Heinrich der Vogler. Der Feind ist da! Die Schlacht beginnt! Wohlauf zum Sieg herbey! Es führet uns der beste Wan Im ganzen Vaterland! Heut fühlet er die Krankheit nicht, Heil Heinrich! beit dir, Herd und Mann, Sein Antlitz glüht vor Ghrbegier, Und herrscht den Sieg herbey! Mit Feindesblut bespritzt. Streu furchtbar Strahlen um dich her, Schwert in des Kaisers Hand, Dass alles tödtliche Geschoss Den Weg vorübergeh! Willkommen Tod fürs Vaterland! Schon Blut bedeckt, dann sterben wir Wenn vor uns wird ein ofnes Ferd Weit um uns her, dann siegen wir Dann treten wir mit hohem Schritt Auf Leichnamen daher! Dann jauchzen wir im Siegsgeschrey! Das geht durch Mark und Bein' From the German of Klopstock. HENRY THE FOWLER. THE foe is met! the fight begins! There leads us on the bravest one Though sick, he feels not sick to-day; Our iron ranks, God save the Prince! Bravely he looks, and gives each man Now mayst thou, in that kingly hand, O welcome for our Fatherland Or, when with corpses of the slain The field is cover'd wide, To conquer for our Fatherland Then proudly trampling on the dead, And raise a shout of victory Shall thrill through every vein ! Uns preist, mit frohem Ungestüm, Und spricht zu ihr, Da kommen sie, Die Kriegesgötter her! Sie ftritten in der heiffen Schlacht Uns preist der Freudenthränen voll, Die Mutter, und ihr Kind! Sie drückt den Knaben an ihr Herz Und sieht dem Kaiser nach. Uns folgt ein Kuhm, der ewig bleist, Wenn wir gestorben sind, Gestorben für das Vaterland Den ehrenvollen Tod! Welcome the bridegroom and the bride Right heartily our band! He sees the haughty banners fly, And says to her, "Here come they on, For us they've stoutly fought the field, Welcome the mother and her child And thankful clasps her boy. And when we're dead and gone, our fame Shall everlasting stand, When we have died that glorious deathDeath for our Fatherland! THE PUNS OF THE GREEK TRAGEDIANS. "Just John Littlewit in Bartholomew Fair, who had a conceit in his misery; a miserable conceit.”—Dryden. IT has been so much the fashion of late to defend the Greek Dramatists on those points in which the last age so senselessly attacked them, that I cannot but wonder that one of their most tenable positions should have hitherto wanted a champion to come forward in its defence. Their long and isolated choruses, their somewhat prosy prologues, their meagre and often immoral plots, equally with all their inexpressible graces and proprieties, have been sturdily defended by the critics and editors of the present day against those of the past. There is not a profane argument of Eschylus, an elaborate truism of Sophocles, a metaphysical subtlety of Euripides, commented upon by the Bruncks and Barnes of days gone by, that has not met with a palliator and defender among their successors in the critical chair. To this statement there is but one exception. Whenever the unlucky tragedians have attempted to play upon a word, especially a proper name, their indignant advocates have at once abandoned their cause, and given them over to the tender mercies and profound contempt of their learned predecessors. The heavy artillery of German Latin is allowed for once to open unmolested upon the unfortunate perpetrator of the pun, and "perperam insulse," "væ, nuga!" " ipsa nive frigidius," of the old school, pass without one single word of reply from the moderns. |