Translations Of German Poetry In American Magazines 1741-1810 Part 7

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 cl.u.s.t'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 b.u.t.terflies, 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 pa.s.sing, 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 G.o.ddess 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 Garten_.]

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 cl.u.s.t'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 l.u.s.tre 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 G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds Must hear thy fond pet.i.tion; 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 c.o.c.k, 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, cl.u.s.t'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 cas.e.m.e.nt 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_.]