APPENDIX. FROM A YOUNG LADY. She had lost her silver thimble, and her complaint being accidentally overheard by him, her friend, he immediately sent her four others to take her choice of. As oft mine eye with careless glance Such things, I thought, one might not hope to meet But now (by proof I know it well) And you, dear Sir! the arch-magician. You much perplex'd me by the various set, Silver figures seem to swim, Like fleece-white clouds, that on the skiey Blue, Or Ocean Nymphs, with limbs of snowy hue, Th' inventive Gods, I deem, to Pallas gave Still miss'd the stitch, and stain'd the web with tears. Full fretfully the maiden bore, Till she her lily finger found Crimson'd with many a tiny wound; O Bard! whom sure no common Muse inspires, Those wounds which erst did poor Arachne meet: On War; or else the legendary lays In simplest measures hymn'd to Alla's praise; Of Justice, when the thimble you had sent; cause, 'Tis well your finger-shielding gifts prevent. SARA.* 1796. TRANSLATION OF A PASSAGE IN OTTFRIED'S "This paraphrase, written about the time of Charlemagne, is by no means deficient in occasional passages of considerable poetic merit. There is a flow and a tender enthusiasm in the following lines (at the conclusion of chap. v.), which, even in the translation, will not, I flatter myself, fail to interest the reader. Ottfried is describing the circumstances immediately following the birth of our Lord."-Biog. Lit., vol. i., p. 203. SHE gave with joy her virgin breast; Blessed, blessed were the breasts And blessed, blessed was the mother Singing placed him in her lap, Hung o'er him with her looks of love, There can be little doubt that this jeu d'esprit, notwithstanding its title and signature, was in whole or in part the production of the youthful poet to whom it was addressed. Arachne's thimble is represented as protecting the finger from the point, not the head of the needle. This at least is surely a masculine conception.-D. C. D D And soothed him with a lulling motion: From the damp and chilling air ;- With such a babe in one blest bed, With her virgin lips she kiss'd, In the darkness and the night For us she bore the heavenly Lord. 1810. "Most interesting is it to consider the effect, when the feelings are wrought above the natural pitch by the belief of something mysterious, while all the images are purely natural; then it is that religion and poetry strike deepest."-B. L., vol. i., p. 204. ISRAEL'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES. FROM THE HEBREW OF HYMAN HURWITZ, MOURN, Israel ! sons of Israel, mourn! As wails, of her first love forlorn, Mourn the young mother snatch'd away Mourn the bright rose that bloom'd and went, Mourn for the universal woe, With solemn dirge, and falt'ring tongue; For England's Lady is laid low, So dear, so lovely, and so young! The blossoms on her tree of life Shone with the dews of recent bliss! Translated in that deadly strife She plucks its fruit in Paradise. Mourn for the prince, who rose at morn Mourn for Britannia's hopes decay'd! Chaste love, and fervid innocence ! O Thou! who mark'st the monarch's path, Amid the lightnings of thy wrath |