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A ke n fi de.


B. II. S. 321 ff. haben wir in ihm einen der schakbars ften didaktischen Dichter kennen lernen; aber auch in der lys rischen Gattung zeichnet er sich sehr vortheilhaft aus. Dr. Johnson, der ihm die Verdienst im Allgemeinen zugesteht, tadelt zwar an seinen Oden den Mangel an Stårke; Natur und Neuheit; die Sprache derselben scheint ihm zuweiten hart und ungefällig zu seyn; den Strophenbau erklért er für übel gesrdnet und unangenehm, die Reime får mißklingend, ungeschickt vertheilt und zu weit von einander entfernt; und ganz find sie schwerlich von diesem Tadel frei zil sprechen. Auch selbst in folgendem, an Schšnheiten gewiß nicht armen, Gedichte ist dieß zuweilen der Fall; es gehört überhaupt wohl mehr zur beschreibenden als lyrischen Sattung; und ich würde die Bymne an die Fiajaden in dessen Stelle gew&hlt haben, wenn mich ihre Långe nicht anders bestimmt håtte.


How thiek the shades of ev'ning close!
How pale the sky with weight of snows!
Haste, light the tapers, urge the fire,
And bid the joylels 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 my veins,
While Winter's voice that storms around,
And yon' deep dead-bell's groaning sound,
Renew my mind's oppreflive gloom
Till starting Horrour í hakes the room.

Is there in Nature no kind pow'r
To footh Affliction's lonely hour?
Ta blunt the edge of dire disease,
And teach these wintry shades to please?


Akenfide. Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant Fair,

Shine thro' the hov'ring cloud of care;
o sweet of language, mild of mien !
O Virtue's friend, and Pleasure's queen!
Assuage the flames that burn my breast,
Compote my jarring thoughts to rest,
And while thy gracious gifts I feel,
My long shall all thy praise reveal.

As once (it was in Astrea'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 cast his eye
The year's returning pomp to fpy.
He saw the radiant god of Day
Waft in his car the roly May;
The fragrant Airs and genial Hours
Were shedding round him dews and flow'rs;
Before his wheels Aurora past,
And Hesper's golden lamp was last:
But fairest of the blooming throng
When Health majestick mov'd along,
Delighted to survey below
The joys which from her presence flow,
While earth enliven'd hears her voice,
And swains, and flocks, and fields rejoice,
Then mighty Love her charms confeft,
And soon his vows inclin'd her breast,
And known from that auspicious morn
The pleasing Cheerfulness was born.

Thou, Cheerfulness! by Heav'n design'd
Toʻsway the movements of the mind,
Whatever fretful passion Springs,
Whatever wayward fortune brings
To disarrange the pow'r within,
And strain the musical machine,
Thou, Goddess: thy attemp'ring hand
Doth each discording string command,


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Fair Guardian of domestick life!
Kind Banisher of homebred strife!
Nor sullen lip, nor taunting eye
Deforms the scene, 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 songs from thee their walks resound,
And morn with welcome lustre shines,
And ev’ning unperceiv'd declines.

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Is there a youth whose anxious heart
Labours with love's unpity'd fmart?
Tho' now he stray by rills and bow'rs,
And weeping waste the lonely hours,
Or if the nymph her audience deign
Debate the story of his pain
With flavish looks, discolour'd eyes,
And accents falt’ring into fighs,
Yet thou, auspicious Pow'r! with ease
Carst yield him happier arts to please,
Inform his mien with manlier charms,
Instruct his tongue with noble arms,
With' moie commanding passion move,
And teach the dignity of love.

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Ukenside. , Which earth and peopled heav'n obey.

Let Melancholy's plaintive tongué
Repeat what later bards have fung;
But thine was Homer's ancient might,
And thine victorious Pindar's Aight;
Thy hand each Lesbian wreath attir'd,
Thy lips Sicilian reeds inspir'd;
Thy spirit 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 sportive choir,
Heroes and Nymphs, around his lyre.

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But see, where yonder pensive fage
(A prey perhaps to Fortune's rage,
Perhaps by tender griefs opprest,
Or glooms congenial to his breast)
Retires in desert scenes to dwell,
And bids the joyless world farewell:
Alone he treads th' autumnal shade,
Alone beneath the mountain laid,
He sees the nighty damps afcend,
And gath'ring storms aloft impend,
He hears the neighb'ring furges roll,
And raging thunders shake the pole,
Then struck by, ev'ry object round,
And stunn'd by ev'ry horrid sound,
He asks a clue for Nature's ways,
But evil haunts him thro' the maze;
He sees ten thousand demons rile,
To wield the empire of the skies,
And Chance and Fate assume the rod,
Ane Malice blot the throne of God.

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Then o'er his breast thy foftness pour,
And let him learn the timely hour
To trace the world's benignant laws,
And judge of that Presiding Caufe
Who founds on difcord Beauty's reign,
Converts to pleasure ev'ry pain,
Subdues each hostile form to rest,
And bids the universe be blest.

O thou! whose pleasing pow'r I sing,
If right I touch the votive Itring,
If equal praise I yield thy name,
Still govern thou thy poets flame,
Still with the Mufe my bofom share,
And footh to peace intruding care;
But most exert thy pleasing pow'r
On friendship’s consecrated hour,
And while my Sophron points the road
To godlike Wisdom's calm abode,'
Or warm in freedom's ancient cause
Traceth the source of Albion's laws,
Add thou o'er all the gen'rous toil
The light of thy unclouded smile.
But if by Fortune's stubborn fway
From him and friendship torn away,
I court the Muse's healing spell
For griefs that still with absence dwell,
Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams
To fuch indulgent placid themes
As just the struggling breast may cheer,
And just suspend the starting tear;
Yet leave that sacred sense of wo
Which none but friends and lovers know!


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