The traveller will come, he cries, He'll come who saw my beauty rise, And anxiously enquire; Where is the bard and warrior gone, Where is Fingal's illustrious son, Whither does he retire. Then searching o'er the field and mead, He lightly on my tomb shall tread, But me he ne'er shall find: Then I, my friend, like a true knight, My sword shall draw, my prince to right, And ease his troubled mind. And this atchieved, with grief opprest, Could plunge it deep in my own breast, And eager for him bleed: To follow him now half divine, Hero of the Fingalian line, Who by my hand was freed. _Universal Asylum and Columbian Mag._, VI-50, Jan. 1791, Phila. [Goethe, _Die Leiden des jungen Werthers_. Letter dated Oct. 12, 1772.] AMYNTAS. [a]. A Pastoral Fragment. [Prose translation.] _Mass. Mag._, IV-351 June 1792, Boston. [S. Gessner, _Amyntas_. "Bei frühem Morgen kam der arme Amyntas...." Idyllen, Erste Folge.] PASTORAL ECLOGUE. THYRSIS AND CHLOE. [Prose translation.] _Mass. Mag._, V-195, Apr. 1793, Boston. [S. Gessner, _Thyrsis_. _New Idylles By Gessner._ Trans. by W. Hooper, M.D., 1776, London. P. 25, _Thyrsis_.] AMYNTAS. A Pastoral Fragment from Gessner. _N. Y. Mag. or Lit. Repos._, IV-584, Oct 1793, N. Y. [Also in _Mass. Mag._, IV-351, June 1792, Boston.] THE MORNING. BY HALLER. The moon retires--Nature's dark veil no more obscures the air and earth--the twinkling stars disappear and the reviving warmth of the sun awakens all creatures. Already are the heavens adorned with its purple hues and its sparkling sapphires. Aurora, fair harbinger of the day, graciously dispenses smiles; and brightness of the roses which wreath her forehead dissipates the mists of night. The flaming of the world advances from the eastern gate, triumphantly treading on the shining splendours of the milky way; clouds covered with Heaven's rubies, oppose him with their lightning, and a flame of gold spreads itself around the horizon. The roses open to salute the sun with genial dews; and the lilies exhale delicious odours from their sattin'd leaves. The vigilant hind flies to the labour-giving field; he guides with careful pleasure the earth-piercing plough; in the meantime his ears are delighted by the lightsome band of minstrels, which sweeten the air and the woods with their melodious notes. Thus doth benignant Heaven lighten the heavy pressure of toilful industry! O Creator! all that I see are the effects of thy power! thou art the soul of nature and doth actuate every part! the stated periods and glittering appearance of yon orbs, and the unquenched fires of the revolving sun, proceed from thy hands, and boast thy impression!