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Zur folgenden schonen Hymne scheint Gray, der schon oben als elegischer Dichter vorkam, die erste Idee aus der horazischen Ode an die Glücksgéttin: 0 Diva, gratum quae regis Antium, genommen zu haben; und relbst Dr. Johnson, der ohne Zweifel über diesen Dichter von aners kannter Vortrefflichkeit allzu' ftrenge und kalt urtheilt, legt ihm das Verdienst bei, daß er hier sein Original durch Mans nichfaltigkeit der Gedanken, und durch ihre moralische Uns wendung, übertroffen habe.



Τον Φρονείν βρoτους οδω-
σαντα, τω πάθει μαθαν
Θέντα κυρίως έχει». .

AESCHYL. Agamemth.

Daughter of Jove, relentless pow's,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, affiêt the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone.

When first thy fire to send on earth
Virtue, his darling child, design'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bad to forin her infant mind;
Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore;
What sorrow was thou badst her know,
And from her own she learn'd to melt at others 'wo.


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Scar'd at thy frown terrifick fly
Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperle, and with them go
The summer friend, the flatr’ring foe;
By vain Prosperity receiv'd,
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 steps attend,
Warm Charity, the gen’ral friend,
With Justice, to'herlelf severe,
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.'

Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,
Dread Goddess! lay thy chastning hand,
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad
Nor circled with the vengeful band,
(As by the impious thou are seen,)
With thund'ring voice and threat'ning mien,
With screaming Horror's fun ral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

Thy form benign, o Goddels! wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philofophick train be there,
To loften, not to wound my heart:
Thy gen'rous spark 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.

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Beisp. Samml. 4. B.


W a t t 8.


Von diesem würdigen, und von Seiten des Geistes und Herzens gleich sch&zbaren englischen Geistlichen, Dr. Iraať Watts, geb. 1674, gest. 1748, hat man eine große Menge, gråßtenteils religidier, Gedichte. Alle Psalmen sind von ihm übersetzt, oder vielmehr in geifiliche Lieder umgeformt, dcren er noch aufferdem sehr viele, veranlasst durch biblische Stellen und durch den Jnhalt seiner Predigten, hinterlassen hat. Sie heissen fåmtlich Hymnen, ob sie gleich dußerfi felten sich über den gemäßigten Con andächtiger Betrachs tung erheben. Mehr Poesie herrscht in denen, die unter die Rubrik lyrischer Gedichte gebracht sind; aber auch diese sind voller Ungleichheiten matter Stellen und ermus dender Wiederholungen. Nur der Mangel an bessern engs lischen Religionsdichtern scheint ihin die Achtung erworben und gesichert zu haben, in der er noch immer unter seinen Landesleuten steht. Hier ist eine reiner bessern und Färgern Oben.


Not from the dust my forrows spring,
Nor drop my comfort from the lower skies;
Let all the baneful planets shed
Their mingled curfes on my head!
How vain their curses, if th’Eternal King
Look thro’ the clouds and bless me with his eyes!
Creatures with all their boasted fway
Are but his slaves and must obey;
They wait their orders from above,
And execute his word, the vengeance or the love.


'Tis by a warrant from his hand The gentler gales are bound to sleep;



The north wind blusters, and assumes 'command
Over the desert and the deep:
Old Boreas with his freezing pow'rs
Turns the earth iron, makes the ocean glass,
Arrefts the dancing riv'lets as they pass,
And chains them moveless to their l'hores:
The grazing ox lows to the gelid Skies,
Walks o'er the marble meads with with'ring eyes,
Walks o'er the folid lakes, snuffs up the wind, and



Fly to the polar world, my song,
And mourn the pilgrims there (a wretched

Seiz'di and bound in rigid chains,
A troop of statues on the Russian plains,
And life stands frozen in the purple veins.
Atheist, forbear! no more blafpheme;
God has a thousand terrors in his name,
A thousand armies at command,
Waiting the signal of his hand,
And magazines of frost, and magazines of Aame.
Dress thee in steel to meet his wrath,
His sharp artillery from the north
Shall pierce thee to the soul, and shake thy mortal

Sublime on winter's rugged wings
He rides in arms along the sky,
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 blasphemies the lie.


The mischiefs that infest the earth
When the hot Dogstar fires the realms on high,

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Drought and disease, and cruel dearth,
- Are but the Aalhes of a wrathful eye

From the incens'd divinity;
In vain our parching palates thirst,
For vital food in vain we cry;
And pant for vital breath;
The verdant fields are burnt to dust,
The sun has drunk the channels dry,
And all the air is death.
Ye fcourges of our Maker's rod,
'Tis at his dread command, at his imperial

You deal your various plagues abroad.


Hail, whirlwinds, hurricanes, and floods,
That all the leafy standards strip,
And bear down with a mighty sweep
The riches of the fields and honours of the

Storms that ravage o'er the deep
And hury millions in the waves,
Earthquakes that in midnight fleep
Turn cities into heaps, and make our beds our gram

While you dispense your mortal harm's
'Tis the Creator's voice that sounds


loud alarms, When guilt with louder cries provokes a God té


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O for a message from above
To bear my spirits up,
Some pledge of my Creator's love,
To calm my terrors, and support my hope !


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