectady.

    I, Nos. 1-18, Feb. 21-Aug. 1, 1807.

    II, Nos. 1-2, May 14, 21, 1808.


=Spectacles.=--Balto.

    I, Nos. 6, 7, 25, 28--June 13, 20, Oct. 31, Nov. 21, 1807.


=The Thistle.= An Original Work.--Boston.

    I, No. 1, Aug. 4, 1807.


=The Lady's Weekly Miscellany.=--N. Y.

    V, Nos. 44-46, 49, Aug. 29-Oct. 3, 1807.

    VII-VIII (imperfect), Apr. 30, 1808-Apr. 8, 1809.


=The Wonderful Mag. and Extraordinary Museum.=--Carlisle, Pa.

    I, 1808.


=Charms of Literature=, consisting of an assemblage of curious, and
interesting Pieces in Prose and Verse.--Trenton.

    1808.


=The Washington Expositor.=--Washington City.

    I, 1808.


=The Eye=: By Obadiah Optic.--Phila.

    I, Jan. 7-June 30, 1808.


=The Lit. Mirror.=--Portsmouth, N. H.

    I (imperfect), Feb. 20, 1808-Feb. 11, 1809.


=The Argus of Western America.=--Frankfort (Ken.).

    I, Nos. 9, 11, 13--Mar. 24, Apr. 7, 21, 1808.


=The Gleaner, or Monthly Mag.=--Lancaster (Penn.).

    I-II, Nos. 1-3, Sept. 1808-Nov. 1809.


=Boston Mirror.=--Boston.

    I-II, Nos. 1, 2, 4-40. Oct. 22, 1808-July 21, 1810.


=The Amer. Mag. of Wonders.=--N. Y.

    I-II, 1809.


=The Thespian Monitor and Dramatick Miscellany.=--Phila.

    I, No. 1, 1809.


=Select Reviews and Spirit of the Foreign Magazines.=--Phila.

    I-IV, 1809-1810.


=The Adviser or Vermont Evangelical Mag.=--Middlebury.

    I-II, 1809-1810.


=The Ordeal.=--A Critical Journal of Politics and Literature.--Boston.

    I, Jan.-June 1809.


=The Visitor.=--Richmond.

    I-II, Feb. 11, 1809-Aug. 4, 1810.


=Omnium Gatherum.=--Boston.

    I, Nov. 1809-Oct. 1810.


=Something.= Ed. by Nemo Nobody, Esq.--Boston.

    I, Nov. 18, 1809-May 12, 1810.


=The Rambler's Mag.= and N. Y. Theatrical Register for the Season

    1809-1810.--N. Y.

    I, Nos. 1-3; II, No. 4. [Sabin: "(1809)."]


=The Quarterly Review.=--London printed; N. Y. reprinted.

    I-IV (Feb. 1809-Nov. 1810).--N. Y. 1810.


=The Hive=, or a Collection of Thoughts on Civil, Moral, Sentimental and
Religious Subjects, Intended as a Repository of Sententious, Ingenious
and Pertinent Sayings in Verse and Prose.--Hartford. 1810.


=The Mirror of Taste and Dramatic Censor.=--Phila.

    I-II, 1810.


=The Phila. Repertory=, devoted to Literature and useful
Intelligence.--Phila.

    I, May 5, 1810-Apr. 27, 1811.


=The Harvard Lyceum.=--Cambridge.

    I, July 14, 1810-Mar. 9, 1811.




                                INDEX.

                 [Reprints indicated by =heavy type=.]


A Dutch Proverb, =121=, 138

A Fable (Gellert), =28=

A General View of Switzerland, etc., =136=

A German Drinking Song, =70=

A Hist. of Amer. Lit. (M. C. Tyler), 11

A Humble Imitation, etc., 155

A literal translation of the King of Prussia's Ode, 18, =105=

A Sketch of the Alps, etc., =158=

A Song (Frederick), 18

A Sonnet (Jacobi), =68=, 85

Adams, C. F., 3

Adams, J. Q., 2, 3, 204

Address at the Opening of the Bechstein Library (M. D. Learned), 2

"Adelio," 5, 16, =65=, =66=

Against Faustus, 18, =155=

Albert of Werdendorff, 154

Allston, Washington, =188=

Almanacs, 6, 11

Ambrosio or the Monk (M. G. Lewis), 5, =35=, 140, 146

American Mag.; or Monthly View, etc., 14

American Museum, 8

American Philosophical Society, 9, 215

American Revolution, 18

Americana Germanica, 1, 3

Aminta (Gessner), 58

Amyntas [a] (Gessner), 25

Amyntas [b] (Gessner), 35

Annandius, =95=, =99=

Apparitionist, The (Schiller's Geisterseher), 4

Appointment Disappointed, =177=


Bacchanalian, The, =22=

Bancroft, George, 3

Battle of Hohenlinden, cf. On the Battle of Hohenlinden.

Benevolence (Gellert), 17, =30=, 58, 65

Benjamin Franklin as a Man of Letters (J. B. McMaster), 14

Berlin, University of, =3=

Boston Public Library, 9, 215

Bradford, Andrew, 13

British Museum, 17, 215

Broken Pitcher, The (Gessner), 32

Bruggeman, L. W., 17

Bürde, 5, 20, =63=

Bürger, 5, 18, 19, 20, 29, =31=, 32, 34, =44=, 68, 76, 80, =85=, 146,
    165, 169

Burlesque on the Style, etc., 5, 18, =143=, 146

By the Late King of Prussia, cf. Relaxation of War.


Campbell, Thomas, vii, 6, 75, 153, 171, =180=

Carlyle, 1

Carnation, The (Gessner), 75

Carr's Northern Summer, =161=

Channing, Geo. D., 1

Channing, W. E., 1, 17

Characteristic Sketch, etc., =128=

Charlotte at the Tomb of Werter, 19, =181=

Charlotte's Soliloquy, etc., 5, 19, =125=

Chase, The (Bürger), Trans. by Scott, 5, 34, 76

Check-list of American Magazines, etc. (P. L. Ford), 8

Claudine von Villa Bella (Goethe), 20, 80

Cloud King, The, 18, 19, 140, 146

Cogan's, Dr., Travels on the Rhine, =71=

Coleridge, 1

Collyer, Mary, 58

Cooper, J. F., 3

Cow Boy's Chaunt (Ranz des Vaches), 19, =180=

Cramer, William, cf. Creamer, Wm.

Creamer (or Cramer), William, 1


Damon and Daphne (Gessner), =51=

Dancing Bear, The (Gellert), =57=, 161

Daphne-Chloe, cf. First Idyl of Gesner.

Death of Abel (Gessner), 4, 20

Death of Werter, 19, =126=

Descent of Odin, 128, 175

Dictionary of Books Relating to America (Sabin), 216, 219, 223

Die Leiden des jungen Werthers (Goethe), 19, =24=

Die Zauberlôte (Mozart's Zauberflöte), =75=, 85

Dunlap, W., 27

Dwight, Henry E., 3


Early Influence of German Literature in America (F. H. Wilkens), 3

Earth's Division, The, 17

Ella, =130=, 136

Ellenore, cf. Leonora [a], 32

Emerson, 3

Emilia Galotti (Lessing), Trans. by Fanny Holycroft, 4

England, viii, 1, 3, 4, 14, 19, 20, 76

Epigrams (Lessing), =71=

Epitaph by Haller, =21=

Erl-King, The (Goethe), vii, =5=, 18, 20, =34=, 35, 140

Erl-King's Daughter, The, 5, 18, 35, 140

Everett, A. H., 3

Everett, Edward, 1, 2


Fable (Gellert), =27=

Fables et Contes (Gellert), 17

Faust, 13, 18, =155=

Fire King, The, 18, 19, 140, 146

First Idyl of Gesner--Daphne-Chloe, 27

Fly, The (Gellert), =54=

Follen, Karl, 1

Ford, P. L., 8

Foreign Influence upon Education in the U. S. (B. A. Hinsdale), 2

Foreign Poetical, Political Summary, =170=

Forget Me Not, =82=

Fowler, The (Schickaneder), =75=, 85

Franklin, Benjamin, 2, 13, 14

Frederick and Alice (Goethe), 20, 80

Frederick, the Great, 16, 18, =96=, =99=, =101=, =105=, =106=, =109=,
    =110=, =112=, =113=, =116=, 117, =119=, =121=, 138, 140, =158=, 161

Friendship, =36=

From the German, =56=

From the German of Gesner, =81=

From the German of Lessing, =73=

From the Runic, =173=


Galleret, cf. Gellert.

Geisterseher (Schiller), 4

Gellert, 1, 5, 16, 17, 19, 20, =27=, =28=, =30=, =54=, =56=, =57=, 58,
    65, 161

General Magazine, The, 13

German as a Culture Element, etc. (M. D. Learned), 3

German Influence, The, on Samuel Taylor Coleridge (J. L. Haney), 1

German Instruction in American Schools (L. Viereck), 2

German Lit. in Eng. before 1790 (J. L. Haney), 1

Germany, vii, 1, 2, 3, 6, 14, 15, 17, 19, =153=, 155, 191

Gessner, 4, 5, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 25, 27, 29, 32, 35, =36=, =39=,
    =41=, =43=, =51=, 58, =61=, 65, 73, 75, 80, =81=, 85

Goethe, 1, 5, 13, 17, 19, 20, =23=, 24, =34=, 80

Golden Verse of Pythagoras, 6

Gothic Castle, The, =138=

Göttingen, University of, 1, 2, 3

Göttingische Anzeigen, 2

Gray, Thomas, vii, 18, 128, 159, 175

Grim, King of the Ghosts, 18, 152

Guardian Spirit, The (Matthisson), =67=


Haller, 5, 16, 20, =21=, =25=, =27=, =78=

Haney, John L., 1

Hans Letter to Notchie, =151=

Harvard University, 1, 3, 215

Haunting of Havardur, cf. Runic Ode.

Hawkesworth, Dr., =121=, 161

Heidelberg, University of, 3

Helmuth, J. H. C., 2

Herbert, Mr., =77=

Herder, 35, 140

Hermann und Dorothea (Goethe), 13

Herzfeld, Georg, 1, 20

Hinsdale, B. A., 2

Historic Survey of German Poetry (Taylor), 29, 32

Hoffnung ("Adelio"), 16, =65=

Holcroft, Fanny, 4

Hooper, W., 25, 29, 35, 65, =73=, =75=

Hope ("Adelio"), =66=

Hopkinson, Francis, 1, 17, 194

Hrim Thor; or the Winter King, 18, 152


Idyls (Gessner), 4, 5, 16, 20

Invitation to Joy, =59=


Jacobi, 5, 20, =68=, 85

James, E. J., 2

Journal of a Tour through Silesia (J. Q. Adams), 2, 204


Kiampe Viiser, 35

King of Prussia, cf. Frederick the Great.

King of Prussia's Ode, 18, =109=

Klopstock, 1, 4, 5, 6, 20, =66=, 75

Kotzebue, 5, 20, =64=

Krummacher, 15, 16

Kunze, J. C., 2


Ladd, Dr., =125=, =128=, 130

Lass of Fair Wone, The (Bürger), 29, 32, 80

Learned, M. D., 2, 3

Leftly, C., =163=, 170

Leiden, Die, des jungen Werthers (Goethe), cf. Werter.

Lenore (Bürger), cf. Leonora, 19, 146

Leonora [a] (Bürger), trans. by Wm. Taylor, 5, 19, 32, 34

Leonora [b] (Bürger), =44=

Leonora [g] (Bürger), 68

Lessing, 1, 4, 5, 19, 20, =33=, =60=, =71=, =73=

Letter LXI of the Sorrows of Werter Versified, 16, 19, =23=

Letters of Charlotte, The, =19=

Lewis, M. G., vii, 5, 15, 32, 34, =35=, 80, 140, 146, 147, 152, 154,
    =162=

Library of Congress, 9, 215

Literary Hist. of the Amer. Revolution (M. C. Tyler), 10

Literary Industry of the Germans, 17

Longfellow, 3

Lycas (Gessner), =36=


McMaster, J. B., 14

Matthisson, 5, 20, =29=, =67=

Memoirs of John Quincy Adams (C. F. Adams), 3

Messiah (Klopstock), 4, 5, =66=

Mirtil and Thirsis (Gessner), 21

Miscellanies, 7

Monk, The, cf. Ambrosio.

Montgomery, James, =76=, 163, 169, 175, =176=

Monthly Review (London), 3

Morley, Henry, vii, 32

Morning, The (Haller), 16, =25=, 27

Morning Song (Gessner), =81=

Morning Song of Praise (Patzke), =62=

Moss Rose, The (Krummacher), 15, 16

Mozart, =76=, 178

Mr. Voltaire's Letter, etc., 18, 116

Myrtil and Daphne (Gessner), =41=

Myrtillo (Gessner), =39=


Name Unknown, The (Klopstock), by T. Campbell, 6, 75

Narcissa, 19, =125=

Navigation (Gessner), 16, =61=

New England Kalendar, 13

New Idylles by Gessner, cf. Hooper, W.

New Idyls, by S. Gessner, 5

New Weekly Journal, 13

Newport Mercury, 6, 75

Newspaper, The, 6, 10, 11

Nosegay, The (Gessner), 65


Oberon, cf. Wieland.

Ode on the late Victory, etc., 5, 18, =99=

Ode to Adversity (T. Gray), 18, 159

Ode to Death (Frederick), 18, =121=, 161

Ode to Evening, =71=

Ode to Spring, =62=

Ode to the German Drama, 18, =159=

Odes from the Norse and Welch Tongues (T. Gray), 175

Old Man, The (Gessner), 21, 27

On a Cargo of French Muffs, etc., =108=

On reading in the publick Papers, etc., 18, =112=

On Reading the Sorrows of Werter, 19, =129=

On Singing Mozart's "Vergiss Me Nicht," =178=

On the Battle of Hohenlinden (T. Campbell), 171, 180

On the compleat Victory, etc., 18, =96=

On the Death, etc. (T. Campbell), 153

On the Death of Mr. Handel, =154=

On the glorious Victory, etc., 18, =101=

Orlando, =139=


Paint King, The (W. Allston), 18, 19, =183=, 189

Parody on Bürger's Earl Walter, 18, 76, =165=

Parson's Daughter, The (Bürger), cf. Lass of Fair Wone, The.

Passage from Klopstock's Messiah, =66=

Patzke, 5, 20, =62=

Peasant of the Alps, =134=, 140

Pennsylvania Gazette, 13

Pennsylvania, University of, vii, 2, 194, 215

Philadelphia, 8, 215

Philadelphia Library Company, 9, 215

Philadelphia Magazines, etc. (A. H. Smyth), 8, 11

Phila. Repository, 16

Phila. Weekly Mercury, 13, 14

Philandreia, =96=

Poem of Haller Versified, The, =78=

Poetry, German lyric, 15

Port Folio, 3, 8

Prayer of Frederick II, etc., 18, =158=

Pringle, Mr., 2

Pro Patri Mori (Bürger), 31

Prologue to a Play, =95=

Pye, J. H., =78=


Quiz, =178=


Ranz des Vaches, 16, 19, =156=, =176=

Relaxation of War (Frederick), 18, =110=, 138, 140

Remarks on National Literature (W. E. Channing), 1

Report of the Commissioner of Education, 2

Royal Comet, The, 18, 113

Runic Ode, =163=, 170


Sabin, cf. Dictionary of Books, etc.

Scandinavian Hero, The, =157=

Schickeneder, 5, =76=, 85

Schiller, 1, 4, 13, 19

Scott, Sir Walter, vii, 5, 15, 34, 76, 80

Seward, Mr., =159=

"Sheller," 5, =82=

Shoe Pinches, The (Kotzebue), =64=

Silesia, cf. Journal of a Tour Through S.

Smyth, A. H., 8, 11

Soldier of the Alps, The, =179=

Song (Jacobi), 85

Song (M. G. Lewis), =162=

Song, trans. by Mr. Herbert, =77=

Song--from the German, =73=

Song of a Runic Bard, The, =173=

Song of the Swiss in a Strange Land, 19, =176=, 177, 181

Sorrows of Switzerland, The, =171=

Sotheby, 2

Speech of the Prince of Brunswick, etc., =107=

Speech on the learned languages (Hon. Francis Hopkinson), 17, 194

Spencer, W. R., cf. Leonora [g].

Squeaking Ghost, The, 18, =174=, 182, 188

Stanley, J. T., cf. Leonora [g].

Stimmen der Völker (Herder), 35, 140

Suicide, The (Gellert), =56=

Swallow, The (Lessing), 33

Swedish Cottage, The, =161=

Swiss Emigrant's Dream of Home, The, 19

Swiss Exiles' Song, The, 19

Swiss Peasant, =169=

Switzerland, vii, 16, 19, =136=, 163, 169, =171=, 175, 191

Switzer's Return, The, 19

Switzer's Song of Home, The, 19


Tales of Terror and Wonder (M. G. Lewis), vii, 5, 32, 34, =35=, 80,
    140, 146, 152, 154

Tales of Wonder (M. G. Lewis), cf. Tales of Terror and Wonder.

Taylor, William, of Norwich, 1, 5, 15, 29, 32, =69=. Cf. also, William
   Taylor von Norwich.

Tell, Wilhelm, cf. Wilhelm Tell.

Third Psalm paraphrased, etc., 18, =106=

Thyrsis and Chloe (Gessner), 25

Ticknor, George, 3

To a Little Charmer (Lessing), 33

To Chloe (Gesner), 85

Trans. from Lessing, =60=

Trans. from the German, =83=

Trans. from the Idyls of Gessner, 43

Trans. of an Epistle, etc. (Frederick), 18, =119=

Travels in the North of Germany (H. E. Dwight), 3

Trust in God, 6

Tschink, 4

Tyler, M. C., 10, 11


Universal Song of Praise (Bürde), =63=

U. S. Mag. and Democratic Rev., 3

Usurer, The (Gellert), 17


"Van Vander Horderclogeth," 5, =83=

Verses by the Late King of Prussia, cf. Relaxation of War.

Victim of Magical Delusion (Tschink), 4

Viereck, L., 2

Virtue Rewarded (Gessner), 29

Voltaire's letter, cf. Mr. Voltaire's letter.


Wallenstein, 13

Wanderer of Switzerland, The, vii, =76=, 163, 169, 175

Water King, The, trans. by M. G. Lewis, 5, 18, 140, 146, 147

Webbe, John, 13, 14

Werter, 5, 16, 19, 20, =23=, 24, 34, =125=, =126=, =127=, =129=, 130,
    =141=, 158, =181=

Werter's Epitaph, 19, =127=, 130, 158

Werter's Farewell to Charlotte, 19, =141=

Werther (Goethe), cf. Werter.

West Indies, The, and Other Poems (James Montgomery), =176=

Wieland, 1, 2

Wild Hunter, The (Bürger), =85=

Wild Huntsman, The (Bürger), cf. Chase, The.

Wilhelm Tell (Schiller), 13, 19

Wilkens, F. H., 3, 4, 5, 19, 20

William Taylor von Norwich (Georg Herzfeld), 1

William Tell, cf. Wilhelm Tell.

Winter, 18, =95=

Winter King, The, cf. Hrim Thor.

Wish, The (Matthisson), =29=

Wolf King, The, 18, =147=

Wooden Leg, The [a] (Gessner), 73

Wooden Leg, The [b] (Gessner), 80

Wordsworth, William, vii, 155

Works of Thomas Gray, ed. by Edmund Gosse, 128

Works of W. E. Channing, The, 1

Written in Germany, etc., =153=

Written in Germany, etc. (W. Wordsworth), 155


Zephyrs, The [a] (Gessner), 27

Zephyrs, The [b] (Gessner), 75




                          TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


Obvious printer's errors have been fixed. Varied spelling of the
personal names has been retained.

                             FIXED ERRORS:

page  20--inserted a missing comma after 'Matthisson'
page  49--typo fixed: changed 'lossened' to 'loosened'
page  51--typo fixed: changed 'mispent' to 'misspent'
page  62--typo fixed: changed 'Labt' to 'Lobt'
page  71--typo fixed: changed 'stillet' to 'stiller'
page 108--inserted a missing single quote after 'at stake!'
page 112--typo fixed: changed 'withold' to 'withhold'
page 131--inserted a missing quote in front of "I--yes,"
page 135--typo fixed: changed 'happines' to 'happiness'
page 141--typo fixed: changed 'watry' to 'wat'ry'
page 144--typo fixed: changed 'hings' to 'hinges'
page 145--inserted a missing quote after 'Thomas?'
page 147--typo fixed: changed 'their' to 'there'
page 165--typo fixed: changed 'Burger's' to 'Bürger's'
page 172--inserted a missing quote after 'blushing day!'
page 175--inserted a missing quote after 'cask's out!'
page 188--typo fixed: changed 'yes' to 'eyes'
page 188--typo fixed: changed 'figer' to 'finger'
page 194--inserted a missing quote in front of 'I must see thee'
page 204--typo fixed: changed 'Helan' to 'Helen'
page 204--typo fixed: changed 'Bulow' to 'Bülov'
page 205--inserted a missing quote in front of 'Memoirs of'
page 211--typo fixed: changed 'Wollstencraft's' to 'Wollstoncraft's'
page 217--inserted a missing comma after 'Scholar's'
page 229--typo fixed: changed 'Willam' to 'William'