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Or bids you roar, or bids your Roarings fall;
Soft-roll your incenfe, Herbs, and Fruits, and Flow.


In mingled Clouds to HIM; whose Sun exalts,
Whofe Breath perfumes you, and whofe Pencil

Ye Forefts bend, ye Harvests wave, to HIM;
Breathe your still Song into the Reaper's Heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous Moon.
Ye that keep watch in Heaven, as Earth afleep
Unconscious lies, effufe your mildest Beams,
Ye Conftellations, while your Angels ftrike,
Amid the fpangled Sky, the filver Lyre,
Great Source of Day! beft Image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,

From World to World, the vital Ocean round,
On Nature write with every Beam HIS Praise.
The Thunder rolls: be hufh'd the proftrate World;
While Cloud to Cloud returns the folemn Hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye Hills: ye moffy Rocks,
Retain the Sound: the broad refponfive Low,
Ye vallays, mife; for the GREAT SHEPHERD reigns;
And his unfuffering Kingdom yet will come.
Ye Woodlands all, awake: a boundless Song
Burft from the Groves; and when the restless Day,
Expiring, lays the warbling World asleep,
Sweeteft of Birds! fweet Philomela, charm
The liftening Shades, and teach the Night HIG

Ye chief, for whom the whole Creation fmiles;
At once the Head, the Heart, and Tongue of all,
Crown the great Hymn! in fwarming Cities vaft,
Affembled Men, to the deep Organ join
The long-refounding Voice, oft-breaking clear,
At fotemn Pauses, thro the fwelling Bale;
And, as each mingling Flame increases each,
In one united Ardor rife to Heaven.
Or if you rather chufe the rural Shade,
And find a Fame in every facred Grove;

There let the Shepherd's Flute, the Virgin's Lay,

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The prompting Seraph, and the Poet's Lyre,
Still fing the GOD OF SEASONS, as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling Theme,
Whether the Bloffom blows, the Summer-Ray
Ruffets the Plain, infpiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rifes in the blackening East;

Be my Tongue mute, may Fancy paint no more,
And, dead to Joy, forget my Heart to beat!

SHOULD Fate command me to the farthest Verge
Of the green Earth, to diftant barbarous Climes,
Rivers unknown to Song, where first the Sun
Gilds Indian Mountains, or his setting Beam
Flames on th' Atlantic Isles; 'tis nought to me:
Since GOD is ever prefent, ever felt,
In the void Wafte as in the City full;
And where HE vital fpreads there must be Joy.
When even at laft the folemn Hour fhall come,
And wing my myftic Flight to future Worlds,
I chearfull will obey, There, with new Powers,
Will rifing Wonders fing: I cannot go
Where UNIVERSAL Love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon Orbs and all their Sons,
From feeming Evil ftill educing Good,
And Better thence again, and Better still,
In infinite Progreffion - But I lofe

Myself in


Come then, expreifive Silence, mufe His Praise.


Aken side.

B. II. S. 321 ff. haben wir in ihm einen der schäßbars ften didaktischen Dichter kennen lernen; aber auch in der lys rischen Gattung zeichnet er sich sehr vortheilhaft aus. Dr. Johnson, der ihm dieß Verdienst im Allgemeinen zugesteht, tadelt zwar an seinen Oden den Mangel an Stärke, Natur und Neuheit; die Sprache derselben scheint ihm zuweilen hart und ungefällig zu seyn; den Strophenbau erklärt er für übel geordnet und unangenehm, die Reime für mißklingend, ungeschickt vertheilt und zu weit von einander entfernt; und ganz sind sie schwerlich von diesem Tadel frei zu sprechen. Auch selbst in folgendem, an Schönheiten gewiß nicht armen, Gedichte ist dieß zuweilen der Fall; es gehört überhaupt wohl mehr zur beschreibenden als lyrischen Gattung; und ich würde die Hymne an die Najaden in dessen Stelle gewählt haben, wenn mich ihre Länge nicht anders bestimmt hätte.



How thick the fhades of ev'ning clofe!
How pale the fky with weight of fnows!
Hafte, light the tapers, urge the fire,
And bid the joyless day retire!

- Alas! in vain I try within
To brighten the dejected fcene;
While rous'd by grief these fiery pains
Tear the frail texture of my veins,
While Winter's voice that ftorms around,
And yon' deep dead-bell's groaning found,
Renew my mind's oppreffive gloom
Till ftarting Horrour 1hakes the room.

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


Akenfide. Come, Cheerfulnefs, triumphant Fair,
Shine thro' the hov'ring cloud of care;
O fweet of language, mild of mien!
O Virtue's friend, and Pleafure's queen!
Affuage the flames that burn my breast,
Compole my jarring thoughts to rest,
And while thy gracious gifts I feel,
My long shall all thy praise reveal.

As once (it was in Aftrea'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 caft his eye
The year's returning pomp to fpy.
He faw the radiant god of Day
Waft in his car the roly May;
The fragrant Airs and genial Hours
Were fhedding round him dews and flow'rs;

Before his wheels Aurora paft,

And Hefper's golden lamp was last:
But fairest of the blooming throng
When Health majestick mov'd along,
Delighted to furvey below

The joys which from her prefence flow,
While earth enliven'd hears her voice,
And fwains, and flocks, and fields rejoice,
Then mighty Love her charms confest,
And foon his vows inclin'd her breast,
And known from that aufpicious morn
The pleafing Cheerfulness was born.

Thou, Cheerfulness! by Heav'n defign'd
To fway the movements of the mind,
Whatever fretful paffion (prings,
Whatever wayward fortune brings
To difarrange the pow'r within,
And ftrain the mufical machine,
Thou, Goddefs! thy attemp'ring hand
Doth each difcording ftring command,


Refines the foft, and fwells the strong,
And joining Nature's gen'ral fong
Thro' many a various tone unfolds
The harmony of human fouls.

Fair Guardian of domestick life!
Kind Banifher of homebred ftrife!
Nor fullen lip, nor taunting eye
Deforms the scene, where thou art by;
No fick'ning hufband 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 fongs from thee their walks refound,
And morn with welcome luftre 1hines,
And ev'ning unperceiv'd declines.

Is there a youth whofe anxious heart
Labours with love's unpity'd fmart?
Tho' now he ftray by rills and bow'rs,
And weeping wafte the lonely hours,
Or if the nymph her audience deign
Debate the story of his pain
With flavifh looks, difcolour'd eyes,
And accents falt'ring into fighs,
Yet thou, aufpicious Pow'r! with ease
Can't yield him happier arts to please,
Inform his mien with manlier charms,
Inftruct his tongue with noble arms,
With more commanding paffion move,
And teach the dignity of love.

Friend to the Mufe and all her train!
For thee I court the Muse again;
The Mufe for thee may well exert
Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art,
Who owes to thee that pleafing fway,


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