Attempted from Gessner.
Myrtil.
Whither so early sister, ere the sun,
Has, from behind yon hill, his course begun?
Scarce has the swallow to the morning ray,
Ventur'd to modulate his twittering lay.
The early cock, whom richest plumes adorn
Has yet but faintly hail'd the golden morn;
Whilst thou, to some unknown attraction true,
With hasty footsteps brush the silv'ry dew!
What festival to-day, do you prepare,
For fill'd with flowers, your basket scents the air.
Daphne.
Welcome dear brother, whither points thy way,
Amidst the chilly damps of early day?
On what fair purpose from yon new form'd bower,
Hast thou come forth at twilight's silent hour?
For me—I've pluck'd the violet and the rose,
And sought each flower that round our cottage grows.
Whilst o'er our parents gentle slumbers spread
Their wings, I'll strew them on their peaceful bed;
Then when the sunbeams gild the glowing skies
Midst fragrant scents, they'll ope their aged eyes;
Their hearts shall then with pious joy rebound,
To find the blooming flowers, clust'ring round.
Myrtil.
My best belov'd, not life itself can prove,
Pleasing to me without a sister's love.
For me, dear girl, when yester eve we met,
Just as the sun had made a golden set,
Our parent, resting on our fav'rite hill,
Whilst we with fond attention watch'd his will;
"How sweet (he cried) on yonder spot to rear,
A shady bower to rest in, free from care!"
I heard his wish as though I heard it not,
Yet kept my thoughts fix'd firmly on the spot,
And ere her early beams Aurora sent,
My hasty steps toward the hill I bent,
And rear'd the bower and to its verdant side,
The waving, hazle branches, closely tied;
See, sister, see, the work at length is done;
Betray me not till I've his blessing won,
Till he himself shall thither bend his way;
Ah, then, with joy we'll celebrate the day.
Daphne.
How grateful, brother, will be his surprize,
When first the distant bower shall greet his eyes!
But let me haste and gently o'er their bed,
My morning offering of fragrance spread.
Myrtil.
When they shall wake amid the fragrant pile,
They'll greet each other with a tender smile;
And say, this is our Daphne's work, sweet child;
Thus has our love the morning hours beguil'd.
For our delight, how tender 'tis to keep
A studious care whilst we were lock'd in sleep.
Daphne.
Yes, brother, when at his accustomed hour,
Opening his casement he shall view thy bower,
"Sure (he'll exclaim) I do not see aright,
Or on yon hill an arbor greets my sight;
Yes, that is Myrtil's work,—for this bereft
Of his sweet sleep, his nightly couch he left:
Such are the plans, his filial thoughts engage,
And thus he soothes our fast declining age."
And when with joy we'll greet the morning ray,
With joy we'll celebrate the happy day,
Each work to-day commenc'd shall prosper well,
And peace and joy in every grove shall dwell.
P. D.
Port Folio, I-80, Mar. 7, 1801, Phila.
[S. Gessner, Mirtil und Daphne.]