_N. E. Quarterly Mag._, No. III-271, Oct.-Dec. 1802, Boston.
ALBERT OF WERDENDORFF. OR, THE MIDNIGHT EMBRACE. A German Romance.
_Port Folio_, IV-334, Oct. 20, 1804, Phila.
[M. G. Lewis, _Tales of Terror_, 1799, Kelso.]
In the midst of the performance of his Lent Oratorio, (1759) of the Messiah, nature exhausted, he dropt his head upon the keys of the organ he was playing upon, and with difficulty raised up again. He recovered his spirits, and went on with the performance until the whole was finished. He was carried home, and died.
To melt the soul, to captivate the ear, (Angels such melody might deign to hear,) To anticipate on earth the joys of heav'n, 'Twas Handel's task: to him that pow'r was giv'n.
Ah, when he late attuned Messiah's praise, With sound celestial, with melodious lays: A last farewell, his languid looks express'd, And thus, methinks, th' enraptur'd crowd addrest.
"Adieu, my dearest friend, and also you, "Joint sons of sacred harmony, adieu! "Apollo whispering, prompts me to retire, "And bids me join the bright seraphic choir:
"Oh! for Elijah's car!" great Handel cry'd: Messiah heard his voice, and Handel died.
_Boston Weekly Mag._, II-208, Oct. 20, 1804, Boston.
WRITTEN IN GERMANY, ON ONE OF THE COLDEST DAYS OF THE CENTURY, BY W. WORDSWORTH.
_Port Folio_, IV-342, Oct. 27, 1804, Phila.
"The Reader must be apprised, that the stoves in North Germany generally have the impression of a galloping horse upon them, this being part of the Brunswick arms."]
A HUMBLE IMITATION OF SOME STANZAS, WRITTEN BY W. WORDSWORTH, IN GERMANY, ON ONE OF THE COLDEST DAYS OF THE CENTURY.
'A fig for your languages, German and Norse, Let me have the song of the _kettle_ And the _tongs_ and the _poker_.'--W. W.
[The poem, which contains no references to Germany, follows.]
_Port Folio_, IV-342, Oct. 27, 1804, Phila.
In scorn of writers, Faustus still doth hold, Nought is now said, but hath been said of old; Well, Faustus, say my wits are gross and dull, If for that word I give thee not a Gull: Thus then I prove thou holdst a false position; I say thou art a man of fair condition, A man true of thy word, tall of thy hands, Of high descent and left good store of lands; Thou with false dice and cards hast never play'd, Corrupted never widow, wife or maid, And, as for swearing, none in all this realm, Doth seldomer in speech curse or blaspheme. In fine, your virtues are so rare and ample, For all our Song thou mayst be made a sample. This, I dare swear, _none ever said before_, This, I may swear, _none ever will say more_.