Translations Of German Poetry In American Magazines 1741-1810 Part 22

By heathen, and by saint ador'd, Tho' differently, yet one; By what great name shall I address Thee everlasting king?

Oh! how my grat.i.tude express?

Oh! how thy praises sing?

But, O great G.o.d! omniscient ever just, Permit towards thy throne to bow, a particle of dust.

2.

By friends forsaken ev'ry where, Alone, the brunt to stand, Winter's inclement cold to bear, And in a foreign Land; The foe, enrag'd on ev'ry side, Dire implements of war In various shapes and forms provide, And doom them for our share.

Heav'ns! with what fury to the charge they fly; Forestal the vict'ry, but forget that man was born to die!

3.

Yet he who frequently has said, That numbers don't avail, Inspir'd us not to be dismay'd, But stand, fight, and prevail: The battle join'd, the foe gave way, Superior valour own'd, And left to us a glorious day, With spoils and honours crown'd: Each single _Prussian_ arm the hero play'd, Dealt round an hundred deaths, an hundred conquests made.

4.

Is it to fortune then I owe This unthought for success?

Fortune is blind, it can't be so, I must some other guess: JUSTICE, bright heav'nly maid, beheld The dire contention rise, Saw, and her sacred beam she held Suspended in the skies: The _Austrian_ scale kick'd up, by our's weigh'd down, Justice approv'd, and straight ordain'd the field to be our own.

_New Amer. Mag._, No. V-119, May 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.

THE RELAXATION OF WAR: OR THE HERO'S PHILOSOPHY, &C. WROTE BY THE KING OF PRUSSIA, DURING HIS RESIDENCE AT BRESLAU.

Love by _Hope_ is still sustain'd, _Zeal_ by the _Reward_ that's gain'd; In _Pow'r_, _Authority_ begins, _Weakness_ strength from _Prudence_ wins; _Honesty_ is _Credit's_ wealth, _Temp'rance_ the support of _Health_; _Wit_ from calm _Contentment_ springs, _Content_ 'tis _Competence_ that brings, _Competence_, as all may see, Springs from good _Oeconomy_.

Maids, to fan a lover's fire, _Sweetness_ more than charms require; _Authors_ more from _Truth_ may gain Than from tropes that please in vain; _Arts_ will less than _Virtues_ tend _Happiness_ and _Life_ to blend; He that _Happiness_ wou'd get _Prudence_ more must prize than _Wit_, More than _Riches_ rosy _Health_, Blameless _Quiet_ more than _Wealth_.

Nought to _owe_, and nought to _h.o.a.rd_, Little _Land_ and little _Board_, Little _Fav'rite_, true and kind, These are blessings to my mind.

I, when winter comes, desire Little _Room_ but plenteous _Fire_, Temp'rate _Gla.s.ses_, gen'rous _Wine_, _Dishes few_ whene'er I dine.

Yes, my sober thoughts are such, Man must never have _too_ much; _Not too much_ ... What solid sense.

Three such little words dispense!

Too much _Rest_ benumbs the mind; Too much _Strife_ distracts mankind; Too much _Negligence_ is _Sloth_; Too much _Zeal_ is _Folly's_ growth; Too much _Love_ our peace annoys, Too much _Physic_ life destroys; Too much _Cunning's_ fraudful art, Too much _Firmness_ want of heart Too much _sparing_ makes a knave; Those are _rash_ that are _too_ brave; Too much _Wealth_ like weight oppresses; Too much _Fame_ with care distresses; Too much _Pleasure_ death will bring, Too much _Wit's_ a dang'rous thing; Too much _Trust_ is folly's guide, Too much _Spirit_ is but pride; He's a dupe that is _too free_, Too much _Bounty_ weak must be; Too much _Complaisance_ a knave, Too much _Zeal to please_ a slave.

This TOO MUCH, tho' bad it seem, Chang'd with ease to good you deem; But in this you err my friend, For on _Trifles_ all depend.

Trifles great effects produce, Both of pleasure and of use; Trifles often turn the scale, When in love or law we fail; Trifles to the great commend, Trifles make proud beauty bend; Trifles prompt the poet's strain, Trifles oft distract the brain; Trifles, trifles more or less, Give us, or withhold success; Trifles, when we _hope_, can cheer, Trifles smite us when we fear: All the flames that lovers know, Trifles quench and trifles blow.

N. B. This little poem is sold for 6d. sterl. in London, and 3d. here.

_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-440, June 1758, Phila.

ON READING IN THE PUBLICK PAPERS, OF A LADY THAT HAD ORDER'D THE KING OF PRUSSIA A PRESENT OF A THOUSAND POUNDS.

No more let haughty _Austrians_ cry, "_Fred'rick_ our foe, has no ally."

The _British_ fair are on his side, And for the next campaign provide; Their fortunes to his chests transfer ...

Money the sinews is of war.

For him they plead, and much can say, For him they grow devout and pray!

For him their martial ardours rise, And arm afresh their killing eyes; Those s.h.i.+ning warriors ne'er were beat, But gain a conquest by retreat.

_New Amer. Mag._, No. VII-172, July 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.

Gentlemen.

The following small poetical performance was hastily composed at the request, and for the entertainment, of a select company of publick spirited friends, who gave me a short notice of their intention to dine with me, and drink the protestant champion's health, as they termed the king of _Prussia_. They were indulgent enough to express their unanimous approbation of the piece, and insisted on my sending it up to you, in order (if you would be of their opinion) to occupy a leaf in your _Magazine_. I hope no reader will think the dignity of the subject, lessened merely by the familiar strain, in which it is written: when they consider, that _such_ seemed most suitable to the occasion, the verses consisting of eleven feet, are to be read, like the _Greek Iambics_ (which were, anciently, much used in convivial festivities) with less solemnity and more rapidity, than the common heroic measure of ten feet in our language will admit.

Kent, Maryland, July 14, 1758.

THE ROYAL COMET.

Mistaken astronomers, gaze not so high: The _Comet_ foretold is not _yet_ in the sky.

It s.h.i.+nes here on earth, tho' deputed from Heav'n; And remarkably flam'd last year--_Fifty sev'n_.

In _Wodon's_[36] bold figure, three thousand years past, O'er ancient Germania its l.u.s.tre it cast.

Next, wearing _Arminius_[37], thy form, it return'd; And, fatal to _Rome's_ blasted legions, it burn'd.

Now, attended with all the thunders of war, Our _Prussia's_ great _Frederick_ is that _Blazing Star_!

Heav'ns proxy to nations opprest; but a _Sign_ To tyrants he comes of a vengeance divine.

Eccentric and rapid the north saw him rowl: (For heroes and stars seem most bright near the pole) To _Britain_ propitious he sheds forth his rays; While _Babel's_ lewd _Harlot_, his terrors amaze.

The fierce _Russian Bear_ his splendors affright; And _Austria's_ proud _Eagle_ now shrinks from his light.

While freedom's glad sons with due warmth he inspires; The _Lillies_ of _France_ are all scorch'd in his fires.

False _Stockholm_ shall find the _Baltic_ no bar is.

Now at _Vienna_, he'll soon be at _Paris_.

O'er _Ocean_ from _Europe_ his influence hurl'd Shall animate here, O _George_, thy new world.

Our laws, our religion, our rights he befriends, And conquest o'er savage invaders portends; O'er christians miscall'd, who their nature disgrace, Bely human form, and G.o.d's image deface.

Hail, _Living Effulgence_, whose all honour'd name Shall grace, first of mortals, the annals of fame!

Whose glory shall spread, thro' each age and each clime, To the final extent of s.p.a.ce and of time!

Who the Virtues _Trajan_ and _t.i.tus_ unite; The victor of empires, and _Mankind's Delight_!

Hail, radiance auspicious, from light's fountain born Each dark hemisphere to relume and adorn!

To whom if compar'd, other kings all appear, Like little dim _Sparklers_, round _Cynthia's_ bright sphere.

The wonder of monarchs, a patriot imperial, Endow'd with a spirit of vigour aetherial!

For worth, less than your's in pale envy's despite, Old chiefs claim'd to honours celestial a right!

From their funeral piles in flames eagles soar'd; Earth's heroes grew G.o.ds, and dead kings were ador'd.

Defensive, fair justice, he fights in thy cause, And his sword, lightning pointed, reluctant he draws, His courage on aggregate perils still grows; And his triumphs increase from multiply'd foes.

Ye _Caesars_, ye _Bourbons_, ye scourges of G.o.d, Ye saw on the wings of the wind how he rode: Revere then heav'ns champion, who, charg'd with your doom, Shall quell the leagu'd hosts of _Gaul_, _Satan_ and _Rome_!

When earth's giant crew, each with manifold hands, a.s.saulted _Jove's_ seat, in confederate bands; Thus _Evius_ a.s.serted the throne of his sire, And heap'd o'er th' aggressors a mountain of fire!

Ye numberless suns, his kindred, on high, For six thousand years whom cou'd ye descry; Whom, like him, have seen of meer mortal birth; Tho _Alfred_ and _Edward_ once dignify'd earth?

Blush, blush, scepter'd pirates, who trail your faint fire: Ye meteors, that transiently dazzling expire!

Whose l.u.s.t of vain pow'r stains the page of your story: What glow worms ye look, and how lost in his glory?

Blush, butchers, whose banners red ma.s.sacre shames, That _Honest_ and _Great_ should bear different names!

Go waste the creation for empire and pelf: The globe you may win, but _he_ conquers himself!

To spare he subdues; as he sought to defend; Dire war's his forc'd mean: but fair peace his lov'd end.

Tho' trophies in battles o'er your's he can raise; Yet these he accounts but a second rate praise.

Who by victories plum'd ne'er thinks it disgrace, To sigh that they're earn'd by the blood of his race.

The public's first servant, and humble in station; He found his firm glory on wise legislation.

His country's great father, in blessings most blest, Who loses his own for the world's peace and rest!

Still only ambitious of fair-won renown, And olives with laurels to wreath in his crown.

Say poet, philosopher, critick, divine, What art thou?--Since all, but omniscience is thine.

Self-taught, tho' a king! and now destin'd to prove, That _Minerva_, like thee, sprang perfect from _Jove_.

Like thee, fam'd for wisdom; like thee for alarms: The G.o.ddess of science, and G.o.ddess of arms!

In his words, in his deeds, we read his great heart; Too gen'rous for fraud, and too wise for mean art.