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How keenest Anguish bad her bosom bleed, Zerningham, . As there she brooded o'er her hapless state:

Was this, Seducer, this the promis'd meed?"
She cries then links beneath Amictions weight.

Another mourns her fall with grief finceré,
Whom tranquil Realon tells she's fhund, disdain'd,
Repuls'd as vile, by those who held her dear,
Who callid her once Companion, Sister, Friend.

That recollects the day when loft to shame,
She fondly facritic'd her vestal charms,
Resign'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 distress consign’di,
A child can give, a parent only know.

At this deep Scene, by Fancy drawn, impressid,
The filial passions in her heart revive:
Reproach vindictive rushes on her breast,
To Nature's pangs too feelingly alive.

If this, or finifar tormenting thought,
Cling to their soul, when pensively alone,
For youth's offence, for Love's alluring fault,
Say, do they not sufficiently atone?

Oh, mock not then their penitential woes,
Thou who may'st deign to mark this huinble the-

Nor seek with foul derision to expole,
And give to Intamy their tainted name.

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Jerningham, J steal impatient from the idle throng,

The roving gay companious of my age,
To temper with their praise my artless song,
And soft-ey'd Pity in their cause engage.

'Tis Virtue's talk to soothe Amietion's smart,
To join in sadness with 'the fair distrest:
Wake to another's pain the tender heart,
And move to clemency the gen'rous breast,

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B e attie.

Beatrie. ca

James Beattie, diefer darch die Grundlichkeit und den Scharfsinn seiner, graftentheils aberseştea, philosophis schen und &fihetischen Schriften auch unter und rühmlich bes kannte, noch lebende, Schottlander, gehårt zu den besten heutigen englischen Dichtern. Sein größeres und sehr ichas nes Gedicht, The Minstrel, würde ich im vorigen Bande als Beispiel der beschreibenden Poesie mitgetheilt haben, wenn mich nicht die Långe desselben, und der neuerliche Ubdruck in Hrn. Benzler's Poetical Library anders bestimmt hatten. 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 amusive plays,
Shall heedless hope the towering fabric raise?
Till at Death's touch the fairy visions fly,
And real Scenes rush dismal on the eye;
And from Elyfium's balmy flumber torn
The startled soul awakes to think and mourn!

Oye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whole Spirits to the song of gladness dance,
Who flowery vales in endless view survey
Glittering in beams of visionary day;
O yet, while Fate delays th' impending woe
Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow;
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;
Lest, thus encompass d withi 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,

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Wife, Beauteous, Good! O every grace çombi

That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fair as the flowéret 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 clofe of day,
Warbling remote, along the vales decay! -
Yet why with thele compared? What tints fo fine,
What sweetness, mildness, can be matched with

thine ?
Why roam abroad?' since still, to Fancy's eyes,
I see, I see thy lovely forms arise.
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces finile;
That soul expressing eye, benignly bright,
Where meekness beams ineffable delight;
That brow, where Wisdom fits enthron'd serene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien:
Still let me liften, while her words impart
The sweer effusions of the blameless heart,
Till all my soul, each tumult charın'd away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.

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 rosy glow,
Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies
Pure heavenly luftre to the languid eyes:
But when youth's living bloom

bloom reflects thy

Refiftless on the view the glory streams,
Love, Wonder, Joy, alternately alarm,
And Beauty dazzles with angelic charm,

Ah! Beattie.

Ah! whither Aled? - ye dear illusions stay
Lo, paļe and filent lies the lovely clay.
How are the roses on that cheek decay'd,
Which late the purple light of youth display'd ?
Health on her form each fprightly grace bestow'd,
With life and thought each speaking feature

Fair was the Hower, and soft the vernal sky;
Elate with hope we deem'd no tempest nigh;
When lo, a whirlwinds instantaneous guit
Left all its beauties withering in the dust.

All cold the hand, that footh'd woe's weary

And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that I hed!
And inute the voice, whole pleasing accents stole
Infusing balm, into the rankled foul!
O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power,
And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower!
Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven;
Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven!
But peace, bold thought! be still my bursting

We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.
Scaped the dark dungeon does the slave complain,
Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain?
Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn,
On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn?
Where reason's meteor-rays, with fickly glow,
O'er the dun gloon a dreadful glimmering throw?
Disclosing dubious to the affrighted eye
O’erwlielming mountains tottering from on high,
Black billowy feas in storm perpetual tossed,
And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost.
O happy ftroke, that bursts the bonds of clay,
Darts thro' the rending gloom the blaze of day,
And wings the foul with boundless fight to foar,
Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more.

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