venture to present you with the inclosed hastily written lines, as a
peace offering; but shall not be irritated beyond measure, should you
choose to convert it into a _burnt offering_, as a just punishment for
time misspent.
At any rate, the sentence you shall pass, shall not be appealed from.
Your sincere well-wisher,
The Author.
DAMON AND DAPHNE, AN IDYLL,
(Matrimonial,)
Attempted from Gessner.
DAMON.
The gloomy tempest, Daphne, has blown o'er,
The thunder's awful voice is heard no more;
Tremble not then, my girl, the lightning's blaze
Through the dark cloud, no longer darts its rays.
Let us this arbour leave, the blue sky greet,
For, see, the sheep that sought this safe retreat,
Now from their fleeces shake the drops of rain,
And spread them o'er the bright'ning mead again,
Let us then leave this fav'rite shelt'ring bower,
To taste the beauties of this balmy hour;
To view the sunbeams gild the moisten'd ground,
And throw their rich and radiant glory round.
As from the grotto, hand in hand they past,
The gentle Daphne on her partner cast
Her swimming eyes, pressing his honest hand.
DAPHNE.
How lovely looks the gay, the smiling land,
She said; while through the scattering cloud appears
The blue sky, dissipating all our fears.
The clouds, as through the air they quickly pass,
Hurry their shadows o'er the glist'ning grass.
See, Damon, now, o'er yonder hill they throw
Their shade o'er herds and cottages, and lo!
They're flown, and while o'er flowery meads they run,
The hill's again illumin'd by the sun.
DAMON.
The rainbow view, from hill to hill expand,
Its radiant arches o'er the laughing land;
'Midst the grey cloud, a happy omen shows;
With peace and safety every colour glows:
The quiet valley smiles beneath its beams,
And owns its beauties in her gliding streams.
Daphne with gentle arm embrac'd her swain;
And cried;
DAPHNE.
See balmy zephyrs breathe again;
More cheerful with the flowers they sport and play,
Dress'd by the drops of rain and light of day.
The butterflies, in richest coats array'd,
And fluttering insects joy to leave the shade,
Their velvet wings in quick vibrations shake,
While on the surface of the neighbouring lake,
Of shrubs and willows, wash'd from every stain,
The trembling branches glitter once again;
Again the peasant in its bosom sees
The heaven's blue concave and the spreading trees.
DAMON.
Daphne, embrace me with thy circling arms,
What sacred joy my swelling bosom warms,
Where'er we turn what glories meet our eyes,
What unexhausted springs of rapture rise.
From the least plant to the bright star of day,
That kindles nature with its quickening ray,
All, all, our admiration ought to raise,
And tune our voices to the notes of praise!
How my heart swells, when from yon mountain's brow,
I view the spreading country stretch'd below.
Or, when amid the grass, in rural ease,
Laying my limbs beneath the branching trees,
I contemplate the various flowers and plants,
And their minutely fine inhabitants.
Or when amid the solemn hours of night,
I view the stars adorn the heavens with light;
The grateful changes of the seasons trace,
The progress of the vegetable race.
When all these wonders thro' my senses roll,
They fill with purest awe my swelling soul;
Thoughts urge on thoughts in quick successive birth,
Weeping, I kneel to him who made the earth;
To him, my admiration I confess,
Father of light, of life, of every bliss:
Nought then my soul with equal joy can move,
Save the delight to know my Daphne's love.
DAPHNE.
Damon, around me also wonders rise,
And fill my bosom with a sweet surprize.
Oh let us then, lock'd in a soft embrace,
When Morn approaching lifts her ruddy face,
When gentle Eve her milder beauties shows,
Or moonlight through the air its radiance throws,
Thus let our thoughts upon such objects rest,
Whilst to each others beating bosoms prest,
In broken accents we our wonder own,
And turn our minds tow'rds heaven's eternal throne.
How inexpressible is the delight,
When transports such as these, with tend'rest love unite.
P. D.
_Port Folio_, I-171, May 30, 1801, Phila.
[S. Gessner, _Damon. Daphne_.]
For the Port Folio.
THE FLY, A FABLE.
From the German of Gellert.
That insects think, as well as speak,
Needs, at this day, small eloquence to show;
Esop, whom even children prize in Greek,
Affirm'd as much, some thousand years ago.
Fontaine, in French, asserted just the same;
Who then shall dare deny the reptile claim
To faculties, the world esteems so low,
As scarce to notice, if you think or no?
Within a temple, where the builder's art,
Grandeur and elegance at once had join'd;
While due proportion, reign'd in every part,
And simple grace, with solid strength combin'd.
In such a temple's wall, sat perch'd on high,
A solemn, thoughtful, philosophic fly.
For flies, an air so grave, of wisdom take,
And on one leg, the head will often hold,
And into wrinkles, oft the forehead fold,
Only because they deep reflection's make;
And to the bottom dive to know,
The source of all things here below.
Thus then, involv'd in contemplation deep,
With half a dozen wrinkles on his brow,
This fly began, around himself to peep,
And question whence the building rose, and how?
No _maker_ of this work can I perceive,
Quoth he--and that there is one, scarce believe;
For who should such a maker be?
"Art," said a spider sage. "Art built the work you see,
For, wheresoever turns your eye,
Fix'd laws, and order you descry;
And hence, a fair conclusion grows,
That from the hand of Art, the building rose."
At this the fly, in his conceptions proud,
Laugh'd out aloud,
And with a sneer of scorn, replied--
"Most learned sir, I oft have tried,
At this same Art to get a sight,
But never on him yet could light;
And now, the more I think, the more I find,
Your Art is but a fiction of the mind.
Now learn from me how this same temple grew:
Once on a time, it so by chance befel
That pebbles numberless together flew,
And settling, form'd this hollow shell,
Where you, and I, friend spider, dwell;
Say, what can be more evidently true?"
A fly, for such a system, we forgive;
But if great geniuses should live,
Who deem this world's well-order'd frame,
Sprung from blind accident alone,
And chance, as author of their lives proclaim,
Rather than bow to God's eternal throne,
The sole excuse a creed, like this admits,
Is, that its votaries have lost their wits.
L.
_Port Folio_, I-192, June 13, 1801, Phila.
[C. F. Gellert, _Die Fliege_.]
For the Port Folio.
THE SUICIDE.
From the German of Gellert.
Oh, youth, from what I now relate,
While gentle tears bedew your eyes,
Lament the lover's hapless fate,
And learn, what woes from love arise.
A youth of exemplary worth,
The comfort of his aged sire,
Whose virtues, early bursting forth,
The fairest hopes might well inspire.
By beauty's potent charms subdued,
For Chloe felt a tender pain;
Her equal love with ardour sued,
But found his fond entreaties vain.
While at her feet he pleads his flame,
The cruel Chloe bids him fly;
Yes! cried he, yes! insulting dame,
You never more shall hear me sigh.
Then, on his sword, his hand he lays,
While wild despair his gestures breathe;
Draws it--the deadly point surveys,
And thrusts it--_back into its sheath_.
U.
_Port Folio_, I-192, June 13, 1801, Phila.
[C. F. Gellert, _Der Selbstmord_.]
FROM THE GERMAN.
While yon enlivening orb of day
To William yields its light,
He to no other lass will stray
Nor faithful Anna slight.
Thus Will to Nance, with ardour, said;
And kept his word, I ween,
Nor, till the sun had gone to bed,
Met Sophy on the green.
_Port Folio_, I-280, Aug. 29, 1801, Phila.
For the Port Folio.
FROM THE GERMAN OF GELLERT.
THE DANCING BEAR
A Fable.
A bear, who long had danced for bread,
One morning from his keeper fled;
Back to his native woods retreated,
And, by his brother brutes, was kindly greeted:
Their joy to see him made the forest roar,
They lick'd his chaps, they stroak'd him with the paw;
And when each bear his neighbour saw,
Their news was, So!--Our Bruin's here once more.
Straightway the travell'd youth went on
All his adventures to relate,
And whatsoever he had seen, or done,
Or heard, in foreign parts to state.
And when it came the turn to tell
His dancing deeds, to capering he fell,
As though his former master's chain
Were fasten'd round his neck again.
Bears of the woods are seldom trained to dance;
Yet, seeing Bruin throw his limbs about,
The fancy seiz'd them all, themselves to prance,
And strive, with clumsy aim, his motions to make out.
Scarce one of all the brood but quickly trip'd,
And stumbling, staggering, fell his whole length down;
The more they fail'd, the brisker Bruin skip'd,
To show their skill at fault and prove his own.
But now, their fury kindles at his play;
Away! Begone, you tumbling fool! they bawl;
Must you, forsooth, be wiser than us all?
And straight, with one accord, they hooted him away.
Your neighbour's hatred would you shun?
His talents to surpass beware!
And still the higher your attainments run,
Conceal them still with greater care.
For though, at first, the voice of fame
Shall sound your praises to the sky:
Anon shall Envy blast your name,
And turn your fairest arts to crimes of deepest dye.
L.
27 November 1801.
_Port Folio_, I-400, Dec. 12, 1801, Phila.
[C. F. Gellert, _Der Tanzbaer_.]
BENEVOLENCE. A FABLE.
Imitated from the German of Galleret.
_Balance and Columbian Repos._, I-132, Apr. 27, 1802, Hudson (N. Y.).
[Gellert, _Die Gutthat_. Also in _Amer. Universal Mag._, I-28, Jan. 2,
1797, Phila.]
AMINTA.
An Idyl,--By Gessner.
[Prose translation.]
_Weekly Visitor or Ladies' Misc._, I-20, Oct. 23, 1802, N. Y.
[S. Gessner, _Daphne_. Mary Collyer, _Gessner's Idyls_, 1802,
Liverpool. II-121, _Aminta_.]
INVITATION TO JOY.
From the German.
Say, who could mope in joyless plight,
While youth and spring bedeck the scene,
And scorn the profer'd gay delight,
With thankless heart and frowning mien?
See Joy with becks and smiles appear,
While roses strew the devious way;
The feast of life she bids us share,
Where'er our pilgrim footsteps stray.
And still the grove is cool and green,
And clear the bubbling fountain flows,
Still shines the night's resplendent queen,
As erst in Paradise she rose:
The grapes their purple nectar pour,
To 'suage the heart that griefs oppress;
And still the lonely ev'ning bow'r
Invites and screens the stolen kiss.
Still Philomela's melting strain,
Responsive to the dying gale,
Beguiles the bosom's throbbing pain,
And sweetly charms the list'ning vale;
Creation's scene expanded lies:--
Blest scene! how wond'rous bright and fair!
Till Death's cold hand shall close my eyes,
Let me the lavish'd bounties share!
_Weekly Visitor or Ladies' Misc._, I-64, Nov. 27, 1802, N. Y.
ORIGINAL PAPERS.
For the Port Folio.
THE AMERICAN LOUNGER.
By SAMUEL SAUNTER, Esq.
No. XLIII.
Et vos, O lauri, carpam, et te proxima myrtus,
Sic positae, quoniam suaves miscetis odores.
--_Virgil._
To SAMUEL SAUNTER, _Esq._
Sir,
As I perceive your plan, like that of Coleman and Thornton, in the
"Connoisseur," and like that of your relation, _Solomon_ Saunter, in
"Literary Leisure," admits Poetry as well as Prose, which one may feed
upon alternately, as we eat bread and cheese, I send you a
translation, from the German of Lessing, and some fugitive originals.
I am, yours
HARLEY.
I ask'd my fair, one happy day,
What should I call her in my lay,
By what sweet name, from Rome or Greece,
Iphigenia, Clelia, Chloris,
Laura, Lesbia, Delia, Doris,
Dorimene or Lucrece?
Ah, replied my gentle fair,
Beloved, what are names but air?
Take thou whatever suits the line,
Clelia, Iphigenia, Chloris,
Laura, Lesbia, Delia, Doris--
But don't forget to call me--_thine_.
_Port Folio_, III-25, Jan. 1803, Phila.
[Lessing, _Die Namen_.]
THE NAVIGATION
Translated from the French of Gessner.
It flies! the vessel flies, that bears away
To distant shores my Daphne, fair as May.
Guard her, ye loves! be lull'd each ruder gale;
Let Zephyrs only fill the swelling sail;
Ye waves flow gently by the vessel's side,
While pensive she surveys you idly glide;
Ah! softly glide, prolong her reverie,
For then, ye Gods! 'tis then she thinks of me.
When near the nodding groves that shade the shore,
To her, ye birds, your sweetest warbling pour;
No sounds be heard, but such as gently sooth,
And be, O sea, thy azure surface smooth.
Ne'er since thy daughters sought their liquid caves,
A lovelier charge, was trusted to thy waves.
Her clear, her bright unsullied beauty shews
The lilly's white, and freshness of the rose.
Not Venus had more charms, more beauteous bloom,
When, rising from the sea's resplendent foam,
She smiling mounted first her silver car,
And shone effulgent as the morning star.
The enchanted Tritons left their noisy sport,
And nymphs cerulian in their crystal court;
Regardless of their frowns, or jealous smiles,
While beauty's queen each eager eye beguiles.
They gaze, and held in most delightful trance,
Pursue her moving o'er the smooth expanse.
H***T.
_Boston Weekly Mag._, 1-72, Feb. 19, 1803, Boston.
[S. Gessner, _La Navigation_. French translation of _Die
Schiffahrt_.]
Mr. HOGAN;
The subjoined Pieces under the signature of Oscar, are the production
of a gentleman residing in a distant part of the state. They were
written solely with a view to amuse his leisure hours. If you think
them worthy of publication, you are at liberty to insert them in the
Repository.
--A SUBSCRIBER.
MORNING SONG OF PRAISE.
From the German of Patzke.
"Lobt den Herrn! Die morgensonne."
O praise the Lord! the morning sun,
From sleep awakes the cheerful swain;
And all creation's joys again,
To us, in streams renewed, run.
O praise the Lord! ye sweetest flow'rs,
To him your earliest fragrance yield;
Ye birds exert your tuneful pow'rs;
Praise him in meadow and in field.
O praise the Lord!--Ev'n from his den
The desert's savage roars his praise;
And, oh! my soul! how much more then,
Should'st thou thy voice in Paeans raise?
--Oscar.
_Phila. Repos._, III-152, May 7, 1803, Phila.
ODE TO SPRING
From the German.
"Freude wirbelt in den Lueften."
Joy comes laughing with the breeze;
Gladness spreads itself around;
Songsters warble in the trees;
Nature gaily decks the ground.
Heav'n unfolds its richest vesture,
Sparkling stars--etherial blue;
Fairies dance with antic gesture;
Or sip, delighted, morning dew.
Gentle, smiling, Zephyrs, wander,
Thro' the groves of verdant green;
Toying with the lilac yonder--
Here, with the rose of blooming mien.
Humming bees, on wafer pinions,
Careful, thro' the blossoms roam:
Searching all their flow'r dominions,
The nectar tribute gather home.
In th'embroider'd violet vale,
Love, attended by the Graces,
Tells his soft bewitching tale,
While blushing fair ones hide their faces.
How beautiful is the creation,
In this time of mirth and joy?
All is life--all animation:
Nought our pleasures to annoy.
--Oscar.
_Phila. Repos._, III-152, May 7, 1803, Phila.
[For introductory note, cf. the preceding.]
UNIVERSAL SONG OF PRAISE.
A Sapphic Ode.
From the German of Buerde.
"Alles was odem hat, lobe den Herrn!"
All ye that live and breathe, O praise the Lord!
With holy streams of joy, and exultation,
Our souls are penetrated.
O taste and see, how great, how good He is!
His love and mercy, his truth and grace alone,
Leads us to joys eternal.
O ye enwraptur'd souls that serve the Lord
Cherubim! Seraphim! Angels and Spirits!
Love is your felicity.
Thirst on, our souls--thirst for the living streams;
Bless'd and holy! and for ever love Him!
Who us, in love, created.
Yes, we'll love and adore Him! yes, the dust
Loves its Redeemer; and all our anxious tears
Himself shall wipe away.
--Oscar.
_Phila. Repos._, III-152, May 7, 1803, Phila.
[For introductory note, cf. _Morning Song of Praise_, preceding.]
THE SHOE PINCHES.
A Song of Shoe-maker, William.
From Kotzebue.
Though idlers riot, eat and drink,
And on soft downy pillows sink,
They are not free from woe:
For every man must have his share
Of trouble, and must know best where
_The shoe does pinch his toe_.
When rainy, wise men boots will wear,
But shoes put on when all is fair,
And take times as they go;
No man that ever wore a shoe
Will say if he be fair and true,
_It never pinch'd his toe_.
_Balance and Columbian Repos._, II-288, Sept. 6, 1803, Hudson, (N.
Y.).
BENEVOLENCE.--A FABLE.
Imitated from the German of Gellert.
_Port Folio_, III-352, Oct. 29, 1803, Phila.
[Also in _Amer. Universal Mag._, I-28, Jan. 2, 1797, Phila.]
THE NOSEGAY.
[Prose translation.]
_Phila. Repos._, IV-4, Jan. 7, 1804, Phila.
[S. Gessner, _Der Blumenstrauss_. W. Hooper, _New Idylles_, p. 37.]
For the Philadelphia Repository.
HOFFNUNG.
Wie des morgens helle licht
Die dunkeln 'nachts durchbricht,
Und die ganze welt erfrout
Mit des tages herlichkeit
So wann grosse traurigkeit--
Laest den menschen keine freud,
Wann verzweiflung angst und schmertze
Fuelt das arme, banges hertze.
Geht die sonne _Hoffnungs_ auf,
Und im traur'gem brust sein lauf
Beginnt; dann flichtet traurigkeit,
Und die brust ist voller freud.
Von verzweiflung, angst und schmertze
Ist befreyt das bange hertze,
O! es bringt die _Hoffnungs_ sonne,
Seeligkeit, und grosse wonne.
--ADELIO.
* * *A poetical translation is requested.
_Phila. Repos._, IV-56, Feb. 18, 1804, Phila.
For the Philadelphia Repository.
TRANSLATION
Of Adelio's German Lines in last Repository.
HOPE.
As does the morn's resplendent light
Dispel the gloomy shades of night,
And the whole universe delight,
With the day's illustrious sight--
So when the adverse fates decree
Nothing to man but misery,
When they despair and pain impart
To the keen agonized heart--
Then does his course, _Hope's_ sun from rest
Take thro' the troubled heaving breast;
Then disappears adversity,
And leaves behind felicity.
Exempt from horror is the breast,
Despair and pain sink into rest;
The sun of _Hope_ affords delight,
And happiness supremely bright.
Translator.
_Phila. Repos._, IV-64, Feb. 25, 1804, Phila.
PASSAGE FROM KLOPSTOCK'S MESSIAH.
So at the midnight hour draws nigh to the slumbering city
Pestilence. Couch'd on his broad spread wings lurks under the rampart
Death, bale-breathing. As yet unalarmed are the peaceable dwellers;
Close to his nightly-lamp the sage yet watches; and high friends
Over wine not unhallow'd, in shelter of odorous bowers,
Talk of the soul and of friendship, and weigh their immortal duration.
But too soon shall frightful Death, in a day of affliction
Pouncing over them, over them spread; in a day of moaning and
anguish....
When with wringing of hands the bride for the bridegroom loud wails;
When, now of all her children bereft, the desperate mother
Furious curses the day on which she bore, and was born ... when
Weary with hollower eye, amid the carcases totter
Even the buriers ... till the sent Death-angel, descending,
Thoughtful on thunder-clouds, beholds all lonesome and silent,
Gazes the wide desolation, and long broods over the graves, fixt.
"Perhaps some other writer will throw this fine picture into blank
verse so well, as to convince the public, that the beauties of
Klopstock can be naturalized without strangeness, and his
peculiarities retained without affectation; that quaintness, the
unavoidable companion of neologism, is as needless to genius, as
hostile to grace; the hexameter, until it is familiar, must repel,
and, when it is familiar, may annoy; that it wants a musical
orderliness of sound; and that its cantering capricious movement
opposes the grave march of solemn majesty, and better suits the
ordinary scenery of Theocritus than the empyreal visions of
Klopstock."
From "Criticism on Klopstock's Messiah."
_Lit. Mag. and Amer. Reg._, I-468, Mar. 1804, Phila.
[F. G. Klopstock, _Messias_.]
THE GUARDIAN SPIRIT.
From the German of Matthison.
Whene'er day-light's parting gleam
A smiling form salutes my love,
And loiters near the murm'ring stream,
And glides beneath the conscious grove:
Ah! then my Henry's spirit see:
Soft joy and peace it brings to thee.
And when at moon-light's sober ray
Thou dream'st perchance of love and me,
As thro' the pines the breezes play,
And whisper dying melody--
When tender bodings prompt the sigh--
Thy Henry's spirit hovers nigh.
When o'er the mind soft musings steal,
As thou the pleasing past hast scann'd;
Should'st thou a gentle pressure feel,
Like zephyr's kiss o'er lip and hand;--
And should the glimmering taper fade--
Then near thee 'bides thy lover's shade.
And when at midnights' solemn tide,
As soft the rolling planets shine--
Like Aeol's harp, thy couch beside,
Thou hear'st the words--'forever thine!'
Then slumber sweet, my spirit's there,
And peace and joy it brings my fair.
_Phila. Repos._, IV-160, May 19, 1804, Phila.
[Friedrich Matthisson, _Lied aus der Ferne_.]
BUeRGER'S LEONORA. [g].
[In an article on Buerger's _Lenore_, three eight-lined stanzas of
Spencer's translation, and two six-lined stanzas of Stanley's
translation are given.
W. R. Spencer, _Leonora_. Trans. from the German of G. A. Buergher.
London, 1796.
J. T. Stanley, _Leonora_. Trans. freely from the German; 2nd ed.,
London, 1796.]
_Port Folio_, IV-167, May 26, 1804, Phila.
A SONNET
Translated from Jacobi.
Tell me where's the vi'let fled
Late so gaily blowing;
Springing 'neath fair Flora's tread,
Choicest sweets bestowing?
Swains the vernal scene is o'er,
And the vi'let blooms no more.
Say where hides the blushing rose,
Pride of fragrant morning;
Garland meet for beauty's brows,
Hill and dale adorning?
Gentle maid the summer's fled
And the hopeless Rose is dead!
Bear me then to yonder rill,
Late so freely flowing;
Wat'ring many a daffodil,
On its margin glowing--
Sun and wind exhaust its store:
Yonder riv'let glides no more!
Lead me to the bow'ry shade,
Late with roses flaunting;
Lov'd resort of youth and maid,
Am'rous ditty chanting--
Hail and storm with fury show'rs,
Leafless mourn with rifled bow'rs!
Say where hides the village maid,
Late yon cot adorning;
Oft I've met her in the glade,
Fair and fresh as morning?
Swain how short is beauty's bloom,
Seek her in the grassy tomb!
Whither roves the tuneful swain
Who of rural pleasures,
Rose and vi'let, rill and plain,
Sung in deftest measures?
Maiden, swift life's vision flies,
Death has clos'd the Poet's eyes.
_Companion and Weekly Misc._, I-104, Jan. 26, 1805, Balto.
[J. G. Jacobi, _Vergaenglichkeit_.
W. Taylor of Norwich, _op. cit._ II-106, _Elegy_. (Variants in stanza V).]
The following is a German drinking song, popular in the Rhingau, and
probably the inspiration of the _old Hock_, which it celebrates.
Bekranzt mit laub den liebe vollen becher,
Und trinkt ihn froelich leer;
In ganz Europa, ihr herren recher,
Ist solch ein wein nicht mehr.
Ihn bringt das vatterland aus seiner fuelle,
Wie war er sonst so gut?
Wie war er sonst so edel stille,
Und doch voll kraft und muth?
Am Rhein, am Rhein, da wachsen unsre reben;
Gesegnet sey der Rhein!
Da wachsen sie am ufer hin, und geben
Uns diesen lieben wein.
So trinkt hin dann, and last uns alle wege
Uns freun und froelich seyn;
Und, wisten wir wo jemand traurig laege,
Wir gaeben ihm den wein.
TRANSLATION.
The brimful goblet crown with wines,
And drink the cordial juice,
Europe itself can't boast such vines
As these bless'd hills produce.
Yes, Germany's the copious source
Of wines that all excel;
So mild, so generous, full of force,
None cheer the heart so well.
Rhingau alone such grapes can boast,
Huzza! here's to the Rhine!
And may the wretch, who slights the toast,
Forget the taste of wine.
Come, drink about, and let's be gay,
With nectar so divine,
Is any man to grief a prey?
We'll comfort him with wine.
_Port Folio_, V-110, Apr. 13, 1805, Phila.
EPIGRAMS.
From the German of G. E. Lessing.
Adam awhile in Paradise
Enjoy'd his novel life:
He was caught napping; in a thrice
His rib was made a wife.
Poor father Adam, what a guest!
This most unlucky dose
Made the first minute of thy rest
The last of thy repose.
* * * * *
But one bad woman at a time
On earth arises.
That every one should think he has her,
I own--surprises.
* * * * *
A long way off--Lucinda strikes the men.
As she draws near,
And one see clear,
A long way off--one wishes her again.
_Phila. Repos._, V-128, Apr. 20, 1805, Phila.