The Project Gutenberg eBook of Translations of German Poetry in American Magazines, by Edward Ziegler Davis

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Mistaken astronomers, gaze not so high:
The Comet foretold is not yet in the sky.
It shines 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 lustre 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 god'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 space and of time!
Who the Virtues Trajan and Titus 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 gods, 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 Cæsars, ye Bourbons, ye scourges of God,
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,
Assaulted Jove's seat, in confederate bands;
Thus Evius asserted 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 lust 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 massacre 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 goddess of science, and goddess of arms!
In his words, in his deeds, we read his great heart;
Too gen'rous for fraud, and too wise for mean art.
With aw still reflecting whence all grandeur springs;
And only dependent on thee, King of Kings!
The mate of his vet'rans in each noble feat;
The first in the charge, and the last in retreat,
A statesman and monarch, yet true to his word;
A soldier with honour, more bright than his sword.
Whom pow'r ne'er corrupted; whom learning adorns:
Who, ev'n in idea, court-turpitude scorns:
—Yet why should we wonder, that this he disdains;
When the blood of good George flows rich in his veins?

Kind Prince! whom the admiring world must own
By truth and nature form'd to grace a throne:
Whose dawn of empire like the solar ray,
Chears half the North with hopes of lasting day;
Receive the homage which the Muses send,
Their fav'rite thou! their guardian! and their friend!
Are you enthron'd?... And does your goodness deign
To own your poet, and regard his strain?
O blissful moment! dear auspicious grace!
Does Fred'rick's smile my wand'ring steps embrace?
Does his great soul possess'd of wisdom's balm,
(Ever benevolent, and ever calm!)
Leave all the dignity of state behind,
To meet the humble lover of mankind?
And can your hand the royal gift impart
To style me friend of your distinguish'd heart?
Fame says of old, that Phoebus heavenly bright,
O'er the wide world who spreads the living light,
So Jove ordain'd ... his splendid carr resign'd,
To live below and humanize mankind:
No more his brows their wonted rays reveal'd,
A shepherd's form the exil'd god conceal'd;
In Phrygian wilds to an unletter'd race,
He sung with such divinely-pleasing grace,
The savage nation in their softened hearts,
Receiv'd the love of virtue and of arts!
The rudest breasts the strong persuasion felt,
Were taught to think, to reason, and to melt!
Themselves to know, the social tye to own,
And learn they were not made to live alone!
Then every useful science sprung to birth,
And peaceful labour blest the smiling earth:
Men now united lost their antient rage,
Nature rejoic'd and blest her golden age;
An age by heav'n design'd for man no more,
Unless a Frederick shall that age restore!
It chanc'd as thro' the wood Apollo stray'd,
Ere gathering numbers peopled half the shade;
As near the cooling stream he pass'd the day
And wak'd the golden lyre to wisdom's lay!
Attentive to the sound a stranger swain,
His reed attun'd to imitate the strain;
The god well-pleas'd the rustic genius spy'd,
Approv'd his aim, and deign'd to be his guide!
Aided his trembling hands to touch the string,
Whisper'd the words, and shew'd him how to sing!
The swain improving blest the care bestow'd,
Nor in the master yet perceiv'd the god:
Nor knew the immortal flame his bosom fir'd,
But like a shepherd lov'd him, and admir'd!
In me, great prince, the image stands renew'd,
I feel myself with kindred warmth indu'd;
As to thy praise I tune the conscious lyre,
I ask whence draws my breast the noble fire?
Tell what inspires me, happy people tell?
Beneath my Fred'rick's orient sway who dwell:
From rapid Rhine to silver-streaming Meine,
The peaceful subjects of his placid reign?
Or ye on Prussia's amber yielding shore,
Who bless his name, and hail his guardian power!
Yes ... let consenting lands his virtues raise,
And fame with all her tongues repeat his praise!
Whose scepter shall Astrea's rule restore,
And bid dejected MERIT [38] sigh no more.
As once directed by the voice of fame
To wisdom's King the southern princess came;
At Frederick's call ... see ravish'd to obey,
The sons of learning take their chearful way;
To hear that sense which still attention draws;
And bless that goodness which directs his laws;
Close by his throne Philosophy shall smile,
To view her prince approve her children's toil!
While Science joys to see his kind regards
Inspire the muse, his bounty still rewards;
Not distant far, calm Charity shall stand,
Stretching to Piety her social hand:
Justice shall banish arbitrary might,
And Commerce chearful Plenty shall invite:
But Goodness chief ... in form angelic drest,
(Such as she lives in Frederick's royal breast!)
Beneath her wings shall bid the worthy find
A shelter from the storms that vex mankind;
The friend of truth, by fraud or malice hurl'd
Through all the mazes of a faithless world.
Whom envy persecutes and bigots hate,
Shall here enjoy an undisturb'd retreat;
With HIM, who scorns the empty pride or blood,
But shares his grandeur with the wise and good!
What tho' his prudence guards the chance of war,
His mildness eyes the mischief from afar!
What tho' his arms might Cæsar's laurels find,
The peaceful olive suits his greater mind:
Yet safe in all events the storm he views,
In peace or war ... the darling of the Muse!
In either state, alike insur'd success,
Since all his aim is to defend and bless!
Yet while impending clouds their darkness spread,
He arms for war ... but arms without a dread!
No giant forms[39] compose a vain parade,
No glittering figures of the warrior-trade:
Valour he courts without the pomp of art,
And rises on the service of the heart:
He boasts it all his glory to be just
(A pride beyond the title of August!)
Which time secures, the most impartial friend,
And guards his name till nature fells her end!
So when beneath the curs'd Cæsarian race
Rome felt the horrors of her first disgrace;
Great Trajan rose with every virtue blest,
To give the weary world the sweets of rest:
No blood, no conquest mark'd his spotless reign,
'Twas goodness form'd th' inviolable chain;
E'en India's Kings receiv'd the willing yoke,
For goodness is a band no savage broke!
Not Salem's walls defil'd with wilful blood,
A crime, her victor's clemency withstood:
Not all her honours levell'd with the dust,
Styl'd Titus good, or merciful, or just:
Love knit the charm on which his greatness rose,
A charm! not worlds united can oppose!
Behold the glorious pattern marks your rise!
Nor quit the steps by which he gain'd the skies:
Try to surpass! (but heav'n his fate refuse!)
He wept a day! ... which YOU will never lose!