ve.

DECISION.
As there is no other means, thou hadst better begin to despise them;
And with aversion, then, do that which thy duty commands.

THE HOMERIDES.

Who is the bard of the Iliad among you? For since he likes puddings,
Heyne begs he'll accept these that from Gottingen come.
"Give them to me! The kings' quarrel I sang!"--
"I, the fight near the vessels!"--"Hand me the puddings!
I sang what upon Ida took place!"
Gently! Don't tear me to pieces! The puddings will not be sufficient;
He by whom they are sent destined them only for one.

G. G.

Each one, when seen by himself, is passably wise and judicious;
When they in corpore are, naught but a blockhead is seen.

THE MORAL POET.

Man is in truth a poor creature,--I know it,--and fain would forget it;
Therefore (how sorry I am!) came I, alas, unto thee!

THE DANAIDES.

Into the sieve we've been pouring for years,--
o'er the stone we've been brooding;
But the stone never warms,--nor does the sieve ever fill.

THE SUBLIME SUBJECT.

'Tis thy Muse's delight to sing God's pity to mortals;
But, that they pitiful are,--is it a matter for song?

THE ARTIFICE.

Wouldst thou give pleasure at once to the children of earth and
the righteous?
Draw the image of lust--adding the devil as well!

IMMORTALITY.

Dreadest thou the aspect of death! Thou wishest to live on forever?
Live in the whole, and when long thou shalt have gone, 'twill remain!

JEREMIADS.

All, both in prose and in verse, in Germany fast is decaying;
Far behind us, alas, lieth the golden age now!
For by philosophers spoiled is our language--our logic by poets,
And no more common sense governs our passage through life.
From the aesthetic, to which she belongs, now virtue is driven,
And into politics forced, where she's a troublesome guest.
Where are we hastening now? If natural, dull we are voted,
And if we put on constraint, then the world calls us absurd.
Oh, thou joyous artlessness 'mongst the poor maidens of Leipzig,
Witty simplicity come,--come, then, to glad us again!
Comedy, oh repeat thy weekly visits so precious,
Sigismund, lover so sweet,--Mascarill, valet jocose!
Tragedy, full of salt and pungency epigrammatic,--
And thou, minuet-step of our old buskin preserved!
Philosophic romance, thou ma