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Song.

But God to save the father, took the son,
To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go,
(And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow,)

When thy beauty appears
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,

In its graces and airs, Now owns in tears the punishment was just.

All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky, "But now had all his fortune felt a wrack,

At distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears, Had that false servant sped in safety back;

So strangely you dazzle my eye!
This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail!
Thus Heaven instructs thy mind : this trial o'er, But when without art
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more." Your kind thoughts you impart,

On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, When your love runs in blushes through every The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew.

vein; Thus look'd Elisha when, to mount on high, When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in His master took the chariot of the sky;

your heart, The fiery pomp ascending left to view;

Then I know you're a woman again. The prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too.

The bending hermit here a prayer begun, “Lord! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done." "There's a passion and pride

"In our sex (she replied)
Then gladly turning sought his ancient place,
And pass'd a life of piety and peace.

"And thus (might I gratify both) I would do
"Still an angel appear to each lover beside,
"But still be a woman to you."

Young

Edward Young ward im Juni 1681 zu Upham bei Winchester geboren, wo sein Vater, der ganz dieselben Namen führte, als Geistlicher lebte. Er erhielt seine Bildung auf der hohen Schule zu Winchester und studirte dann zu Oxford, wo er 1719 Doctor der Rechte wurde. Hierauf lebte er eine Zeitlang als Erzieher des Lord Burleigh im Hause des Grafen von Exeter und ging dann nach London, wo er sich mit poetischen Arbeiten beschäftigte und um einen Sitz im Unterhause bewarb, aber nicht gewählt wurde. So erreichte er sein funfzigstes Jahr und trat nun in den geistlichen Stand über. Georg II. machte ihn zu seinem Hofcaplan; ein Bisthum auf das er sicher rechnete, ward ihm aber nicht zu Theil. Häusliche Leiden trübten den Rest seines Lebens, waren jedoch die Quelle seiner berühmtesten Dichtung, der Nachtgedanken, dem er nur noch ein grösseres Gedicht, Resignation betitelt, folgen liess. Er starb im April 1765.

Youngs sämmtliche Werke erschienen zuerst London 1757 in 4. und öfterer; eine sehr gute Ausgabe derselben ist die von 1760 (London 6 Bde. in 8.). Sie enthalten ausser den Nachtgedanken und der Resignation noch sieben Satyren auf die Ruhmsucht, mehrere Tragödien, lyrische Poesieen u. A. m. Ausser den Night Thoughts hat sich seine Tragödie Revenge am Längsten im Andenken erhalten.

Gedankenfülle und Tiefe, Reichthum der Anschauung von Welt und Leben, Kraft und Herrschaft über Sprache und Form sind die vorzüglichsten Eigenschaften dieses bedeutenden Dichters, welche am Wirksamsten und Glänzendsten in seinen Nachtgedanken hervortreten; aber er ist nicht immer frei von Gesuchtheit und Künsteln, von Einseitigkeit und Unverständlichkeit. Seine Zeit und die nächstfolgende haben ihn überschätzt, was vorzüglich aus dem Gegensatz sich entwickelte, den seine poetischen Klagen zu der damals vorwaltenden leichtern Auffassung und Behandlung des Lebens bildeten. Seine Poesie ist trotz allen ihren grossen Vorzügen doch nur ein Gemisch von wirklich dichterischen Elementen, abstracten in das Gebiet der Philosophie gehörenden Reflectionen und rhetorischem Schmuck. Die meiste Anlage hatte er unbedingt für die Satyre.

Select Passages

Wake all to reason; let her reign alone; from the Complaint; or Night Thoughts. Then, in thy soul's deep silence, and the depth

Of Nature's silence, midnight, thus inquire, Procrastination is the thief of time;

As I have done; and shall inquire no more. Year after year it steals, till all are fled, In Nature's channel, thus the questions run: --And the mercies of a mome leaves

“What am I? and from whence? I nothing The vast concerns of an eternal scene.

know If not so frequent, would not this be strange? But that I am; and, since I am, conclude That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger still. Something eternal: had there e'er been nought,

Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears Nought still had been; eternal there must be. The palm, "That all men are about to live," But what eternal ? Why not human race? For ever on the brink of being born.

And Adam's ancestors without an end ? All pay themselves the compliment to think That's hard to be conceiv’d, since every link. They one day shall not drivel: and their pride Of that long-chain'd succession is so frail. On this reversion takes up ready praise; Can every part depend, and not the whole ? At least, their own; their future selves applaud: Yet grant it true; new difficulties rise; How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! I'm still quite out at sea; nor see the shore. Time lodg'd in their own hands in folly's vails ; Whence Earth, and these bright orbs ? EterThat lodg'd in fate's, to wisdom they consign;

nal too? The thing they can't but purpose, they post-Grant matter was eternal; still these orbs

pone;

Would want some other father; much design 'Tis not in folly, not to scorn a fool;

Is seen in all their motions, all their makes; And scarce in human wisdom, to do more. Design implies intelligence, and art; All promise is poor dilatory man,

That can't be from themselves -- or man: that art And that through every stage; when young, Man scarce can comprehend, could man bestow?

indeed,

And nothing greater yet allow'd than man. In full content we, sometimes, nobly rest, Who, motion, foreign to the smallest grain, Unanxious for ourselves; and only wish, Shot through vast masses of enormous weight ? As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. Who bid brute matter's restive lump assume At thirty man suspects himself a fool;

Such various forms, and gave it wings to fly ? Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; Has matter innate motion ? then each atom, At fifty chides his infamous delay,

Asserting its indisputable right Pushes his prudent purpose to resolver, To dance, would form an universe of dust: In all the magnanimity of thought

Has matter none? Then whence these glorious Resolves; and re-solves; then dies the same.

forms And why? Because he thinks himself im- And boundless flights, from shapeless, and re

mortal. All men think all men mortal, but themselves; Has matter more than motion ? has it thought, Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate Judgment, and genius ? is it deeply learn'd Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden In mathematics? Has it fram'd such laws,

dread;

Which but to guess, a Newton made immortal ? But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, If so, how each sage atom laughs at me, Soon close; where, past the shaft, no trace is Who think a clod inferior to a man!

found.

If art, to form; and counsel, to conduct; Retire; the world shut out; thy thoughts call And that with greater far than human skill,

home;

Resides not in each block; -- a Godhead reigns. Imagination's airy wing repress;

Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud, Lock up thy senses; let no passion stir; To damp our brainless ardours; and abate

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That glare of life which often blinds the wise. And yet still more on piety itself.
Our dying friends are pioneers, tor smooth A soul in commerce with her God is heaven;
Our rugged pass to death; to breath those bars Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life;
Of terror and abhorrence Nature throws

The whirls of passions, and the strokes of heart.
Cross our obstructed way; and, thus to make A Deity believ'd, is joy begun;
Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm. A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd;
Each friend by fate snatch'd from us, is a plume A Deity belov’d, is joy matur'd.
Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity, Each branch of piety delight inspires;
Which makes us stoop from our aërial heights, Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,
And dampt with omen of our own decease, O’er death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides;
On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd, Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy,
Just skim earth's surface, ere we break it up, That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still;
O'er putrid earth to scratch a little dust, Prayer ardent opens heaven, lets down a stream
And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends Of glory on the consecrated hour
Are angels sent on errands full of love; Of man, in audience with the Deity.
For us they languish, and for us they die : Who worships the great God, that instant joins
And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain? The first in heaven, and sets his foot on hell.
Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades Thus, darkness aiding intellectual light,
Which wait the revolution in our hearts? And sacred silence whispering truths divine,
Shall we disdain their silent, soft address; And truths divine, converting pain to peace,
Their posthumous advice, and pious prayer ? My song the midnight raven has outwing'd,
Senseless, as herds that graze their hallow'a And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes,

graves;

Beyond the flaming limits of the world, Tread under foot their agonies and groans; Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flight Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths? Of fancy, when our hearts remain below?

"Is virtue, then, and piety the same?” Virtue abounds in flatteries and foes; No; piety is more; 'tis virtue's source; "Tis pride to praise her; penance to perform. Mother of every worth, as that of joy.

To more than words, to more than worth of Men of the world this doctrine ill digest:

tongue They smile at piety; yet boast aloud

Lorenzo! rise, at this auspicious hour; Good-will to men; nor know they strive to part An hour, when Heaven's most intimate with What nature joins; and thus confute themselves.

man; With piety begins all good on earth;

When, like a falling star, the ray divine 'Tis the first-born of rationality.

Glides swift into the bosom of the just; Conscience, her first law broken, wounded lies; And just are all, determin'd to reclaim; Enfeebled, lifeless, impotent to good;

Which sets that title high within thy reach. A feign'd affection bounds her utmost power. Awake, then: thy Philander calls : awake! Some we can't love, but for the Almighty's sake; Thou, who shalt wake, when the creation sleeps : A foe to God was ne'er true friend to man; When, like a taper, all these suns expire; Some sinister intent taints all he does;

When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath, And, in his kindest actions, he's unkind. Plucking the pillars that support the world, On piety, humanity is built ;

In Nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd; And on humanity, much happiness;

And midnight, universal midnight! reigns.

Tick ell.

Thomas Tickell, Sohn eines Geistlichen ward 1686 zu Bridekirk in Cumberland geboren, studirte in Oxford und ward durch Addison's Vermittelung, dessen vertrauter Freund er war, Unter-Staatssecretair, später aber Secretair der Lords Justices of Ireland, ein Amt, das er bis zu seinem 1740 erfolgten Tode bekleidete.

Seine Schriften erschienen zuerst gesammelt unter dem Titel Miscellaneous Works, London 1753, 3 Bde. in 12.; seine Poesieen finden sich auch im 26. Bande der Johnson'schen, im 73. der Bell'schen und im 8. der Anderson'schen Sammlung. Natürliches Gefühl und Wärme sind ihm eigen, und weisen ihm daher einen höheren Rang an, als ihn die vielen Convenienzpoeten seiner Zeit verdienen. Am Gelungensten sind seine Balladen und seine gie auf Addison's Tod. Als Prosaist zeigte er sich correct und geistreich in seinen Beiträgen zum Spectator, an welcher Zeitschrift er lebhaften Antheil nahm.

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Oft at this grave, the constant hind

And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,

They deck the sacred green:

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,

This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,

And fear to meet him there.

Ra m sa y.

s a y.

Allan Ramsay, der erste schottische Dichter, dessen in dem Dialect seiner Heimath geschriebene Poesieen, besonders sein Schäferspiel: The Gentle Shepherd sich über ganz Grossbritannien verbreiteten und klassische Geltung erlangten, ward 1686 im Kirchspiel von Crawford Moor in Lanarkshire, wo sein Vater als Bergmann lebte, geboren, kam zu einem Perrückenmacher in die Lehre und liess sich später als Buchhändler in Edinburg nieder, wo er die erste Leihbibliothek für Schottland gründete. Nachdem er mehrere altschottische Gedichte, welche selten geworden, herausgegeben, trat er 1721 mit eigenen Poesieen auf, denen 1726 sein Gentle Shepherd folgte, der ihm grossen und allgemeinen Ruhm erwarb. Er starb 1758.

Ramsay's übrige Gedichte sind ziemlich vergessen, sein Schäferspiel aber, sowie seine beiden Sammlungen altschottischer Balladen, The Tea-table Miscellany und The Evergreen, in welchen sich auch manches Lied von ihm befindet, welches das Volk sich zu eigen machte, werden sich erhalten, so lange es Freunde schottischer Muse giebt. Anmuth, Natürlichkeit, warmes Gefühl und Leichtigkeit der Behandlung zeichnen ihn aus. Der Inhalt des Schäferspiels ist einfach: die Handlung trägt sich in den Pentland Hügeln bei Edinburg zu und behandelt die Liebe eines Schäfers Patie und einer Schäferin Peggy. Der Erstere ist der Sohn eines Verbannten, welcher mit Gut und Geld beladen zurückkommt, ihn erkennt und von ihm verlangt, eine Vornehmere zur Frau zu wählen. Der junge Mann kann sich nicht dazu entschliessen; es offenbart sich aber zuletzt, dass seine Geliebte ein Findling, auch von gutem Herkommen ist, und nun endet Alles in Frieden und Freude.

Select Passages from:

Peggy

The scented meadows birds - and healthy The.Gentle Shepherd.

breeze, For aught I ken, may mair than Peggy please. Peggy. O Patie, let me gang, I mauna stay;

Patie.
We're baith cry'd hame, and Jenny she's away. Ye wrang me sair, to doubt my being kind;

In speaking sae, ye ca’ me dull and blind,
Patie.

Gif I could fancy aught's sae sweet or fair
I'm laith to part sae soon; now we're alane, As my sweet Meg, or worthy of my care.
And Roger he's away wi' Jenny gane;

Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest brier, They're as content, for aught I hear or see, Thy cheek and breast the finest flow'rs appear: To be alane themselves, I judge, as we. Thy words excel the maist delightfu' notes Here, where primroses thickest paint the green, That warble through the merle or mavis' throats : Hard by this little burnie let us lean :

With thee I tent nae flowers that busk the field, Hark! how the lav’rocks chant aboon our heads, Or ripest berries that our mountains yield: How saft the westlin winds sough through the The sweetest fruits that hing upon the tree

reeds!

Ar far inferior to a kiss of thee.

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