The prompting Seraph, and the Poet's Lyre, Still fing the GOD OF SEASONS, as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling Theme, Whether the Bloffom blows, the Summer-Ray Ruffets the Plain, infpiring Autumn gleams; Or Winter rises in the blackening East;
Be my Tongue mute, may Fancy paint no more, And, dead to Joy, forget my Heart to beat!
SHOULD Fate command me to the farthest Verge Of the green Earth, to diftant barbarous Climes, Rivers unknown to Song, where first the Sun Gilds Indian Mountains, or his setting Beam Flames on th' Atlantic Isles; 'tis nought to me: Since GOD is ever prefent, ever felt, In the void Wafte as in the City full; And where HE vital fpreads there must be Joy. When even at laft the folemn Hour fhall come, And wing my myftic Flight to future Worlds, I chearfull will obey, There, with new Powers, Will rifing Wonders fing: I cannot go Where UNIVERSAL Love not smiles around, Suftaining all yon Orbs and all their Sons, From feeming Evil ftill educing Good, And Better thence again, and Better still, In infinite Progreffion - But I lofe Myfelf in HIM, in LIGHT INEFFABLE! Come then, expreífive Silence, mufe His Praise.
B. II. S. 321 ff. haben wir in ihm einen der schäßbars ften didaktischen Dichter kennen lernen; aber auch in der lys rischen Gattung zeichnet er sich sehr vortheilhaft aus. Dr. Johnson, der ihm dieß Verdienst im Allgemeinen zugesteht,' tadelt zwar an seinen Oden den Mangel an Stärke, Natur und Neuheit; die Sprache derselben scheint ihm zuweilen hart und ungefällig zu seyn; den Strophenbau erklärt er für übel geordnet und unangenehm, die Reime für mißklingend, ungeschickt vertheilt und zu weit von einander entfernt; und ganz sind sie schwerlich von diesem Tadel frei zu sprechen. Auch selbst in folgendem, an Schönheiten gewiß nicht armen, Gedichte ist dieß zuweilen der Fall; es gehört überhaupt wohl mehr zur beschreibenden als lyrischen Gattung; und ich würde die hymne an die Najaden in deffen Stelle gewählt haben, wenn mich ihre Länge nicht anders bestimmt hätte.
How thick the fhades of ev'ning clofe! How pale the fky with weight of fnows! Hafte, light the tapers, urge the fire, And bid the joyless day retire!
Alas! in vain I try within
To brighten the dejected scene;
While rous'd by grief these fiery pains
Tear the frail texture of
While Winter's voice that storms around, And yon' deep dead-bell's groaning found, Renew my mind's oppreffive gloom
Till ftarting Horrour 1hakes the room.
Is there in Nature no kind pow'r To footh Affliction's lonely hour? To blunt the edge of dire disease, And teach thefe wintry fhades to please?
Akenside. Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant Fair, Shine thro' the hov'ring, cloud of care; O fweet of language, mild of mien! O Virtue's friend, and Pleasure's queen! Affuage the flames that burn my breast, Compole my jarring thoughts to reft, And while thy gracious gifts I feel, My long fhall all thy praife reveal.
As once (it was in Aftrea's reign) The vernal pow'rs renew'd their train, It happen'd that immortal Love Was ranging thro' the spheres above, And downward hither caft his eye' The year's returning pomp to fpy. He faw the radiant god of Day Waft in his car the roly May; The fragrant Airs and genial Hours Were fhedding round him dews and flow'rs; Before his wheels Aurora past,
And Hefper's golden lamp was last: But fairest of the blooming throng When Health majestick mov'd along, Delighted to furvey below
The joys which from her prefence flow, While earth enliven'd hears her voice, And fwains, and flocks, and fields rejoice, Then mighty Love her charms confeft, And foon his vows inclin'd her breast, And known from that aufpicious morn The pleating Cheerfulness was born.
Thou, Cheerfulness! by Heav'n defign'd To fway the movements of the mind, Whatever fretful paffion fprings, Whatever wayward fortune brings To difarrange the pow'r within, And ftrain the mufical machine, Thou, Goddefs! thy attemp'ring hand Doth each difcording ftring command,
Refines the foft, and fwells the strong, And joining Nature's gen'ral fong Thro' many a various tone unfolds The harmony of human fouls.
Fair Guardian of domeftick life! Kind Banif her of homebred ftrife! Nor fullen lip, nor taunting eye -Deforms the fcene, where thou art by; No fick'ning husband damns the hour Which bound his joys' to female pow'r; No pining mother weeps the cares Which parents waste on thankless heirs; Th' officious daughters pleas'd attend, The brother adds the name of friend: By thee with flow'rs their board is crown'd, With fongs from thee their walks refound, And morn with welcome luftre fhines, And ev❜ning unperceiv'd declines.
Is there a youth whofe anxious heart Labours with love's unpity'd fmart? Tho' now he stray by rills and bow'rs, And weeping wafte the lonely hours, Or if the nymph her audience deign Debate the ftory of his pain
With flavish looks, difcolour'd eyes, And accents falt'ring into fighs, Yet thou, aufpicious Pow'r! with ease Canft yield him happier arts to please, Inform his mien with manlier charms, Inftruct his tongue with noble arms, With more commanding paffion move," And teach the dignity of love.
Friend to the Mufe and all her train! For thee I court the Muse again; The Mufe for thee may well exert Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art, Who owes to thee that pleafing fway,
Atenside., Which earth and peopled heav'n obey. Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue
Repeat what later bards have fung; But thine was Homer's ancient might, And thine victorious Pindar's flight; Thy hand each Lesbian wreath attir'd, Thy lips Sicilian reeds infpir'd; Thy fpirit lent the glad perfume Whence yet the flow'rs of Teos bloom, Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale Delicious blows th' enliv'ning gale, While Horace calls thy fportive choir, Heroes and Nymphs, around his lyre.
But fee, where yonder penfive fage (A prey perhaps to Fortune's rage, Perhaps by tender griefs oppreft, Or glooms congenial to his breast,) Retires in defert fcenes to dwell, And bids the joyless world farewell: Alone he treads th' autumnal fhade, Alone beneath the mountain laid, He fees the nighty damps afcend, And gath'ring ftorms aloft impend, He hears the neighb'ring furges roll, And raging thunders fhake the pole, Then ftruck by ev'ry object round, And stunn'd by ev'ry horrid found, He afks a clue for Nature's ways, But evil haunts him thro' the maze; He fees ten thousand demons rife, To wield the empire of the fkies, And Chance and Fate affume the rod, Ane Malice blot the throne of God.
O thou! whofe pleafing pow'r I fing, Thy lenient influence hither bring, Compofe the ftorm, difpel the gloom, Till Nature wear her wonted bloom, Till fields and fhades their fweets exhale, And mufick (well each op'ning gale;
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