By day, full many a fathom deep Below earth's smiling face; By night, high through the troubled air, They speed their endless chase. In vain to turn his eyes aside He strives with wild affright; So never may those maddening scenes Escape his tortured sight. Still must he see those dogs of hell Close hovering on his track; Still must he see the avenging scourge Uplighted at his back. Now this is the wild baron's hunt; And many a village youth, And many a sportsman (dare they speak) Could vouch the awful truth. For oft benighted midst the wilds The fiendish troop they hear, Now shrieking shrill, now cursing loud, Come thundering through the air. No hand shall stay those dogs of hell Or quench that sea of fire, Till god's own dreadful day of doom Shall bid the world expire! _Rambler's Mag._, I-137, [1809], N. Y. [G. A. Bürger, _Der wilde Jäger_.] III. TRANSLATIONS OF DUTCH, DANISH, NORWEGIAN AND ICELANDIC POETRY, AND ORIGINAL POEMS REFERRING TO THE GERMAN COUNTRIES. We hear from _Annopolis-Royal_ that a play was acted the last Winter for the Entertainment of the Officers and Ladies at that Place and that the following Lines were Part of the Prologue compos'd and spoke on that Occasion. Whilst to relieve a generous Queen's Distress, Whom proud, ambitious Potentates oppress: Our king pursues the most effectual Ways, Sooths some to Peace, and there the Storm allays; And against others, who're more loath to yield, He leads his _Britons_ to the _German_ Field: Where to his Cost th' insulting Foe has found What 'tis with _Britons_ to dispute the Ground: We still enjoying Peace in this cold Clime, With innocent diversions pass our Time, &c. _Amer. Mag. and Hist. Chron._, I-348, Apr. 1744, Boston. WINTER, A POEM. By the same [_i. e._, Annandius]. The twelfth stanza: Thrice happy they! but why my muse, To rural pastimes so profuse? The crouded city surely yields, More joy than ice and snowy fields? Here folks are witty and well dress'd, And blooming beauty is caress'd In ev'ry form art can devise-- } With soothing flattery solemn lies, } And all that nymphs deluded prize } Here fashions reign, and modes prevail, And in twelve moons again grow stale, Thus ever vary, ever change, Yet ever please--a thing most strange! And here each thing is told that's new } What _Loundoun_ or what _Richlieu_ do, } Each secret expedition too-- } And then great FREDERICK'S _noble_ feats, When he th' imperial forces beats. Such themes the lazy hours beguile; There's nothing else that's worth our while. * * * * * _Amer. Mag. and Mo. Chron._, I-238, Feb. 1758, Phila.