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 ill.u.s.trious 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 ill.u.s.trious 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.]

_Ma.s.s. Mag._, IV-351 June 1792, Boston.

[S. Gessner, _Amyntas_. "Bei fruhem Morgen kam der arme Amyntas...."

Idyllen, Erste Folge.]

PASTORAL ECLOGUE.

THYRSIS AND CHLOE.

[Prose translation.]

_Ma.s.s. 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 _Ma.s.s. 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 G.o.d! 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.)