wing,
My panting heart to happiness may bring;
I, on my native hills, may yet inhale
The purer influence of the ambient gale.

_Observer_, II-95, Aug. 8, 1807, Balto.

[Albrecht von Haller, _Sehnsucht nach dem Vaterlande_.]

Walter Scott, Esq., whose honoured name is now perfectly familiar to
every lover of poetical description, has lately published a ballad
which we are solicitous to preserve in this paper. The gayety of the
beginning, contrasted with the solemnity of the conclusion of this
terrifick ballad cannot fail to strike all who relish The Castle of
Otranto, or The Romance of the Forest.

FREDERICK AND ALICE.

This tale is imitated rather than translated from a fragment
introduced in Goethe's "Claudina von Villa Bella," where it is sung by
a member of a gang of banditti to engage the attention of the family,
while his companions break into the castle. It owes any little merit
it may possess to my friend Mr. Lewis, to whom it was sent in an
extremely rude state; and who, after some material improvement,
published it in his "Tales of Wonder."

[The poem follows.]

_Port Folio_, IV-134, Aug. 29, 1807, Phila.

[Goethe, _Claudine von Villa Bella_, Act II. Song by "Rugantino"
(Karlos von Castellvecchio).

M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Wonder_.]

THE LASS OF FAIR WONE.
From the German of Buerger.

_Charms of Lit._, p. 103, 1808, Trenton.

[Also in _Phila. Minerva_, II, Dec. 17, 1796, Phila.]

THE WOODEN LEG. [b].
A Swiss Idyll.
By GESSNER.

[Prose translation.]

_Charms of Lit._, p. 401, 1808, Trenton.

[S. Gessner, _Das hoelzerne Bein_.]

FROM THE GERMAN OF GESNER.

Hail, Morning, to thy rising beam
That gilds with light the mountain's brow,
And shines and glitters in the stream
That winds along the vale below!

Joy, and health, and glad delight
Await thy steps, thy march pursue;
The Zephyr now that slept the night
In flowers that weep beneath the dew,

His plumes with new-born vigour tries,
And lifts him from his balmy bed;
And dreams that round the wearied eyes
Of mortals hover'd, now are fled.

Haste, ye Gales, and thro' the air
Waft the sweets from every flower,
And wave your wings around my Fair,
What slumbers