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 finceré,
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 rufhes on her breaft,
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 the-
me!

Nor feek with foul derifion to expofe,
And give to Intamy 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.

Jerningham

I fteal impatient from the idle, throng,
The roving gay companious of my age,
To temper with their praise my artless fong,
And foft-ey'd Pity in their caufe engage.

'Tis Virtue's tafk to foothe Affliction's fmart,
To join in fadness with the fair distrest:
Wake to another's pain the tender heart,
And move to clemency the gen'rous breast,

Beats

Beattie.

James Beattie, dieser durch die Gründlichkeit and den Scharffinn feiner, größtentheils übersehten, philosophiz schen und åßhetischen Schriften auch unter uns rühmlich bes kannte, noch lebende, Schottländer, gehört zu den` besten heutigen englischen Dichtern. Sein größeres und sehr schdnes Gedicht, The Minstrel, würde ich im vorigen Bande als Beispiel der beschreibenden Pocsie 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 følgende, auf den Tod eines jungen Frauenzimmers, eine der schönsten.

Beattie.

FLEGY.

1

Still fhall unthinking man fubftantial deem
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream?
On clouds, where Fancy's beam amufive plays,
Shall heedlefs hope the towering fabric raife?
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,
Whole 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 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 ftrains, that, at the clofe 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 fimile;
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 charin'd away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.

1

By thee infpired, 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,

Ah!

-

Ah! whither fled?ye dear illufions ftay
Lo, pale and filent lies the lovely clay.
How are the rofes on that cheek decay'd,
Which late the purple light of youth display'd?
Health on her form each sprightly grace beftow'd,
With life and thought each fpeaking feature
glow'd.

Fair was the flower, and foft the vernal sky;
Elate with hope we deem'd no tempeft nigh;
When lo, a whirlwinds inftantaneous guit
Left all its beauties withering in the duft.

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

And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that fhed!
And mute the voice, whose pleafing accents ftole
Infufing balm, into the rankled foul!

O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power,
And ipare the idle weed, yet lop the flower!
Why fly thy fhafts in lawless error driven;
Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven!
But peace, bold thought! be ftill my bursting
heart!

We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.

Scaped the dark dungeon does the flave complain,
Nor blefs 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 reafon's meteor-rays, with fickly glow,
O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw?
Disciofing dubious to the affrighted eye
O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high,
Black billowy feas in ftorm perpetual toffed,
And weary ways in wildering labyrinths loft.
O happy ftroke, that burfts 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.

Beattie.