66 moorings snugly enough alongside a big whiskered sort of chap that was sitting at a table drinking wine. Well, Sir, the man was mighty plite in his way, and so we soon got into grapplings together and began to talk about the war and the navy and what not-[keep a bright lookout ahead, boy, will you, and don't stand staring at me like a Jew or a bum-bailiff on payday] and all went off mighty well, Sir, till I chanced to call old Boney a scoundrel --and so I'll call him again, the hooknosed lubber, to the face of the best Frenchman among them. Well, Sir, no sooner is the word out of my mouth than the chap ups, and swears, and asks me what I said so I told him my mind very plain once more, and then he swore I must fight him. O, if its fighting you're after, my hearty, says I, getting up, here's at you, says I" but lave him alone, Sir; the divil a bit of him 'd come to the scratch at all at all-[ram a cartridge into the musket, boy, and make yourself useful; why you stare at me as if you had never seen a gentleman atween the eyes afore.] With that, Sir, up comes three or four other chaps, and tells me that Frenchmen never fought wid their he fists--divil mend them, Sir, because they can't and they appointed me to meet them here this morning, to fight in their own fashion with swords and fire-arms; and so as I like the play, Sir, well enough, here I am, and by St. Patrick, I'll give them a blaze for it." Very right, Denis," said Strang"but what do you mean to do ab with so many weapons?" rge! way; "Troth, now, Sir," said Denis, "I thought your honour was better up to all the outs and ins of an action than to ask sich a question; it isn't at every fight since the French war I've been, without larnin something of the trade, let me tell ye. With this musket here you see, Sir, I intend to open the action; the gunner says it has a capital long range of its own. [Keep a sharp look-out, you little spalpeen, will ye, and see if they're heaving in sight yet."] "Then,' said Strangway, "I suppose you'll use the musket for a long er shot?" "Troth and you're right, there,” said Denis; "though it isn't into them I'll fire at a long range, only across their bows, to bring them to, according to the rule of the service. Then you see, Sir, I've a pike and cutlass here for boarding, and pistols for yard-arm and yardarm. The cowardly big whiskered rascal talked of bringing a second, he may bring a third and a fourth too, and be d-d to him, it's Denis O'Grady is a match for them all. So," he continued, handling his musket, "I must now go and see the decks cleared for action." He and the boy stepped in accordingly behind the brushwood, and my companion and myself took up our ground, so as to overlook their operations; perfectly certain that Denis would conduct the action according to rule, and not fire into them, as he called it, until they showed fight. He ensconced himself in an excellent position behind some bushes of myrtle and Indian fig, and sent the boy to look out ahead. Presently the little fellow came running up to him, and announced that two strangers were approaching from the town, but that they were still a long way off at the other end of the plain. ; "All's right," said Denis, putting the musket to his shoulder 66 I see them. Now stand clear, boy, and hand along fresh cartridges cleverly. I'll give them a blaze in quick sticksnothing like a long range; stand clear!” Crack went the musket, and down went another cartridge; away Denis blazed it again, and again it was loaded, with an expedition that might have done credit to a member of the rifle corps. Denis knelt behind a thick bush of myrtle, and the boy kept close behind him in the same attitude, handing out the cartridges from the old hat which lay on the ground before him. Away blazed Denis, shot after shot, as fast as he could handle his musket, till at last the enemy, as he called them, hearing repeated reports, and an occasional whizzing through the air over their heads, stopped and looked about them, as if to ascertain the cause of the tur men stood, sending the sand and dust flying up into the air. "Another cartridge, you little spalpeen!" cried Denis, perceiving that his antagonists were now moving rapidly towards his place of ambuscade, to which they were directed by the smoke: "they're coming to at last; though I can't think why they don't open their fire, unless, indeed, they are saving it up for a broadside at close quarters. D- -n them for unmannerly rascals, however, say I; they might, at least, have had the discretion to answer my salute. Never mind, I'll give them another blaze over their bows ;" and crack again went the musket, sending the ball whizzing over the Frenchmen's heads. They were now within about sixty yards of the spot where Denis lay, and began to wave a white handkerchief in the air, and call out something which we could not distinctly hear. Denis had just completed another charge when the boy told him they were calling out parley. Parley! the cowardly rascals !" replied Denis ; "no, no; it wasn't for parley I came here; I came here to fight. Stand clear: I'll give them a blaze through their rigging, the spalpeens, and see if they wont show their colours;" and crack once more went the musket, whizz once more went the ball. The Frenchmen, finding that their application for an armistice was totally disregarded, stood still for a moment, apparently uncertain what course to pursue; but when the last shot whizzed past their ears, they began to be alarmed for their personal safety, and, turning sharp round, they both ran off with all the speed they could. Ay, I thought as much," cried Denis, sending another shot after them. Quick, boy, handle your tomahawk : we'll give them chase;" and, jumping out from their ambuscade, they both hurried along the plain in pursuit, Denis brandishing his boarding-pike in his hand. The Frenchmen, however, had the greater speed, and gained rapidly ahead. pistol, boy; we'll give the rascals a broadside." The boy accordingly took one of the pistols, Denis holding the other in his left hand, with the musket in his right, and crack went the whole three at once. Just as they fired, the Frenchmen disappeared into one of the alleys that conducted to the town, and were seen no more. "Now, boy," said Denis, striking the butt of his musket on the ground, and looking very grave and philosophical, "that's what I call a cleverly won fight, and it will be a lesson to you, my lad, how to conduct yourself in similar cir cumstances. Now put up your gear; let us give three cheers for victory, and then for the boat." Before Strangway or I could address them, they had gathered up what remained of their ammunition, and were hurrying down the beach, waving their hats and hurraing at the top of their lungs. In the forenoon the French officer and his second went on board the Emerald, and made a formal complaint to the captain of the ungentlemanly treatment they had met with from one of his officers. It was, however, explained to them who their antagonist was, and that no officer could with propriety meet a person of his station in the field. The whole affair, the captain said, could only be looked on as a good joke; and, to do them justice, the Frenchmen themselves joined heartily in the laugh which it created. After being treated to a hearty luncheon, they left the ship, apparently quite satisfied, singing, as they pulled ashore, the famous French couplets Quoique leurs chapeaux sont bien laids, Qui font tant d'honneur à l'Angleterre ! As for Denis O'Grady, he escaped with a severe reprimand from the captain, in the first place, for so far forgetting himself as to speak uncivilly to an officer and a gentleman, and, in the second place, for having wasted so great a quantity of the King's stores in such an unnecessary manner. JA ANTHOLOGIA GERMANICA.-No. III. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND METRICAL TALES. WAS KLOPSTOCK imbued with the true spirit of Poetry? To enable us to become satisfied on this point it would be requisite that we should possess an unclouded conception of what it is that properly constitutes Poetry. Unfortunately there is little probability that we shall ever acquire such a conception. That Poetry is, in some sort, an object of perception to the understand ing, as a species of composition distinct from and superior to Prose, is admitted by all. But that there are certain characteristics by which the recognition of it is rendered an easy matter to the uninitiated, we are compelled by the voice of universal testimony very strongly to doubt. Voltaire observes that Quand des hommes éclairés disputent long-tems sur une chose il y a grand apparence que cette chose n'est pas claire; and if we find that inquiries into the nature of Poetry have effected little besides bringing into collision a greater variety of discordant opinions than could be elicited by the analysis of any other subject within the range of literary discussion-if we find that, like the spirit it emanates from, Poetry would appear to make itself comprehended rather through its operation than in its essence, we may infer that it is idle to appeal for an explanation of the mystery that envelopes it to any tribunal but that of individual experience. Perhaps, therefore, the utmost that can be unhesitatingly advanced is, that whenever, either in creating or criticising a poem, belief and feeling are at issue with abstract deduction, the judgment will incur less hazard in suffering itself to be biassed rather by the former than by the latter, and that poetical genius will make its most successful appeals to the sympathies of mankind, when, taking counsel of none, it confides in its own impulses, and assumes license to follow those alone fearlessly and at large. Whether KLOPSTOCK acted thus or acted otherwise, the age has not yet decided, and may not immediately decide; but we apprehend that if the decision were pronounced tomorrow, it would not be found to furnish such a justifica tion of his pretensions to poetical eminence as his reputation at home and abroad might at first appear to warrant. It is beside our purpose to enquire whether KLOPSTOCK be or be not entitled to the merit of having constructed an Epic. We will grant that he is, though we are far from being satisfied that we could not adduce arguments that should establish the contrary. Aristotle tells us that in framing an Epic we must in no iota deviate from the principle upon which the Iliad is modelled. Castelvetro, howeverno insignificant authority in his era asserts that if the details of the Trojan war be matter for the historian, the Iliad cannot be regarded as an Epic, for that the essence of the Epic is pure Fable, unadulterated with the slightest admixture of fact. Again, Tasso-on what grounds we forget-insists that the Epopee is at once destroyed by the introduction of the gods; so that, according to this great poet, the ancients had not a single Epic at all to boast of! The settlement of such a controversy is not a very important desideratum. It is sufficient for us to perceive that the Messiah of KLOPSTOCK is a poem not particularly distinguished for either power or brilliancy. We need only read it to become convinced that the author-though his exertions contributed to the breaking asunder of those contemptible strawbands, the twist-and-plait-work of GOTTSCHED and Co., which for years had fettered the rebellious intellect of his country--had not energy enough, was not gifted with audacity enough, to prosecute a higher triumph, and assert for himself such an originality as could alone qualify him to rank among the Masters of the Lyre. But though we cannot, because of his Messiah, allow him to enter the same temple with Milton, Camöens, Dante, Goethe, and Byron--all explorers of realms new and strange in the world of Song, which have since recognised them as sovereigns-we should, on the other hand, be loth to condemn him to the common dust and obscurity wherein today lic sepulchred quently felicitous. With all their defects of repetition and redundancy, they are compositions to be proud of; and we would venture to predict that whatever, after the lapse of ages, shall remain unimpaired and undimmed of the celebrity of KLOPSTOCK, will be found to have been based upon the excellence of his Odes alone. Two of those Odes we shall now select for translation. As the first Ode cannot well be understood by one unacquainted with the circumstance it is founded on, we request the reader's attention to our explanatory introduction. [One night in 1748 KLOPSTOCK was seated alone in his room in the University of Leipsic. He was deeply immersed in meditation on the Past and the Future. Suddenly a thought isolated and dreary in its character, appears to have taken possession of his mind. He fancied that some unknown individual had been reft by death of his nearest and dearest, of all his friends and his beloved, and so stood alone in the world. Involuntarily his imagination called up and marshalled before him the Appearances of the Departed. They came, a shrouded and shadowy groupe, and surrounded the Living Man; and then it was that the poet, as he earnestly contemplated them, found that he had suffered a forfeiture of his proper identity; for he himself was now that other Man, and the Appearances he gazed on wore the forms and lineaments of his own literary friends. The vision lasted but a brief while, and when the spell was broken KLOPSTOCK started as from a dream; but so vivid was the impression that remained with him that he ever afterwards regarded what he had seen as a kind of pictorial revelation, a prophetical figure-history of his own destiny. We are to fancy him over a flask of wine with his fellow-student Johann Arnold Ebert. With every glass their gaiety grows wilder and wilder. Suddenly KLOPSTOCK covers his face with his hands: the recollection of his vision has intervened, and brings with it gloom and anguish.] now TO EBERT. (1748.) Ebert, Ebert, my friend! Here over the darkbright wine In vain thou shewest me where the chaliceglasses shine, O, tears! in pity Nature blent you with human clay, For were your fountain uplocked, and you forbidden to flow, O, Ebert! if all have perished, and under shroud and pall If thou and I be the lone and withered survivors of all ? Glazes not horror thine eye? Glares it not blank without soul? When first this harrowing phantom over the purple bowl Sudden as when a wanderer, hastening home to the faces To his blooming offspring and spouse, whom already in thought he embraces, By the tempest-bolt is felled to the earth, Deathstricken, so that his bones are blasted to blackest ashes, The while in triumph is heard to roll The booming thunder though Heaven, so suddenly flashed, so flashes Deadening the might of mine arm and darkening the light of mine eyes O! in the depths of the Night I saw the Death-Pageant arise! When gentle GISEKE's eye no longer its lustre shall wear; Shall moulder in dust; when the words that GÆRTNER and RABNER have spoken When every sweetlysounding chord shall be ruefully broken In the noble GELLERT'S harmonious existence; When his early companions of pleasure young ROTHE, the social and bright, Shall meet on the charnel-chamber-floor, And when from a longer exile* ingenious SCHLEGEL shall write To the cherished friends of his youth no more; When for SCHMIDT, the beloved and evanished, these weariful eyes shall weep When HAGEDORN at last in our Father's bosom shall sleep; What but Woe-consecrated, whom here a dreary doom If then one of us should die (Behold how my thought of gloom If then, of us, one should die, and ONE alone should survive— If she, the unknown Beloved, with whom I am destined to wive, If I be the Only, the Lonely, the earth's companionless One, For friendship created, shalt thou preserve thy feeling and tone, Or shalt thou, in slumberful stupor, imagine that Daylight is passed, *Schlegel, on quitting college, had gone to Strehla, and there established an academy, from whence he corresponded with his friends, the members of the Poetical Club at Leipzig. This residence of his at Strehla they were playfully wont to designate his exile. By a longer exile Klopstock, of course, means Death. |