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,, This, Hercules, is happiness! Obey "My voice, and live; let thy celeftial birth Lift, and enlarge thy thoughts. Behold the way That leads to fame; and raises thee from earth. ,,Immortal! Lo, I guide thy fteps. Arife, „Pursue the glorious path; and claim thy native fkies!"
Her words breathe fire celeftial, and impart
New vigour to his foul, that fudden caught
The generous flame: with great intent his heart.
Swells ful, and labours with exalted thought:
The mist of error from his eyes difpell'd,
Thro' all her fraudful arts in cleareft light
Sloth in her native form he now beheld:
Unveil'd, fhe ftood confefs'd before his fight:
Falfe Siren! All her vaunted charms, that fhone
Sa fresh erewhile, and fair: now wither'd, pale, and gone.
No more the rofy bloom in fweet disguise Mafks her diffembled looks: each borrow'd grace Leaves her wan cheek; pale fickness clouds her eyes
Livid and funk, and paffions dim her face
As when fair Iris has a while display'd
Her watry arch, with gaudy painture gay:
While yet we gaze the glorious colours fade,
And from our wonder gently fteal away:
Where fhone the beauteous phantom erft fo bright,
Now lowers the low-hung cloud; all gloomy to the
But virtue more engaging all the while
Disclos'd new charms; more lovely, more ferene;
Beaming sweet influence. A milder smile
Soften'd the terrors of her lofty mien.
„Lead, goddess, I am thine! (transported cry'd Alcides :) O propitious pow'r thy way
Teach me! poffefs my foul: be thou my guide:
„From thee, o never, never let me ftray!
While ardent thus the youth his vows address'd
With all the goddefs fill'd, already glow'd his
The heav'nly maid with strength divine endu'd
His daring foul: there all her pow'rs combin'd,
Firm conftancy, undaunted fortitude
Enduring patience, arm'd his mighty mind
Unnov'd in toils, in dangers undismay'd:
By many a hardy deed and bold emprize
From fiercest monfters, thro' her pow'rful aid
He free'd the earth: thro' her, he gain'd the fkies.
'Twas Virtue plac'd him in the bleft abode;
Crown'd with eternal youth: among the Gods a
(Thomas Parnell, geboren 1679, geftorben 1717, ift Verfasser einer nicht zahlreichen, aber geschmackvollen Sammlung vermischter Gedichte, für deren Werth schon der Umstand ein günstiges Vorurtheil erregt, daß Pope ihr Sammler und Herausgeber war. Folgende Allegorie über den Menschen erklärt Dr. Johnson für die glücklichste seiz ner Arbeiten, von denen er das Urtheil fällt, daß man nicht zu sagen wiffe, ob sie Produkte der Natur find, die so vortrefflich ist, daß sie der Hülfe der Kunst nicht bedarf; oder der Kunst, die so verfeinert ist, daß sie lauter Natur zu sein
thoughtful Being, long and spare, Our race of mortals call him Care: (Were Homer living, well he knew, What name the Gods have call'd him too;) With fine mechanic genius wrought, And lov'd to work, tho' no one bought.
This Being by a model bred.
In Jove's eternal fable head,
Contriv'd a fhape impow'r'd to breathe,
And be the wordling here beneath.
The Man rofe ftaring, like a stake,
Wondring to fee himself awake!
Then look'd fo wife, before he knew
The buf'nefs he was made to do;
That pleas'd to fee with what a grace
He gravely fhew'd his forward face,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,
An Under-fomething of the sky.
But ere he gave the mighty nod,
Which ever binds a Poet's God:
(For which his curls ambrofial fhake,
And mother Earth's obliged to quake:)
He faw old mother Earth arife,
She flood confefs'd before his eyes;
But not with what we read fhe wore,
A caftle for a crown before,
Nor with long ftreets and longer roads,
Dangling behind her, like commodes:
As yet with wreaths alone fhe dreft,
And trail'd a landfkip-painted veft.
Then thrice fhe rais'd, às Ovid said,
And thrice fhe bow'd her weighty head.
Her honours made, great Jove, she cry'd,
This thing was fafhion'd from my fide;
His hands, his heart, his head are mine;
Then what haft thou, to call him thine?
Nay rather afk, the Monarch faid,
What boots his hand, his heart, his head,
Were what I gave remov'd away?
Thy part 's an idle shape of clay.
Halves, more than halves! cry'd honest
Your pleas woul'd make your titles fair;
You claim the body, you the foul,
But I who join'd them, claim the whole.
Thus with the Gods debate began,
On fuch a trivial caufe, as Man.
And can celestial tempers rage?
Quoth Virgil, in a later age.
As thus they wrangled, Time came by;
(There's none that paint him fuch as I;
For what the fabling ancients fung,
Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.).
his winters had not fhed
Their filver, honours on his head;
He just had got his pinions free
From his old fire Eternity.
A ferpent girdled round he wore,
The tail within the mouth, before;
By which our Almanacks are clear,
That learned Aegypt meant the year.
A ftaff he carry'd, where on high
A glafs was fix'd, to measure by,
As amber boxes made a fhow
Known by the Gods, as near he draws,
They make him umpire to the cause.
O'er a low trunk his arm he laid,
Where fince his hours a dial made;
Then leaning heard the nice debate,
And thus pronounc'd the words of Fate.
Since body from the parent Earth,
And foul from Jove receiv'd a birth,
Return they where they first began;
But fince their union makes the Man,
'Till Jove and Earth fhall part these two,
To Care, who join'd them, Man is due.
He said, and sprung with fwift career
To trace a circle for the year;
Where ever fince the Seafons wheel,
And tread on one another's heel.
'Tis well, faid Jove, and for confent Thund'ring he shook the Firmament.