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 tonen unsre lieder, Wie schon bist du, natur!

Schon steigt die abendrothe Herab ins kuhle thal; Bald glantz in sanfter rothe 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 tonen unsre lieder, Wie schon 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 G.o.d!

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 holzerne 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.