Translations Of German Poetry In American Magazines 1741-1810 Part 5

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 Burger.

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 n.o.ble 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 h.e.l.l ----'s a death which only h.e.l.l 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. Burger, _Die Tode_.]

THE La.s.s OF FAIR WONE.

From the German of Burger.

_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 Burger.

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. Burger, _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 t.i.tle _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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 Schone_.]

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.