Scar'd at thy frown terrifick fly Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noife, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they difperfe, and with them go The fummer friend, the flatt'ring foe; By vain Prosperity receiv'd, Gray. To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd. Wisdom, in fable garb array'd, Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound, And Melancholy, filent maid, With leaden eye that loves the ground, Still on thy folemn fteps attend, Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend, With Juftice, to herself fevere, And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear. Oh! gently on thy fuppliant's head, Dread Goddefs! lay thy chaft'ning hand, Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad Nor circled with the vengeful band, (As by the impious thou art feen,) With thund'ring voice and threat'ning mien, Thy form benign, o Goddels! wear, Thy milder influence impart, Thy philofophick train be there, To foften, not to wound my heart: Thy gen'rous fpark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive; Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a man. Watts. Watts. Von diesem würdigen, und von Seiten des Geiftes und Herzens gleich schäßbaren englischen Geistlichen, Dr. Isaak Watts, geb. 1674, gest. 1748, hat man eine große Menge, größtentheils religisser, Gedichte. Alle Psalmen find von ihm überfekt, oder vielmehr in geistliche Lieder umgeformt, deren er noch aufferdem sehr viele, veranlasst durch biblische Stellen und durch den Inhalt seiner Predigten, hinterlassen hat. Sie heiffen sämtlich Hymnen, ob sie gleich dußerst selten sich über den gemäßigten Ton andächtiger Betrachtung erheben. Mehr Poesie herrscht in denen, die unter die Rubrik lyrischer Gedichte gebracht sind; aber auch diese find voller Ungleichheiten matter Stellen und ermis dender Wiederholungen. Nur der Mangel an bessern engs lischen Religionsdichtern scheint ihm die Achtung erworben und gesichert zu haben, in der er noch immer unter seinen Landesleuten steht. Hier ist eine seiner bessern und kürzern Oden. DIVINE JUDGMENTS. I. Not from the duft my forrows fpring, Their mingled curfes on my head! How vain their curfes, if th' Eternal King Look thro' the clouds and bless me with his eyes! Creatures with all their boafted fway Are but his flaves and must obey; They wait their orders from above, And execute his word, the vengeance or the love. II. 'Tis by a warrant from his hand The gentler gales are bound to fleep; The The north wind blufters, and affumes command Old Boreas with his freezing pow'rs Turns the earth iron, makes the ocean glafs, Walks o'er the marble meads with with'ring eyes, Walks o'er the folid lakes, fnuffs up the wind, and dies. Watts. III. Fly to the polar world, my fong, And mourn the pilgrims there throng!) (a wretched Seiz'd and bound in rigid chains, Waiting the fignal of his hand, And magazines of froft, and magazines of flame. His fharp artillery from the north Shall pierce thee to the foul, and shake thy mortal frame. Sublime on winter's rugged wings He rides in arms along the fky, And scatters fate on fwains and kings, And flocks, and herds, and nations, die, While impious lips profanely bold Grow pale, and quiv'ring at his dreadful cold Give their own blafphemies the lie. IV. The mischiefs that infeft the earth When the hot Dogftar fires the realms on high, Watts. Drought and disease, and cruel dearth, In vain our parching palates thirst, And pant for vital breath; The verdant fields are burnt to dust, And all the air is death. Ye fcourges of our Maker's rod, 'Tis at his dread command, at his imperial nod, You deal your various plagues abroad. V. Hail, whirlwinds, hurricanes, and floods, And bear, down with a mighty sweep The riches of the fields and honours of the woods; Storms that ravage o'er the deep And bury millions in the waves, Earthquakes that in midnight fleep Turn cities into heaps, and make our beds our gra. O for a meffage from above To bear my fpirits up, Some pledge of my Creator's love, To calm my terrors, and fupport my hope! Let |