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Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm bim o'er!
Such fate to suffering Worth is giv'a,
Who long with wants and woes has strir'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n

To Mis'ry's brink,
Till wrench'd of ev'ry slay but Hear'n,

He, ruin'd, sink!
Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine - no distant date;
Stern Ruin's plough - share drives, elaże,

Full on thy bloom,
Till, crushed beneath the furrow's weight,

Shall be tby doom!


may fear!

Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care,
A burden more than I can bear,

I sit me down and sigh:
O life! ibou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,

To wretches such as I!
Dim - backward as I cast my view,

What sick’ning scenes appear !
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro',
Too justly
Still caring, despairing,

Must be my bitter doom:
My woes here shall close ne'er,

But with the closing tomb!
Happy! ye sons of Busy - life,
Who, equal to the bustling strife,

No other view regard !
E'en when the wished end's deny'd,
Yet, while the busy means are ply'd

They bring their own reward.
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight,

Unfitted with an aim,


', Meet ev'ry sad returning night

And joyless morn the saine.
You, bustling and justling,

Forget each grief and pain;
1, listless yet restless,

Find ev'ry prospect vai.
How blest the Solitary's lot,
Who, all - forgetting, all-forgot,

Within his lumble cell,
The cavern wild with langling roots,
Sit's o'er liis newly - gather'd fruits,

Beside his crystal well!
Or haply to his er'ning thought,

By unfrequented stream,
The ways of men are distant brought,
A faint-collected dream:
While praising, and raising

His thoughts to heav'n on high,
As wand'ring, meand'ring,

He views the solemn sky.

Can want,

T'han I, no lonely Hermit plac'ul
Where never human footstep trad,

Less fit to play the part,
The lucky moment to improve,
And just to stop and just to move,

With self-respecting art:
But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,

Which I too keenly taste,
The Solitary can despise,


be blest!
He needs not, lie heeds not,

Or human love or hate;
Wbilst 1 here, must cry here,

Ať perfidy ingrate!
Oh! enviable early days,
When dancing thoughtless. Pleasures maze,

To Care, to Guilt unknown! How ill exchang'd for riper times, To feel the folling or the crimes

Of others, or my own!

Ye tiny elves, that guiltless, sport

Like lingets in the bush,
Ye little know the ills ye court,
Wlien manhood is your wish!
The losses, the crosses,

That active man engage;
The fears all, the tears all,

Of dim declining age!


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here was three kings into the east,

Three kings both great and high,
And they had sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put'clods, upon his bead.
And they hae **) sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycoru was dead.
But the chearful Spring came kindly on,

And slow'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again, ·

And sore surpris'd them all.
The'sultry suns of Summer came,

And he grew thick and strong,
His head weel ***) arı'd wi' ****) pointed spears,

That no one should him wrong.
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,

When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head

Show'd he began to fail.
His colour sicken'd more and more,

He faded into age,
And then his enemies began

To show their deadly rage.

*) This is partly composed on the plan of an old song, known by the same name. **) hae, to have. ***) weel, well. """") wi", witb.

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee;
Then tv'd him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,

And cudgellid liim full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,

And turu'd him o'er and oe'r.
They filled up a darksonie pit

With water to the brim,
They heaved in John Barleycorn,

There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the noor,

To work him farther woe,
And siill, as signs of life appear’d,

They ross'd him to and fro.
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,

The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,

For he crusli'd him between two stones,
And they hae taen his very heart's blood,

And drank 'it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,

Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn was a hero hold,

Of noble entreprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,

”T will make your courage rise.
T will make a man forget his woe;

'T will heighten all his joy:
'T will make the widow's heart to sing,

Tho' the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,

Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity

Ne'er fail in old Scotland.

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M A S O N.

William Mason wurde im Jahre 1726 zu Hull, wo sein Pater Vicar war, geboren. Er studierte zu Cambridge, wurde Kaplan des Königs, und erhielt bald darauf'die sehr einträgliche Stelle zu Aston in Yorkshire; ausserdem war er einer der vier Canons residentaries zu York. Er starb den aten April 1797, zu Aston. In Deutschland ist er durch sein Lehr. gedicht the English Garden, in vier Gesüngen, welches in England zwischen den Jahren 1772 und 1781 herauskam, und dessen erste Gesänge auch ins Deutsche von Weisse über setzt worden sind, am bekanntesten. Man findet das Original in Benzler's poetical library, being a collection of the best modern english poems, chiefly didactic and descriptive, 2 l'ol. Leipzig 1786, 8, abgedruckt. Bei aller Anerkennung der mannigfaltigen Schönheiten dieses Gedichts (sagt Herr Hofrath Eschenburg im dritten Theil seiner Beispielsammlung), wünschten die Englischen Kunstrichter doch einstimmig, dass der l'erfasser lieber den Reim, als die reimlosen Jamben, odor blankverse, gewählt haben mögte; und seine Erklärung war ihnen nicht ganz befriedigend, dass ihm diese freiere l'ersart für einen Gegenstand, der selbst so viel Freiheit und Mannigfaltigkeit fordert, und für die Schilderung zwangloser Natur, dic schicklichste gedünkt habe." Doch dieses Gedicht ist nuch nicht Mason's Hauptwerk. Als solches kann man seine vortrefflichen Elegien, seine beiden dramatischen Arbeiten Elfrida und Cataractus und verschiedene seiner Oden betrachten. Diese Werke haben ihm einen Rang unter den klassischen Dichtern seiner Nation erworben. Die Elegien erschienen zuerst 1762; man schützt unter denselben am meisten die auf seine früh verstorbene Gattin und auf den Tod der Lady Coventry. Was seine dramatischen Arbeiten betrifft, so gehören zwar beide zu den glücklichsten Nachahmungen der Griechischen Tragödie, Cataractus indessen wird für die vollendetere gehalten. Von geringer Er. heblichkeit ist sein Melodram Sapho and Phaon. Eine seiner Oden betitelt: Ode to Truth, steht im Speaker *); eine an

*) Der vollständige Titel dieses Buches ist: the Speaker or miscellaneous pieces selected from the best English writers and

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