In vain he strives to fly;
Still at his back the hell-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 hell
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 hell
Or quench that sea of fire,
Till god's own dreadful day of doom
Shall bid the world expire!
_Rambler's Mag._, I-137, [1809], N. Y.
[G. A. Buerger, _Der wilde Jaeger_.]
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 pass 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 fashions 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 _noble_ 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 God of War;
To Rosbach's plains, in dread array,
The god-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, flashing,
Fiercely clashing
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 carcasses of heroes slain,
The mighty victors rode,
Where shiver'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 assistance 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.
III.
As when a Lion rears his head,
The forest wide is fill'd with dread,
Each creature seeks his den;
Or when Leviathan the great
Displays himself in finny state
He terrifies the main.
IV.
In fair record shall long remain
The DAY, when on _Thuringia's_ plain
SOUBISE before him fled;
When HILBOURGHAUSEN'S num'rous band
'Gainst Prussian valor could not stand,
With terror almost dead.
V.
With haste they fled, and bless'd the night,
Which hid them from the victor's sight,
And favoured their retreat.
Near Freybourg walls, the _Unstrut_ pass'd.
On hills of Eckersberg harras'd,
They mourn'd their adverse fate.
VI.
O glorious prince! O warlike train!
Who hunger, cold and toil sustain
With brave unyielding mind!
To you proud Austria shall submit,
And LOUIS lovingly shall greet
The _Prussian_ as his friend.
VII.
In characters of purest gold
Thy speech deserves to be enroll'd,
Before the battle made;
Each Soldier stil'd great FRED'RICK'S friend,
Who can his country's rights defend
When her fierce foes invade.
VIII.
Who would, in battle lag behind,
That serves a prince so great, so kind,
In every danger near?
When monarchs' lives are laid at stake,
What subject would his king forsake?
What room is left for fear?
IX.
Europe on thee has fix'd her eye,
Great monarch! All on thee rely
Her balance just to keep.
May this great end thy labours crown,
Be sempiternal thy renown,
When thou in dust shall sleep.
Philadelphia, February 10, 1758.
_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-240, Feb. 1758, Phila.
The same worthy motives that induced the author to send us the
following poem, will induce us to give it place this month, altho we
are already crowded with materials. We think it our duty, as _Britons_
and _Protestants_, to take every opportunity of celebrating such an
illustrious hero as the King of _Prussia_; and, however unequal the
strains may be thought, yet if they contribute ever so little to raise
an imitation of his noble and almost divine atchievments, in the cause
of _Religion_ and _Liberty_, our end will be fully answered.
ON THE GLORIOUS VICTORY OBTAINED BY
THE HEROICK KING OF PRUSSIA OVER THE
IMPERIAL ARMY NEAR NEWMARK IN
SILESIA THE 5TH DECEMBER 1757.
I.
My muse! again attempt the lyre;
Rouse! rouse! thy whole poetic fire!
Great FREDRICK'S deeds do still require
More ample praise.
Let his great acts the verse inspire,
And tuneful be thy lays.
II.
Illustrious HANNIBAL of old,
CAESAR the brave and SCIPIO bold,
For battles won stand high enroll'd
In hist'ry's page!
Let Fred'rick's name with theirs be told,
The HERO of his age!
III.
_Rosbach!_ thy plain the VICTOR owns!
'Twas fill'd with shrieks and dying groans,
And mangled limbs and shatter'd bones--
In heaps they lay!
The vanquished _Gaul_ as yet bemoans
That inauspicious day.
IV.
Yea FRED'RICK bent on conquests new,
Doth ALEXANDER-like pursue,
As if the world he would subdue--
Undaunted prince!
That thou 'rt a _Hero_ great and true
Each action doth evince.
V.
_Silesia_ first demands relief,
His losses there augment his grief;
Thitherward the _Prussians_ and their CHIEF,
To BEVERN'S aid
Make hasty marches; and in brief
Their parts they nobly play'd.
VI.
See! see! the godlike MAN proceed!
And vet'ran bands to battle lead,
Inur'd to toil, and warlike deed,
A hardy race!
Such troops are princes' friends indeed,
And do their LEADER grace.
VII.
The trumpet's sound, and loudest noise
Of martial drums, increase their joys;
Not by compulsion led, but choice,
And bold to fight,
Their _Country's_ cause in mind they poise;
_War! War!_ is their delight!
VIII.
Now they engage with furious shout;
And join in battle fierce and stout,
Th' invet'rate _Foe_ at length they rout;
And loud they cry--
O! matchless _Prussians_! ne'er give out;
Pursue! Cut off! Destroy!
IX.
Th' intrepid victors far and near
Spread fierce destruction on the rear,
Their enemies with trembling fear
Their arms lay down;
Who whilom haughty and severe,
Had deem'd the field their own.
X.
See them triumphant bear away
Th' imperial standards waving gay!
A thousand trophies line the way;
As they return,
Beneath their feet, a hapless prey,
The vanquish'd mourn.
XI.
Behold the blood impurpled plain,
And shiver'd armour of the slain!
Their dreams of honour, ah! how vain?
Gasping they lie!
Now of their wounds complain,
Now sink and faint and die.
XII.
Such is th' event of human things,
The fates of emp'rors and of kings;
Death in the rear disaster brings,
Dreadful to see!
Such as great POPE or HOMER sings,
Strains far too high for me.
XIII.
But CHARLES and valiant DAUN retreat,
Who lately led an army great--
At _Breslau_ now in shatter'd state
They rendezvous:
And there bemoan their adverse fate,
And dismal overthrow.
XIV.
The _Prussian Chief_ pursues with speed,
At his approach they're fill'd with dread,
From whose terrific arm, dismay'd,
So late they flew!
O FREDRICK! matchless prince, proceed,
Thy glorious course pursue!
XV.
To him those _Heros_ yield the town,
And him a _greater Hero_ own;
Who soon its walls could batter down,
And lay them low.
Long may he wear the _Prussian Crown_,
And curb each haughty _Foe_.
--Annandius.
March 11th, 1758.
_Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-279, Mar. 1757, Phila.
A LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE KING
OF PRUSSIA'S ODE.
I.
Oh God! all powerful God!
Invincible, unknown!
Creator, father of all;
Whom every nation implores;
Whom the Barbarian worships in the wind.
By what name will it please thee
That I shall address thee? Oh infinite,
All wise, and eternal spirit!
At the foot of thy sacred throne I most humbly bow my head.
II.
Forsaken by my only friends,
In a strange country,
Where winter was near killing us;
The enraged enemy on every side,
With their savage instruments,
The sword and fire consuming,
As if sacrificers,
They came with their deadly rage,
And hasten'd to destroy us with cries of triumph.
III.
But in thy penetrating view,
How vain are powerful troops!
I, still intrepid, dare the combat;
My buckler and my lance being my cause:
And behold the armies meet;
They turn their backs, we following to punish:
Victorious each of my soldiers
Seems to carry of war
The most terrible thunder;
And every arm is a thousand in the fury of the combat.
IV.
Then I owe thee success
To fortune! why so?
Justice succoured me;
From on high she cast down her eyes;
And when she perceived the contending parties,
She lifted up her hand to weigh
The right of each side,
And as she found the balance incline, she employ'd her sword.
The King of Prussia employs himself in times of peace in the following
manner: He rises at five; on business till seven; dresses, and
receives letters and petitions till nine; from nine to eleven with his
ministers; then on the parade, to exercise the guards; dines at half
an hour after twelve with some of his officers; at half an hour after
one he retires till five; then somebody reads to him till seven; then
the concert; at nine come the men of genius; they sup half an hour
after, and converse till eleven; then the king retires, and at twelve
goes to bed.--He is a statesman, soldier, author, and musician;
indefatigable in business; and by method overlooks and directs
everything; very frugal; without farce of state; the idle officers of
the court have the usual titles; but no pay for the drones, tho' they
are mostly officers.
THE THIRD PSALM PARAPHRASED, ALLUDING
TO HIS PRUSSIAN MAJESTY.
Look down, O God! regard my cry!
On thee my hopes depend:
I'm close beset, without ally;
Be thou my shield and friend.
Confed'rate kings and princes league,
On ev'ry side attack
To perpetrate the black intrigue
But thou canst drive them back,
Long did I fear their wink and nod;
In close cabals they cry'd,
_There is no help for him in God_;
His kingdom we'll divide.
Amid their army's dreadful glare
Thou gav'st me inward might,
Teaching my arm the art of war,
My fingers how to fight.
Tho' vet'ran troops my camp invest,
Expert in war's alarms,
Calmly I lay me down to rest
In thy protecting arms.
Nor will I fear their empty boasts,
Tho' thousands thousands join;
Since thou art stil'd _the God of hosts_,
And victory is thine.
Arise, O God, and plead my cause,
O! save me by thy pow'r;
If e'er I reverenc'd thy laws,
Guide this important hour!
'Tis done!--they shudder with dismay;
My troops maintain their ground:
Lo! their embattl'd lines give way,
And we are victors crown'd!
Success, ye kings, is not your gift;
To heav'n it does belong:
The race not always to the swift
Nor battle to the strong.
_New Amer. Mag._, No. IV-78, Apr. 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.
SPEECH OF THE PRINCE OF BRUNSWICK
TO THE HANOVERIAN AND HESSIAN
TROOPS.
To injured troops thus gallant BRUNSWICK spoke;
'Shall we with tameness bear the _Gallic_ yoke!
'Will ye, O Veterans, inur'd to pains
'And toils of War, drag ignominious chains?
'Turn and behold! behold where hostile bands
'Seize on your properties, lay waste your lands,
'Your daughters, wives, snatch'd forcibly away,
'Slaves to proud _Gallia's_ sons, to best a prey!
'Hark! how with piercing Cries, the tender Maid,
'By force subdu'd, implores her father's aid;
'In agonies repeats her brother's name,
'To flay the ruffians and preserve her fame!
'Rouze! GERMANS! rouze! a glorious vengeance take;
'Religion, honour, freedom, all's at stake!'
... "Enough," they cry'd, "let FERDINAND proceed,
"We dare to follow, where he dares to lead."
Fir'd by their country's wrongs, to arms they fly,
Resolv'd to save her, or resolved to die.
_New Amer. Mag._, No. IV-80, Apr. 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.
ON A CARGO OF FRENCH MUFFS SEIZ'D BY THE PRUSSIANS.
Lewis, the winter harsh, and climate rough,
To each of his nice captains, sends a muff,
Knowing his troops too tender to resist
The foe, without a furr to guard his wrist;
For who could prime his gun, or pistol hold,
Whose aching fingers were benumbed with cold.
_Prussia_, a different scheme in war approves;
Whose hardy veterans charge without their gloves.
Defy the rigour of the chilling air,
And fight, and conquer with their knuckles bare.
_Bourbon!_ if wreathes and triumphs are thy aim,
Think of some wiser way to purchase fame:
Some other arts thy rival to subdue,
Soft muffs, without keen swords, will never do;
Thy shivering troops would act a better part,
Would'st thou send something that could warm their heart;
Less for their valour than their heels admir'd
With fighting oft' ... with flying seldom tir'd,
Success thy arms would never fail to meet,
Were battles to be won by nimble feet.
_New Amer. Mag._, No. IV-80, Apr. 1758, Woodbridge in N. J.
THE KING OF PRUSSIA'S ODE IMITATED IN RHIME.
1.
Father of all! all pow'rful Lord!
Infinitely unknown!
By heathen, and by saint ador'd,
Tho' differently, yet one;
By what great name shall I address
Thee everlasting king?
Oh! how my gratitude express?
Oh! how thy praises sing?
But, O great God! 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 _hoard_,
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 _Glasses_, 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 shining 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.