My best belov'd, not life itself can prove, Pleasing to me without a sister's love. For me, dear girl, when yester eve we met, Just as the sun had made a golden set, Our parent, resting on our fav'rite hill, Whilst we with fond attention watch'd his will; "How sweet (he cried) on yonder spot to rear, A shady bower to rest in, free from care!" I heard his wish as though I heard it not, Yet kept my thoughts fix'd firmly on the spot, And ere her early beams Aurora sent, My hasty steps toward the hill I bent, And rear'd the bower and to its verdant side, The waving, hazle branches, closely tied; See, sister, see, the work at length is done; Betray me not till I've his blessing won, Till he himself shall thither bend his way; Ah, then, with joy we'll celebrate the day. DAPHNE. How grateful, brother, will be his surprize, When first the distant bower shall greet his eyes! But let me haste and gently o'er their bed, My morning offering of fragrance spread. MYRTIL. When they shall wake amid the fragrant pile, They'll greet each other with a tender smile; And say, this is our Daphne's work, sweet child; Thus has our love the morning hours beguil'd. For our delight, how tender 'tis to keep A studious care whilst we were lock'd in sleep. DAPHNE. Yes, brother, when at his accustomed hour, Opening his casement he shall view thy bower, "Sure (he'll exclaim) I do not see aright, Or on yon hill an arbor greets my sight; Yes, that is Myrtil's work,--for this bereft Of his sweet sleep, his nightly couch he left: Such are the plans, his filial thoughts engage, And thus he soothes our fast declining age." And when with joy we'll greet the morning ray, With joy we'll celebrate the happy day, Each work to-day commenc'd shall prosper well, And peace and joy in every grove shall dwell. P. D. _Port Folio_, I-80, Mar. 7, 1801, Phila. [S. Gessner, _Mirtil und Daphne_.] TRANSLATION FROM THE IDYLS OF GESSNER. Delia! when in your lover's eyes, At your approach soft lustre rise, When with charm'd ear, from thy sweet tongue, He listens to the thrilling song, O'er saddest scenes delights you fling, And winter wears the smile of spring. When o'er the mead with you I stray, More fragrant is the new-mown hay, When gath'ring flow'rets at your side, The buds more vivid swell with pride, And bend, your snowy hand to meet, Or am'rous twine beneath your feet. But when within your arms you press me, When with a long, long kiss you bless me, Ah! then in vain, the fairest flow'rs Exert their balmy-breathing pow'rs; In vain her sweets does Nature bring, In vain she wears the smile of spring.