Jerningham. What tho' their youth imbib'd an early stain,
A fecond innocence is now their claim;
While in the precincts of this blefs'd domain,
They bask beneath the rays of rifing Fame.
So the young myrtles in Misfortune's day,
Nipt by the blaft that fwept their vernal bed,
In 1 heltring walls their tender leaves display,
And wak'ning into life new fragrance fhed.
Tho' white-wing'd Peace protect this calm abode,
Tho' each tumultuous paffion be fupprefs'd,
Still Recollection wears a fting to goad,
Still Confcience wakes to rob their foul of reft.
See one the tort'ring hour of mem'ry prove
Who wrapt in penfive fecrecy forlorn,
Sits muling on the pledges of her love,
Who fell the victims of paternal fcorn.
Forgot, deferted in th' extremeft need, By him who fhou'd have rear'd their tender age: ,,Was this, Seducer, this the promis'd meed?" She cries then finks beneath Affliction's rage.
Her bufy mind recalls the fatal plain,
Which with flow lab'ring fteps fhe journey'd o'er,
Half-yielding to the fierce impetuous rain,
While in her arms two helpless babes the bore.
Her mind recalls how at that, awful hour
The dismal owlet fcream'd her fhiv'ring note,
How fhriek'd the fpirit from the haunted tow'r,
While other founds of woe were heard remote.
How to the covert of a tott'ring fhed,
As Night advanc'd, fhe fearfully retir'd,
And as around the dark'ning horror fpread
Her famifh'd infants on her breast expir'd.
How keeneft Anguifh bad her bofom bleed, As there fhe brooded o'er her hapless ftate:
Was this, Seducer, this the promis'd meed?"
She cries then finks beneath Afflictions weight.
Another mourns her fall with grief fincere,
Whom tranquil Reafon tells fhe's fhun'd, disdain'd,
Repuls'd as vile, by thofe who held her dear,
Who call'd her once Companion, Sifter, Friend.
That recollects the day when loft to fhame,
She fondly facrific'd her veftal charms,
Refign'd the virgin's for an harlot's name,
And left a parent's for fpolier's arms.
Imagination pictures to her mind
The father's rage, the mother's fofter woe:
Unhappy pair! to that diftrefs confign'd,
A child can give, a parent only know.
At this deep scene, by Fancy drawn, imprefs'd,
The filial paffions in her heart revive:
Reproach vindictive rushes on her breast,
To Nature's pangs too feelingly alive.
If this, or fimilar tormenting thought,
Cling to their foul, when penfively alone,
For youth's offence, for Love's alluring fault,
Say, do they not fufficiently atone?
Oh, mock not then their penitential woes, Thou who may'ft deign to mark this humble theme!
Nor feek with foul derifion to expofe,
And give to Infamy their tainted name.
Nor deem me one of Melancholy's train,
If anxious for the forrow-wedded fair,
Tho' little fkillful of that heav'nly strain
Whofe melting numbers to the heart repair.
Jerningham. I fteal impatient from the idle throng,
The roving gay companious of my age,
To temper with their praise my artless song,
And foft-ey'd Pity in their caufe engage.
'Tis Virtue's talk to foothe Affliction's fmart,
To join in sadness with the fair diftreft:
Wake to another's pain the tender heart,
And move to clemency the gen'rous breaft.
James Beattie, dieser durch die Gründlichkeit und den Scharfsinn seiner, größtentheils übersetzten, philosophis schen und ästhetischen Schriften auch unter uns rühmlich bez kannte, noch lebende, Schottländer, gehört zu den besten heutigen englischen Dichtern. Sein größeres und sehr schd. nes Gedicht, The Minstrel, würde ich im vorigen Bande als Beispiel der beschreibenden Poesie mitgetheilt haben, wenn mich nicht die Länge desselben, und der neuerliche Abdruck in Hrn. Benzler's Poetical Library anders bestimmt hätten. Von den unter seinen Gedichten befindlichen Elegieen ist die folgende, auf den Tod eines jungen Frauenzimmers, eine der schönsten.
Still fhall unthinking man substantial deem
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream?
On clouds, where Fancy's beam amufive plays,
Shall heedlefs hope the towering fabric raise ?
Till at Death's touch the fairy vifions fly,
And real Scenes rufh dismal on the eye;
And from Elyfium's balmy flumber torn
The ftartled foul awakes to think and mourn!
O ye, whofe hours in jocund train advance,
Whofe Spirits to the fong of gladness dance,
Who flowery vales in endless view furvey
Glittering in beams of vifionary day;
O yet, while Fate delays th' impending woe
Be roufed to thought, anticipate the blow;
Left, like the lightning's glance, the fudden ill
Flafh to confound, and penetrate to kill;
Left, thus encompass d with funereal gloom,
Like me, ye bend o'er fome untimely tomb
Beattie. Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear, And half pronounce Heaven's facred doom fevere.
Wife, Beauteous, Good! O every grace combi-
ned,
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fair as the floweret opening on the morn,
Whofe leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
Sweet, as the downy - pinion'd gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!
Mild as the strains, that, at the close of day,
Warbling remote, along the vales decay! -
Yet why with thefe compared? What tints fo fine,
What fweetness, mildness, can be matched with
thine?
Why roam abroad? fince ftill, to Fancy's eyes,
I fee, I fee thy lovely forms arife.
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces finile;
That foul-expreffing eye, benignly bright,
Where meeknefs beams ineffable delight;
That brow, where Wisdom fits enthron'd ferene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien:
Still let me liften, while her words impart
The fweet effufions of the blameless heart,
Till all my foul, each tumult charm'd away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's eafy fway.
By thee inspired, o Virtue, Age is young,
And mufick warbles from the faltering tongue:
Thy ray creative chears the clouded brow,
And decks the faded cheek with rofy glow,
Brightens the joyless afpect, and fupplies
Pure heavenly luftre to the languid eyes:
But when youth's living bloom reflects thy
beams,
Refiftless on the view the glory ftreams,
Love, Wonder, Joy, alternately alarm,
And Beauty dazzles with angelic charm.
|