Long they conversed there, singing the tender effusions of Stolberg, Buerger, and Hagedorn too, and of Claudius, Gleim, and Jacobi: Sang, "O beautiful, wondrous is God's creation," with Hölty, Who could smile upon death; and lamented thy early removal, Sweetest of bards! * All now feasted, reclining at ease, sitting close by each other, Under the wide-spreading beech, with the soft thick moss underneath them. Lower the sun now sunk, on the pendulous foliage pouring Glittering rays; oft forcing the sitters to shift their position. Scarcely a reed even stirred, and the lake was as smooth as a mirror: Ceaseless the grasshoppers chirped, and the gay birds ́ Iwarbled in concert: Bitterns far in the distance, and lapwings; nearer the cuckoo, Blackbirds, thrushes, and finches, and bright yellow hammers and yonder, : Down in the cornfields, landrails craiked; embowered in elm-trees Wood-pigeons cooed, whose note with the blue-winged jay's intermingled. Johann Heinrich Voss. Tr. J. Cochrane. Eylau. THE BATTLE OF EYLAU, FOUGHT in Prussian Poland, between the allied Prussian and Russian armies, against the French, under Napoleon, February, 1807. "Never was a spectacle so dreadful as the field of battle presented on the following morning. Above fifty thousand men lay, in the space of two leagues, weltering in blood. The wounds were, for the most part, of the severest kind, from the extraordinary quantity of cannon-balls which had been discharged during the action, and the close proximity of the contending masses to the deadly batteries, which spread grape at half-musket-shot through the ranks." ALISON'S Europe. NAST and furious falls the snow; FAST Shrilly the bleak tempests blow, With a sound of wailing woe, Where the watch-fires blaze around, Hearken to the cannon-blast! Drums are beating fierce and fast : Form the battle's stern parade, Charge the musket, draw the blade; On they rush in stern career, Hussar-lance and Cossack-spear Now the grenadier of France Davoust, with his line of steel, 'Gainst that crush of iron hail Through the battle's smoky gloom Platoff, with his desert horde, With his thousands, Augereau Paints with blood the virgin snow: Low in war's red overthrow Sleep they on! Helm and breastplate they have lost, Spoils that long shall be the boast Of the savage-bearded host. Charge, Napoleon! Where be those At this hour of deadly need Sad the frosty moonbeam shone Loud the night-wind rang their knell; Hiding in their snowy cell Many a year hath passed and fled Still the Polish peasant shows Where the long grass rankly grows, Darkly green. Isaac Maclellan. Frankfort. ON ENTERING FRANKFORT AFTER A LONG TOUR THROUGH SWITZERLAND. WHAT sense of loneliness comes o'er the soul, W sinking of spirits, The kindly-courteous country, and perceives And where the trees, to touch us, wont to extend James Cochrane. GOETHE'S MONUMENT AT FRANKFORT-ON THE-MAIN, 1821. YOOD German men, maids, matrons, pray give ear! G Collect subscribers with the utmost speed, The worthy folk of Frankfort have agreed To build a monument to Goethe here. 66 "At fair time," think they, this will make it clear To foreign traders that we 're of his breed, That 't was our soil that nurtured such fair seed, |