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True Riches.

I am not concern'd to know
What to-morrow fate will do;
'Tis enough that I can say,
I've possess'd myself to-day:
Then if haply midnight death
Seize my flesh, and stop my breath,
Yet to-morrow I shall be
Heir to the best part of me.

Glittering stones, and golden things,
Wealth and honours that have wings,
Ever fluttering to be gone,
I could never call my own:
Riches that the world bestows,
She can take, and I can lose;
But the treasures that are mine
Lie afar beyond her line.
When I view my spacious soul,
And survey myself a whole,
And enjoy myself alone,
I'm a kingdom of my own.

I've a mighty part within
That the world hath never seen,
Rich as Eden's happy ground,
And with choicer plenty crown'd.
Here on all the shining boughs,
Knowledge fair and useful grows;
On the same young flowery tree
All the seasons you may see;
Notions in the bloom of light,
Just disclosing to the sight;
Here are thoughts of larger growth,
Ripening into solid truth;
Fruits refin'd, of noble taste;
Seraphs feed on such repast.
Here, in a green and shady grove,
Streams of pleasure mix with love:

There beneath the smiling skies
Hills of contemplation rise:
Now upon some shining top
Angels light, and call me up;
I rejoice to raise my feet,
Both rejoice when there we meet.

There are endless beauties more
Earth hath no resemblance for;
Nothing like them round the pole,
Nothing can describe the soul:
"Tis a region half unknown,
That has treasures of its own,
More remote from public view
Than the bowels of Peru;
Broader 'tis, and brighter far,
Than the golden Indies are;
Ships that trace the watery stage
Cannot coast it in an age;
Harts, or horses, strong and fleet
Had they wings to help their feet,
Could not run it half
In ten thousand days and more.
Yet the silly wandering mind,
Loth to be too much confin'd,
Roves and takes her daily tours,
Coasting round her narrow shores,
Narrow shores of flesh and sense,
Picking shells and pebbles thence:
Or she sits at fancy's door,
Calling shapes and shadows to her
Foreign visits still receiving,
And t' herself a stranger living.
Never, never would she buy
Indian dust, or Tyrian dye,
Never trade abroad for more,
If she saw her native store;
If her inward worth were known,
She might ever live alone.

way o'er

Philip s.

John Philips, Sohn des Archidiakonus Stephen Philips, ward 1676 zu Brampton in Oxfordshire geboren. Er studirte in Oxford und wollte sich dann den Naturwissenschaften widmen; das Glück jedoch welches sein erstes Gedicht, the splendid shilling, von dem wir unten ein Bruchstück mittheilen, sogleich bei dessen Erscheinen machte, bewog ihn diesen Vorsatz aufzugeben und sich nur mit Poesie zu beschäftigen. Er schrieb noch ein Gedicht auf die Schlacht von

Blendheim und ein didactisches Poem Cider. Ob ein Gedicht Cerealia , das ihm zugeschrieben wird auch wirklich von ihm herrühre, ist unentschieden geblieben. Er starb schon 1708 an der Schwindsucht zu Hereford, wo er auch begraben wurde, doch erhielt er ein Denkmal in der Westminster-Abtei.

Als didactischer Dichter ist Philips ausgezeichnet; er verbindet mit Eleganz, Correctheit und Adel der Diction, reiches Wissen, warmes Gefühl und eine anmuthig verschönernde Phantasie. Seine Poesieen erschienen zuerst gesammelt, London 1715 und dann öfter, auch finden sie sich im 21. Bande der Johnson'schen, im 66. Bande der Bell'schen und im 6. Bande der Anderson'schen Sammlung

Thro' sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews
The splendid Shilling.

My shudd'ring limbs, and (wonderful to tell!)
Happy the man who, void of cares and strife, My tongue forgets her faculty of speech;
In silken or in leathern purse retains

So horrible he seems! His faded brow, A Splendid Shilling! he nor hears with pain Intrench'd with many a frown, and conic beard, New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale; And spreading band, admir'd by modern saints, But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, Disastrous acts forebode: in his right hand To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-Hall, repairs, Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, Where, mindful of the nymph whose wanton eye With characters and figures dire inscrib'd, Transfix'd his soul and kindled amorous flames, Grievous to mortal eyes; (ye Gods! avert Cloe or Phillis, he each circling glass

Such plagues from righteous men!) Behind him Wished her health, and joy and equal love;

stalks Mean-while he smokes and laughs at merry tale Another monster, not unlike himself, Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint: Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar callid But I, whom griping penury surrounds

A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods And hunger, sure attendant upon want,

With force incredible and magic charms With scanty offals and small acid tiff

First have endu'd: if he his ample palm (Wretched repast!) my meagre corpse sustain: Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay Then solitary walk, or doze at home

Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch In garret vile, and with a warming puff Obsequious, (as whilom knights were wont) Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black To some enchanted castle is convey'd, As winter chimney, or well-polish'd jet

Where gates impregnable and coercive chains Exhale mundungus, ill perfuming scent! In durance strict detain him, till, in form Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,

Of money, Pallas sets the captive free. Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree Beware, ye Debtors ! when ye walk beware! Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings Be circumspect; oft' with insidious ken Full famous in romantic tale) when he

This caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese

Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch High over-shadowing rides, with a design

With his unballowed touch. So, (poets sing,) To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn Or Maridunum, or the ancient town

An everlasting foe, with watchful eye Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!

Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice Whence flow nectareous wines that well may vie Sure ruin; so her disembowell'd web With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern. Arachne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads

Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow, Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun,

Within her woven cell; the humming prey,
Horrible monster! hated by gods and men Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils
To my aerial citadel ascends;

Inextricable, nor will aught avail
With vocal heel thrice thund'ring at my gate Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue
With hideous accent thrice he calls. I know The wasp insidious and the buzzing drone,
The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. And butterfly, proud of expanded wings
· What should I do, or whither turn? Amaz'd Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares,
Confounded, to the dark recess I fly

Useless resistance make: with eager strides
Of woodhole: straight my bristling hairs erect She tow'ring flies to her expected spoils,

Then with envenom'd jaws the vital blood My anxious mind; or sometimes mournful verse Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave Indite, and sing of graves and myrtle shades, Their bulky carcases triumphant drags. Or desp'rate lady near a purling stream,

So pass my days: but when nocturnal shades Or lover pendent on a willow tree. This world envelop, and th' inclement air Mean-while I labour with eternal drought, Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts And restless wish, and rave; my parched throat With pleasant wines and crackling blaze of Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose ;


But if a slumber haply does invade Me, lonely sitting, nor the glimm'ring light® My weary limbs; my fancy's still awake Of makeweight candle, nor the joyous talk Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream Of loving friend, delights: distress'd, forlorn, Tipples imaginary pots of ale, Amidst the horrors of the tedious night,

In vain : awake I find the settled thirst Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse.


Thomas Parnell wurde 1679 in Dublin geboren, erhielt seine wissenschaftliche Bildung auf dem Trinity-College seiner Vaterstadt; trat dann in den geistlichen Stand und bekleidete nach einander mehrere Aemter, doch hielt er sich vorzugsweise in London auf, wo ihn der Umgang mit Pope, Swift, Gay, u. A. besonders anzog. Nachdem er seine politische Meinung gewechselt, jedoch ohne eines günstigen Erfolges sich rühmen zu können und seine Gattin verloren, ergab er sich dem Trunke, der seinen Tod beschleunigte, Er starb 1717 zu Chester auf der Reise nach Irland.

Parnell's Gedichte sind von Pope, London 1721 in 8. und von .Goldsmith, London 1770 in 8. herausgegeben worden; ein Bändchen hinterlassener Poesicen erschienen 1758 zu Dublin. Bei Johnson finden sich seine Gedichte im 44., bei Bell im 67. und 78., bei Anderson im 7. Bde. Er war besonders glücklich in Liedern, Balladen und Erzählungen, durch anmuthig schaffende Phantasie, Eleganz und Correctheit, und sein unten mitgetheilter Hermit, wird noch jetzt von den Engländern sehr geschützt. Seine schwächsten Leistungen dagegen sind seine biblischen Gemälde.

The Hermit.

So when a smooth expanse receives imprest Far in a wild, unknown to public view,

Calm Nature's image on its watery breast, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;

Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,

And skies beneath with answering colours glow: His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:

But if a stone the gentle sea divide, Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days Swift ruffling circles curl on every side Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, A life so sacred, such serene repose,

Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose

To clear this doubt, to know the world by That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey ;

sight, This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway: To find if books, or swains, report it right, His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, And all the tenor of his soul is lost.

Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew)

He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore, So seem'd the sire, when far upon the road,
And fix'd the scallop in his hat before; The shining spoil his wily partner show'd.
Then with the sun a rising journey went, He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling
Sedate to think, and watching each event.

The morn was wasted in the pathless grass And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part:
And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard
But when the southern sun had warm’d the day, That generous actions meet a base reward.
A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; While thus they pass, the sun his glory
His raiment decent, his complexion fair,

shrouds, And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; Then near approaching, "Father, hail!” he cried; A sound in air presag'd approaching rain, And “Hail, my son!" the reverend sire replied; And beasts to covert scud across the plain. Words follow'd words, from question answer Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat,


To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat. And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road; 'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground, Till each with other pleas'd, and lath to part, And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around; While in their age they differ, join in heart. Its owner's temper, tim'rous and severe, Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there. Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.

As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey; The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began, Nature in silence bid the world repose;

And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders ran. When near the road a stately palace rose : Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, There by the moon through ranks of trees they Driv'n by the wind, and batter'd by the rain.


At length some pity warm’d the master's breast, Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of ('Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest);


Slow creeking turns the door with jealous care, It chanc'd the noble master of the dome

And half he welcomes in the shivering pair: Still made his house the wandering stranger's One frugal fagot lights the naked walls,


And nature's fervour through their limbs recalls: Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, Bread of the coarsest sort, with meagre vine, Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease. (Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine; The pair arrive: the livery'd servants wait; And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, Their lord receives them at the pompous gate. A ready warning bid them part in peace. The table groans with costly piles of food, With still remark the pondering hermit view'd, And all is more than hospitably good.

In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; Then, led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, "And why should such," within himself he Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down.

cried, At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, "Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside?" Along the wide canals the zephyrs play: But what new marks of wonder soon take place, Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, In every settling feature of his face, And shake the neighbouring wood to banish When from his vest the young companion bore


That cup, the generous landlord own'd before, Up rise the guests, obedient to the call; And paid profusely with the precious bowl An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; The stinted kindness of this churlish soul! Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd,

But now the clouds in airy tumult fly; Which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste. The sun emerging opes an azure sky; Then pleas'd and thankful, from the porch A fresher green the smelling leaves display,

they go;

And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day: And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe: The weather courts them from the poor ret His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise And the glad master bolts the wary gate. The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom As one who spies a serpent in his way,

wrought Glistening and basking in the summer ray,

With all the traval of uncertain thought; Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, His partner's acts without their cause appear, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with 'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here:


Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes,

Lost and confounded with the various shows. Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. Now night's dim shades again involve the The form ethereal burst upon his sight,


And moves in all the majesty of light. Again the wanderers want a place to lic;

Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion Again they search, and find a lodging nigh,

grew, The soil improv'd around, the mansion neat, Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do And neither poorly low, nor idly great: Surprise in secret chains his words suspends, It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, And in a calm his settling temper ends. Content, and not to praise, but virtue kind. But silence here the beauteous angel broke

Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, (The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke.) Then bless the mansion, and the inaster greet: “Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unTheir greeting fair bestow'd with modest guise,

known, The courteous master hears, and thus replies: In sweet memorial rise before the throne:

"Without a vain, without a grudging heart, These charms success in our bright region find, To him who gives us all I yield a part; And force an angel down, to calm thy mind; From him you come, for him accept it here For this, commission'd, I forsook the sky; A frank and sober, more than costly cheer.” Nay, cease to kneel thy fellow-servant I. He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, “Then know the truth of government divine, Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed, And let these scruples be no longer thine. When the grave household round his hall repair. "The Maker justly claims that world he made, Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with In this the right of Providence is laid;


Its sacred majesty through all depends At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, On using second means to work his ends. Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose; 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept The power exerts his attributes on high, Near the clos'd cradle where an infant slept, Your actions uses, nor controls your will, And writh'd his neck: the landlord's little pride, And bids the doubting sons of men be still. O strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and "What strange events can strike with more died.

surprise, Horror of horrors! what! his only son?

Than those which lately struck thy wondering How look'd our hermit when the fact was done!

eyes? Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, Yet, taught by these, confess th' Almighty just, And breathe blue fire, could more assault his And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust!


"The great vain man, who far'd on costly food, Confus'd and struck with silence at the deed, Whose life was too luxurious to be good; He flies, but trembling, fails to fly with speed. Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, His steps the youth pursues; the country lay And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way:

wine, A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, Was nice to find; the servant trod before; And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, "The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted And deep the waves beneath the bending glide.

door The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wandering poor; Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in; With him I left the cup, to teach his mind Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, Wild sparkling rage inflames the father's And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.


Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, He bursts the bands of fear, and inadly cries, With heaping coals of fire upon its head; "Detested wretch!” But scarce his speech In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,


And loose from dross the silver runs below. When the strange partner seem'd no longer man: “Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, His youthful face grew more serenely sweet; But now the child half-wean'd his heart from His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet;

God; Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; (Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain, Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; And measur'd back his steps to earth again. And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, To what excesses had his dotage run?

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