Welcome, early orb of morn! Welcome, infant day! O'er the wood-top'd mountain borne, Mark its coming ray! Now o'er babbling brooks it beams; Sips from each flower its _dew_; Now with glorious gladdening gleams Wakes the world anew. Zephyrs first, o'er flowers that slumber'd, Quit their couch, and play; Breathe o'er flowers in sighs unnumber'd, Breathe the scent of day. Fancy now her reign gives o'er, Every vision flies; Chloe's cheek is wan no more, Cupids round it rise. Hasten, Zephyr, waft from roses All their loveliest bloom! Haste where Chloe now reposes, Wake her from her tomb! To the fairest's couch repair, Wanton round her pillow; O'er her lip and bosom fair Bathe thy blandest billow! She wakes the whispers to the gale, Wakes from her morning dream; Whilst so the stream, and thro' the vale, I er'st have breathed her name. _Emerald_, n. s., I-562, Sept. 10, 1808, Boston. [S. Gessner, _Morgenlied_.] TRANSLATION OF SHELLER'S "FORGET ME NOT." (From the German.) Belov'd of my bosom, alas my fond heart Does weep for the fate of my heart-rending lot; To range the wide world, now from me you depart, Yet remember me ever, "forget me not." If moving in circles of beauty and love, Perchance to adore some sweet maid, be your lot, O! then may my spirit thy wav'rings reprove, And whisper thee gently, "forget me not." If hap'ly hard fate should you e'er from me sever, How drearily mournful would be my sad lot, In sorrow's dark path I would wander forever, Nor smile more with joy, then "forget me not." If in the fresh bloom of my life's early blossom, To leave you my dear, and this world, be my lot, Thine be the last sigh that escapes from my bosom, Then think how I love you; "O! forget me not." Yet tho' we now part, in the bless'd realms above, We will meet soon again, free from life's woeful lot; We will meet to dear joy, we will meet to sweet love, Then no more need I say "O! forget me not." Z. _Gleaner_, I-325, Mar. 1809, Lancaster (Penn.). TRANSLATION FROM THE GERMAN. Whoever has perused the prophetick metrical compositions of Van Vander Horderclogeth must surely remember the poem on the 3697 fol. of which the following is a translation; it commences thus-- Vrom Grouter gruder grout gropstock, Zordur zoop, &c. All gloomy and sorrowful Beelzebub sat, With his imps and his devils around, When the thundering knocker of Hell's outer grate Rang a peal so terrifick and loud on the gate, That all Erebus echoed the sound.