_Port Folio_, V-120, Apr. 20, 1805, Phila.
_Phila. Repos._, V-164, May 25, 1805, Phila.
[Also in _Amer. Museum_, I-474, May 1787, Phila.]
PRAYER OF FREDERICK II IN BEHALF OF POETS.
Ye Gods! from whom each favour'd bard Receives those talents verse requires, O teach them truth! for sure 'tis hard They should be all such wicked liars.
_Boston Mag._, I-12, Nov. 9, 1805, Boston.
The sun-beams streak the azure skies, And line with light the mountain's brow; With hounds and horns the hunters rise, And chase the roebuck through the snow.
From rock to rock, with giant-bound, High on their iron poles they pass; Mute, lest the air, convuls'd by sound, Rend from above a frozen mass.
The goats wind slow their wonted way, Up craggy steeps and ridges rude; Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey, From desert cave or hanging wood.
And while the torrent thunders loud, And as the echoing cliffs reply, The huts peep o'er the morning cloud, Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.
_Evening Fireside_, II-74, Feb. 8, 1806, Phila.
In the following exquisite Parody, the sentiments are not less admirable than the talents of the author. We have often expressed our contempt for German plays, and we are happy to fortify our opinion of the Teutonic Muse, with the wit of a man of genius, and a polite scholar.
ODE TO THE GERMAN DRAMA, By Mr. SEWARD. A Parody of Gray's Ode to Adversity.
Daughter of night, chaotic Queen! Thou fruitful source of modern lays, Whose turbid plot, and tedious scene, The monarch spurn, the robber raise. Bound in thy necromantic spell The audience taste the joys of hell, And Briton's sons indignant grown With pangs unfelt before, at crimes before unknown.
When first, to make the nation stare, Folly her painted mask display'd, Schiller sublimely mad was there, And Kotz'bue lent his leaden aid. Gigantic pair! their lofty soul Disdaining reason's weak control, On changeful Britain sped the blow, Who, thoughtless of her own, embraced fictitious woe.
Aw'd by thy scowl tremendous, fly Fair Comedy's theatric brood, Light satire, wit, and harmless joy, And leave us dungeons, chains and blood. Swift they disperse, and with them go, Mild Otway, sentimental Rowe; Congreve averts the indignant eye, And Shakespeare mourns to view the exotic prodigy.