Gray.

Gray.

Bur folgenden schönen Hymne scheint Gray, der schon oben als elegischer Dichter vorkam, die erste Idee aus der Horazischen Ode an die Glücksgåttin: O Diva, gratum quae regis Antium, genommen zu haben; und selbst Dr. Johnson, der ohne Zweifel über diesen Dichter von aners kannter Vortrefflichkeit allzu strenge und kalt urtheilt, legt ihm das Verdienst bei, daß er hier sein Original durch Mans nichfaltigkeit der Gedanken, und durch ihre moralische Ans wendung, übertroffen habe.

Daughter of Jove, relentless pow'r,

Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the beft!

Bound in thy adamantine chain

The proud are taught to tafte of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone.

When first thy fire to fend on earth
Virtue, his darling child, defign'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bad to form her infant mind;
Stern rugged nurfe! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year fhe bore;
What forrow was thou badft her know,

And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others 'wo.

Scar'd

Scar'd at thy frown terrifick fly Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,

Wild Laughter, Noife, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leifure to be good.

Light they difperfe, and with them go

The fummer friend, the flatt'ring foe;

By vain Profperity receiv'd,

Gray.

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 fteps attend,

Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend,

With Juftice, to herself fevere,

And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear."

Oh! gently on thy fuppliant's head,

Dread Goddess! lay thy chaft'ning hand,

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad

Nor circled with the vengeful band,

(As by the impious thou art feen,)

With thund'ring voice and threat'ning mien,
With fcreaming Horror's fun ral cry,
Defpair, 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 fpark extinct revive,

Teach me to love and to forgive;

Exact my own defects to fcan,

What others are to feel, and know myself a man.

Beisp. Samml. 4. B. N

Watts.

Watts.

Watts.

Von diesem würdigen, und von Seiten des Geistes und Herzens gleich schågbaren englischen Geistlichen,, Dr. Isaak Watts, geb. 1674, gest. 1748, hat man eine große Menge, größtentheils religidser, Gedichte. Alle Psalmen sind von ihm übersetzt, oder vielmehr in geistliche Lieder umgeformt, deren er noch aufferdem sehr viele, veranlasst durch biblische Stellen und durch den Inhalt seiner Predigten, hinterlassen hat. Sie heissen sämtlich Hymnen, ob sie gleich äußerst selten sich über den gemäßigten Ton andächtiger Betrach tung erheben. Mehr Poesie herrscht in denen, die unter die Rubrik lyrischer Gedichte gebracht sind; aber auch diese sind voller Ungleichheiten matter Stellen und ermü dender Wiederholungen. Nur der Mangel an bessern engs lischen Religionsdichtern scheint ihm die Achtung erworben und gesichert zu haben, in der er noch immer unter seinen Landesleuten steht. Hier ist eine seiner bessern und kürzern Oden.

DIVINE JUDGMENTS.

I.

Not from the duft my forrows fpring,
Nor drop my comfort from the lower fkies;
Let all the baneful planets fhed

Their mingled curfes on my head!

How vain their curfes, if th' Eternal King

Look thro' the clouds and blefs me with his eyes!

Creatures with all their boafted fway

Are but his flaves and must obey;

They wait their orders from above,

And execute his word, the vengeance or the love.

II.

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

The

The north wind blufters, and affumes command
Over the defert and the deep:

Old Boreas with his freezing pow'rs

Turns the earth iron, makes the ocean glafs,
Arrefts the dancing riv'lets as they pals,
And chains them movelefs to their f'hores:
The grazing ox lows to the gelid fkies,

Walks o'er the marble meads with with'ring eyes, Walks o'er the folid lakes, fnuffs up the wind, and dies.

III.

Fly to the polar world, my fong, And mourn the pilgrims there throng!)

(a wretched

Seiz'd and bound in rigid chains,
A troop of statues on the Ruffian plains,
And life ftands frozen in the purple veins.
Atheist, forbear! no more blafpheme;
God has a thousand terrors in his name,
A thoufand armies at command,

Waiting the fignal of his hand,

And magazines of froft, and magazines of flame.
Dress thee in fteel to meet his wrath,

His fharp artillery from the north

Shall pierce thee to the foul, and shake thy mortal

frame.

Sublime on winter's rugged wings

He rides in arms along the fky,

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 blafphemies the lie.

IV.

The mifchiefs that infeft the earth

When the hot Dogftar fires the realms on high,

Watts.

Watts.

Drought and difeafe, and cruel dearth,
Are but the flashes 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 duft,
The fun 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 nod,

You deal your various plagues abroad.

V.

Hail, whirlwinds, hurricanes, and floods,
That all the leafy standards ftrip,

And bear down with a mighty sweep

The riches of the fields and honours of the

woods;

Storms that ravage o'er the deep

And bury millions in the waves,

Earthquakes that in midnight fleep

Turn cities into heaps, and make our beds our gra

ves;

While you dispense your mortal harms

'Tis the Creator's voice that founds your loud alarms,

When guilt with louder cries provokes a God té

arms.

VI.

O for a meffage from above

To bear my fpirits up,

Some pledge of my Creator's love,

To calm my terrors, and fupport my hope!

Let