Translations Of German Poetry In American Magazines 1741-1810 Part 19

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 h.e.l.l-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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l Or quench that sea of fire, Till G.o.d's own dreadful day of doom Shall bid the world expire!

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

[G. A. Burger, _Der wilde Jager_.]

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 pa.s.s 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 fas.h.i.+ons 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 _n.o.ble_ 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 G.o.d of War; To Rosbach's plains, in dread array, The G.o.d-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, flas.h.i.+ng, Fiercely clas.h.i.+ng 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 carca.s.ses of heroes slain, The mighty victors rode, Where s.h.i.+ver'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 a.s.sistance 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.