MISCELLANEOUS. By FERDINAND WALLHIME. THE WISH (in imitation of Matthison). Once more could I wish, ere yet my blest spirit Sunk in Elysium, peaceful mansion of shades! That spot t' revisit, where Infancy In dreams aerial, play'd 'round my brows. The shrub of my country, whose branches o'erspread The cool nest of the patridge, waves gentler my friend, Than all the gay forests of laurel O'er the dust of the world's mighty conq'rors. The streamlet of that mead, where in childhood I cull'd early violets, more musically murmurs 'Midst the alders once rear'd by my sire, Than the silver Blandusian fountain. The hill, on which swains, in bands youthful and gay Danc'd 'round the trunk of the sweet blossom'd poplar, With greater rapture inspir'd my heart, Than Alps dazzling heights in roset glimm'ring. Therefore could I wish, ere yet my blest spirit Sunk in Elysium, peaceful mansion of shades That spot t' revisit, where infancy In dreams aerial, play'd 'round my brows. Then may death's smirking genius, of a sudden, Extinguish life's taper, well pleas'd I'll hasten To Xenophon and Plato's musing shade And to Anacreon's myrtle tufted bow'r. _Lit. Museum, or Mo. Mag._, p. 47, Jan. 1797, West-Chester. [F. Matthisson, _Wunsch an Salis_. "Noch einmal möcht' ich, eh in die Schattenwelt...."] BENEVOLENCE. A FABLE. Imitated from the German of Gellert. O'er Howard's tomb soft Pity weeps, Bewailing still her favourite's fate; And thence the Muse invokes her aid Of kindred merit to relate. Like him to sympathize with woe, Like him to heal the broken mind; And rear Affliction's drooping head, Belinda's generous soul inclin'd. But want of fortune oft, too oft, Her charitable views withstood; For what, alas! avails the will, Without the power of doing good? Her uncle dies and leaves his niece A clear two thousand pounds per ann. "Ah! now," she cries, "I'm blest indeed, "I'll help the poor where'er I can." Scarce had she spoke, when, at her door An old decrepid wretch appears; Bent on his crutch he begs an alms, And moves her pity with his tears. Belinda felt for his distress, She heav'd a sigh and shook her head; Then to this aged son of woe Stretch'd forth a--crust of mouldy bread. _Amer. Universal Mag._, I-28, Jan. 2, 1797, Phila. [C. F. Gellert, _Die Gutthat_.] PRO PATRIA MORI From the German of Bürger.