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.