Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]

Which spoke his strength mature beyond its prime,
Yet vigorous still, for from his healthy cheek
l'ime had not cropt a rose, or on his brow
One wriukling furrow plow'd; his eagle eye
Had all its youthful lightning, and each Jimb
The sinevy strength that toil demands, and gives.

The warrior saw and paus'd: his nod withheld
I ha crowd at awful distance, where their cars,
In mute attention, drank the Sage's prayer.
„Parent of Good! (he cried) behold the gifts

Thy humble votary 'brings, and may thy 'smile
„Hallow his custom'd offering. Let the hand
„ That deals in blood, with blood thy shrines distain;
„Be mine this harmless tribute. If it speaks
,,A grateful heart, can hecatombs do more?
Parent of Good! they cannot. Purple pomp
May call thy presence to a prouder fane
„Than ihis poor cave; but will thy presence there
„Be more devoutly felt? Parent of Good!
„It will not. Here then, shall the prostrate heart,
„That deeply feels thy presence, lift its pray'r.
,,But what has he to ask who nothing needs,
„Save, what unask'd is from thy heav'n' of heav'ns
„Giv'n in diurnal good? Yet, holy Power!
„Do all that call thee Father thuis exult
,, In thy propitious presence? Sidon sinks
„Beneath a tyrant's scourge. Parent of Good!
„Oh free iny captive country. Sudden hero
He paus'd and sighd. And now, the raptur'd crowd
Murmur'd applause: he heard, he turn'd, and saw
The king of Macedon with eager step.
Burst from his warrior phalanx. From the yonth,
Who bore its state, the conqueror's own right hand
Snatch'd the rich wreath, and bound it on his brow.
His swift attendants o'er his shoulders cast
The robe of empire, wbile the trumpet's voice
Proclaim'd him king of Sidon. Stern he stood,
Or, if he smil'd, 'twas a contemptuous smile,
That held the pageant honours in disdain.
Then burst the people's voice, in loud acclaim,
And bad him be their Father. At the word,
The honour'd blood, that warm'd liim, Musli'd his cheek;

[ocr errors]

His brow expanded; his exalted step
March'd firmer; graciously he bow'd the head,
And was the Sire they call'd him. „Tell me, King,"
Young Aminon cried, while o'er his brightning form
He cast the gaze of wonder, how a soul
,,Like chine could bear the toils of penury?"
„Oh grant me, Gods!” he answer'd, „so to bear
„This load of Royalty. My coil was crown'd

With blessings lost to kings; yet, righteous Powers!
„If to my country ye transfer the boon,
I triumph in the loss. Be mine the chains
„That fetter Sov'reignty; let Sidon smile
With

your best blessings, Liberty and Peace."

WARTO N.

SEPH

Josed WARTOns geboren um das Jahr 1729, Bruder des oben Seite 518 angeführten Dichlers Thomas Warion, stand eine geraume Zeit anfänglich als Unter-, dann als Oberlehrer am Kollegium zu Winchester. Er legte diese Stclle im Jahre 1793 nieder, und wurde ersc Pfarrer 'eu Upham, dann zu Wickham. Er hat sich durch mehrere gute prosai. sche Werke und verschiedene wohlgelungene Gedichte ausgezeichnet. Sein erstes Werk waren Odes on several subjects, 1746, 8, die er ohne Nainen herausgab. Diesem folgte, mit des Verfassers Namen, an Ode occasioned by reading West's Pindar mit mehreren nenern kleinen Gedichten, 1749. Der erste Theil des Essay on the genius and writings of A. Pope erschien bereits 1753 anonym; der zweite kam erst 1784 her

Dieses Werk bewies, dass Warton lange Zeit seinen Dichter studiere haben musste, und war gleichsam ein Vorläufer der Ausgabe von Pope's Werken; letzteres Werk führt den Titel: The Works of Alex. Pope, Esq., complete with notes and illustrations by J. W. and others, London, 1797, 9 Vol. 8.

Die erste Ausgabe von der Übersetzung Virgils erschien 1753 unter dem Titel: the Works of Virgil in English Verse, the Eneid translated by the Rev. Mr. Christopher Pitt, the Eclogues and Georgics by Mr. Joseph Warton, with several new observations by Mr. Hodoworth, Mr.

aus.

Spence and others in 4 Oktavbänden; eine neuere Ausgabe kam in den Jahren 1763, 1770 und 1778 in 4 Dnodezbänden heraus. Diese Übersetzung soll den Sinn des Originals genouer, als die vorigen Englischen Übersetzungen ausdrucken, die Versifikation soll leicht und harmonisch, die Sprache rein rund korrekt seyn; an sich aber, 'als dichterisches Produkt, Dryden's Werk nachstehen. Warion lieferte mit seinem Bruder gelegentlich noch Beiträge zu Hawkesworth's Adventurer, und es scheinen von ihnen die Aufsätze über Shakspeare herzurühren.

Warton hatte überdies Materialien zu einer Literaturgeschichte des Zeitalters Leo X gesammelt. La Seine Ausgabe von Pope entsprach zwar dem änSsern, aber nicht dem innern Werthe nach den vielleicht zu hoch gespannten Erwartungen, welche man sich von derselben gemacht hatte. Man schätzte ihn übrigens eben so sehr wegen seiner Talente und Gelehrsamkeit, als wegen seiner liberalen Denkungsart und srines wohlwollenden Ber.

Er starb den 23sten Februar 1800, im 78sten Jahre seines Alters, zu Wickham in Hontshire als Pfarrer des Orus und Präbendar zu Winchester, mit dem Ruhm eines sehr achtungswürdigen Mannes.

Sens.

ODB TO Fancy.

O Parent of each lovely Muse,
Thy spirit o'et my soul diffuse,
O'er all

my

heartless songs preside,
My footsteps to thy temple guide,
To offer at thy turf- built shrine,
In golden cups no costly wine,
No murder'd falling of the Rock,
But flowers and honey from the rock.

O Nymph with loosely-flowing hair,
With buskin'd leg, and bosom bare,
Thy waist with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd,
Waving in thy snowy hand
An all-commanding magic wand,
of pow'r to bid fresh gardens grow
'Mid cheerless Lapland's barren snow,
Whose rapid wings thy flight convey

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Thro' air, and over earth and sea..
While the various landskip lies
Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes;
O lover of the desert, hail!
Say in what deep and pathless vale,
Or on what hoary mountain's side, ,
'Midst falls of water you reside,
'Midst broken rocks, a rugged scene,
With green and grassy dales between,
'Midst forests dark of aged oak,
Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke,
Where never human art appear'd,
Nor een one straw-roofd cpt was rear'd,
Where Nature seems to sit alone;-,
Majestic on a craggy, throne in se nas!
Tell me the pach: sweet wand'rers telle hui
To tby unknown sequester'd cell, !
Where woodbines cluster round the door,
Wliere shells and moss, o'erlay the fl995, a
And on whose top an hawthorn blows,
Amid whose thickly woven boughs,
Some nightingale still builds her nesto
Each evening warbling thee to restii si
Then lay me by the haunted stream,
Rapt in some wild, poetic dạeam,
In converse while meibinks I rove
With Spenser thro' a fairy grove;
Till suddenly awak'd, I hear
Strange whisper'd music in my ear,
And my glad soul in bliss is drawnd,
By the sweetly-soothing sound !

I DOR,
Me, Goddess, by the right-hand lead,
Sometimes thro' the yellow mead,
Where Joy and white-robd Peace 'resort,
And Venus keeps her, f

festive court,
Where Mirth and Youth each evening meet,
And lightly trip with nimble feet, at der
Nodding their lily crowned beads; +
Where Laughter rose - Lipd. Hebe, leads; at
Where echo walks steep hills amiang,
List'ning to the shepherd's song.mn

Yet not these fow'ry fields of joy

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

Can long my pensive mind employ:
Haste, Fancy, from these scenes of folly
To moet the matron Melancholy,
Goddess of the tearful eye,:
That loves to fold her arms and sigh!
Let us with silent footsteps go
To charnels and the house of woe,
To Gothic churches, vaults' and tombs,
Where each sad night some Virgin' comes,
With throbbing breast, and faded cheek,
Her promis'd bridegroom's urn to seck;
Or to some Abby's mould'riag tow'rs,
Where to avoid cold winter's show'rs,
The naked beggar sbiv'ring lies,
While whistling tempést round her rise,
And trembles lest the tottering wall
Should on her sleeping infants fall.

Now let us louder strike the lyre,
For my heart glows' with martial fire,
I feel, I feel, with sudden heat,
My big tumultuous bosom beat;
The trumpet's clangors pierce mine ear,
A thousand widows' shrieks I hear;
Give me another horse, I cry,
Lo! the base Gallic squadrons 'fly;
Whence is this rage? - What'spitir', say,
To battle burries me away?
"Tis Fancy, in her fiery car,"
Transports me to the thickest war,
There whirls- mo o'er the hills of slain,
Where Tumult and Destruction 'reign;
Where 'mad with pain, the wounded steed
Tramples the dying and the dead:
Where giant Terror stalks around,
With sullen joy surveys the ground,
And pointing th' ensanguin'd field,
Shakes his dreadful Gorgon - shield!

O guide me from this borrid scene
To high-arch walks arid alleys green,
Which lovely Laura seeks, to shun
The fervoare of the mid-day sun;"
The pangs of absence , O remove.

[ocr errors]

.

« PreviousContinue »