Pope.

Pope.

We:

Auch er schrieb sein schönes mahlerisches Gedicht, Windsor-Foreft, in seiner Jugend; und überhaupt ist wohl, wie Dr. Warton bemerkt, Beschreibung der äußern Naturs schönheiten gewöhnlich der erste Versuch des jungen Dichters, ehe er Sitten und Leidenschaften fludirt hat. Eben dieser geschmackvolle Kunstrichter beurtheilt im zweiten Abschnitte seines trefflichen Versuchs über Pope's Genie den Werth dieses Gedichts umständlich, und hält es nicht für eiz ne der glücklichsten Arbeiten dieses Dichters, dessen glänzend stes Talent die beschreibende Poesie gewiß nicht war. nige von den hier vorkommenden Bildern find dem Gegenz ftande so eigenthümlich, daß sie nicht eben so irgendwo ans ders stehen könnten. Auch ist es mehr eine Schilderung ländlicher Schönheiten überhaupt, als derer, die dem Gehölz ze bey Windsor eigen sind. Eine der schönsten Stellen ist die folgende, worin die Erzählung vor Lodona's Verwands lung, in ovidischer Manier, wo nicht glücklich angebracht, doch sehr einnehmend erzählt, und die Schilderung eines tus gendhaften und weisen Mannes, der in gelehrter Eingezos genheit lebt, meisterhaft ausgeführt ift.

Now, Cancer glows with Phoebus fiery car!
The youth rufh eager to the fylvan war,
Swarm o'er the lands, the foreft walks furround,
Roufe the fleet hart, and cheer the op'ning hound.
Th' impatient courfer pants in ev'ry vein,
And pawing, feems to beat the distant plain :
Hills, vales, and floods, appear already croft,
And ere he starts, a thousand steps are loft.
See the bold youth ftrain up the threat'ning steep
Ruth through the thickets, down the valleys sweep,

Hang

pope. Hang o'er their courfers heads with eager fpeed, And earth rolls back beneath the flying fteed. Let old Arcadia boaft her ample plain,

Th' immortal huntrefs, and her virgin-train;
Nor envy, Windfor! Since thy fhades have feën
As bright a goddefs, and as chaste a QUEEN;
Whofe care, like hers, protects the fylvan reign,
The earth's fair light, and emprefs of the main,
Here too, 'tis fung, of old Diana stray'd
And Cynthus' top forfook for Windfor fhade;
Here was fhe feen o'er airy waftes to rove
Seek the clear fpring, or haunt the pathlefs grove;
Here arm'd with filver bows, in early dawn
Her bufkin'd virgins trac'd the wy lawn.

Above the reft a rural nymph was fam'd
Thy offfpring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd;
(Lodona's fate, in long oblivion cast,

The Muse shall fing, and what fhe fings fhall laft)
Scarce could theigoddess from her nymph be known,
But by the crefcent and the golden Zone;
She fcorn'd the praise of beauty, and the care;
A belt her waift, a fillet binds her hair;
A painted quiver on her fhoulder founds,
And with her dart the flying deer She wounds.
It chanc'd, as, eager of the chace, the maid
Beyond the foreft's verdant limits ftray'd
Pan faw and lov'd, and burning with defire
Purfu'd her flight, her flight increas'd his fire
Not half fo fwift the trembling doves can fly
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid fky;
Not halt fo fwiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling do-

ves;

As from the god fhe flew with furious pace,
Or as the god, more furious, urg'd the chace.
Now fainting, finking, pale, the nymph appears;
Now close behind, his founding fteps fhe hears;
And now his fhadow reach'd her as fhe run,
His fhadow lengthen'd by the fetting fun;

And

And now his shorter breath, with fultry air,
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on father Thames fhe calls for aid,
Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid,

Faint, breathless, thus fhe pray'd, nor pray'd in vain : ,,Ah, Cyntia! ah-though banif'h'd from thy train

Let me, o let me, to the fhades repair

"My native fhades-there weep, and murmur there!
She faid, and melting as in tears fhe lay
In a foft, filver Stream diffolv'd away,
The filver Stream her virgin coldnefs keeps,'
For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps;
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore.
And bathes the foreft where fhe rang'd before.
In her chafte current oft the goddess laves,
And with celeftial tears augments the waves.
Oft in her glass the mufing fhepherd spies
The headlong mountains and the downward fkies,
The wat'ry landscape of the pendent woods
And absent trees that tremble in the floods;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are feen
And floating foreft paint the waves with green.
Through the fair fcene roll flow the ling'ring ftreams,
Then foaming pour along, and rufh into the Thames.

Thou too, great father of the British floods,
With joyful pride furvey'ft our lofty woods
Where tow'ring oaks their growing honours rear
And future navies on thy fhores appear.
Not Neptune's felf from all her ftreams receives
A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives.
No feas fo rich, fo gay no banks appear,
No lake fo gentle, and no spring so clear,
Nor Po fo fwells the fabling poet's lays,
While led along the fkies his current strays
As thine, which vifits Windfor's fam'd abodes
To grace the manfion of our earthly gods:
Nor all his ftars above a luftre show
Like the bright beauties on thy blanks below.
Where Jove, fubdu'd by mortal paffion still
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.

Pope.

Happy

Happy the man, whom this bright court approves
His fov'reign favours, and his country loves!
Happy next him, who to these fhades retires,
Whom Nature charms, and whom the Mule inspires;
Whom humbler joys of home, felt quiet please
Succeffive ftudy, exercise, and ease.

He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields:
With chemic art exalts the min'ral pow'rs
And draws the aromatic fouls of flow'rs:
Now marks the courfe of rolling orbs on high
O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his
eye

Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store,
Confults the dead, and lives paft ages o'er.
Or wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
T'observe a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow nature, and regard his end;
Or looks on heaven with more than mortal eyes,
Bids his free foul exfpatiate in the fkies,
Amid her kindred stars familiar roam,
Survey the region, and confefs her home.
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd
Thus Atticus, and TRUMBULL thus retir'd

Dyer.

Dyer.

Dyer.

Schon oben haben wir ihn, aus seinem Gedichte, The Fleece, als Lehrdichter kennen lernen; noch höher aber ift der Rang, den er sich in der beschreibenden Poesie durch seine beiden, hier mitgetheilten Gedichte, Grongar - Hill, und The Ruins of Rome, erworben hat. Jenes ift sein schönstes Gedicht, reich an reizenden Scenen und Bildern, und voll von meisterhaft eingewebten, überaus treffenden kleinen Bez trachtungen, worin ihm, nach Warton's Urtheil, felbft Denham, dem er nachahmte, nicht überlegen ist. Auch die Nachahmung Milton's wird man hier leicht gewahr. Dyer war Mahler, und that, zur Ausbildung seiner Kunst, eine Reise nach Italien. Nach seiner Rückkehr schrieb er das zweite Gedicht, Rom's Ruinen, welches gleichfalls sehr schöne und wahrhaft poetische Stellen hat, worunter sich Die:

The hermit oft, 'midst his orisons, hears

Aghaft, the voice of Time difparting towers; durch ihre nachdruckvolle Stärke vorzüglich auszeichnet.

GRONGAR HILL.

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