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Denham.

Denham.

Sir John Denham, geb. 1615, geft. 1668, hat aner: kannte Verdienste um die Verbesserung der englischen Poez fie. Den größten Ruhm erwarb er sich durch das, hier gang eingerückte, Gedicht, Cooper's Hill, worin er eine reizende Anhdhe dieses Namens beschreibt, und wodurch er eine in der Folge von englischen Dichtern oft bearbeitete Dichtungsart einführte, die man, wie Dr. Johnson sagt, die Lokals poesie nennen könnte. Das Gedicht ist, nach dem Urtheile dieses Kunstrichters, freilich nicht ohne Mångel; es hat zu lange Abschweifungen, zu häufige Moral, und nicht durchaus åchte Empfindung; indeß gefteht er dem Dichter doch das Lob der Originalität, und das Verdienst zu, daß er zur Verbesserung des Geschmacks und der Sprache seines Va terlandes sehr viel beigetragen habe. Ueber die vier berühm teften, höchst glücklichen, und unzählig oft nachgeahmten Verse:

O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!

Though deep, yet clear; tho gentle, yet not dull;

Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full!

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findet man eine scharfsinnige Kritik in Denhams Leben von Dr. Johnson. Die größte Schönheit dieses Gedichts sezt Dr. Warton (Essay on Pope, Vol. I. p. 31.) in der Kunst, mit welcher Denham seinen Beschreibungen und Bildern durchgängig eine moralische Tendenz zu geben, und ihnen überall lehrreiche Winke einzuweben gewußt hat; faft ganz so, wie der wirkliche Anblick sticher Scenen und Ausfichten der Seele eine gewisse ruhige Fassung mitzutheilen, und sie zu Gedanken und Betrachtungen, die, mit den Ges genständen verwandt sind, hinzuneigen pflegt.

COOPER'S HILL.

Sure there are Poets which did never dream
Upon Parnaffus, nor did tafte the ftream

Of

Denham.

Of Helicon; we therefore may fuppofe
Those made not Poets, but the Poets those.
And as Courts make not Kings,

Court,

but Kings the

So where the Mufes and their Train refort,
Parnaffus ftands; if I can be to thee
A Poet, thou Parnassus art to me,
Nor wonder, if (advantag'd in my flight,
By taking wing from thy aufpicious height)
Through untrac'd Ways and airy Paths I flie,
More boundless in my Fancy than my Eye:
My Eye, which fwift as Thought contracts the
Space

That lies between, and firft falutes the Place
Crown'd with that facred Pile, fa vaft, fa high,
That whether 'tis a part of Earth, or Sky,
Uncertain feems, and may be thought a proud
Afpiring Mountain, or defcending Cloud,
Paul's, the late Theme of fuch a *) Muse whofe
flight

Has bravely reach'd and foar'd above thy height:
Now fhalt thou ftand, tho' Sword, or Time, or
Fire,

Or Zeal more fierce than they, thy Fall confpire,
Secure, whilft thee the best of Poets fings,
Preferv'd from Ruin by the best of Kings,
Under his proud furvey the City lies,
And like a Mift beneath a Hill doth rife;

Whole State and Wealth, the Bufinefs and the
Crow'd:

Seems at this diftance but a darker Cloud:
And is to him who rightly things efteems,
No other in effect than what it seems:

Where, with like hafte, tho' fev'ral ways they

run,

Some to undo, and fome to be undone;

While Luxury, and Wealth, like War and Peace,

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Denham.

Are each the others ruin, and increase;
As Rivers loft in Seas, fome fecret Vein
Thence reconveys, there to be lost again.
Oh Happiness of fweet retir'd Content!
To be at once fecure, and innocent.

Windfor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells,
Beauty with Strength) above the Valley fwells
Into my Eye, and doth itself prefent
With fuch and eafie and inforc'd Afcent,
That no ftupendous Precipice denies
Accefs, no horror turns away our Eyes:
But fuch a Rise, as doth at once invite
A pleasure, and a reverence from the fight.
Thy mighty Mafter's Emblem, in whofe Face
Sate Meeknefs, heighten'd with majestick Grace;
Such feems thy gentle height, made only proud
To be the bafis of that pompous load,

Than which, a nobler weight no Mountain bears,
But Atlas only which fupports the Sphears.
When Nature's hand this ground did thus advance,
'Twas guided by a wifer Pow'r than Chance;
Mark'd out for fuch an ufe, as if 'twere meant
T' invite the Builder, and his choice prevent.
Nor can we call it choice, when what we chufe,
Folly or Blindness only cou'd refuse.

A Crown of fuch majeftick Tow'rs does grace
The Gods great Mother, when her heav'nly Race
Do Homage to her, yet fhe cannot boast
Among that num'rous, and Celestial Hoft,
More Heroes than can Windfor, nor doth Fame's
Immortal Book record more noble Names.
Not to look back fo far, to whom this Isle
Owes the first Glory of fo brave a Pile,
Whether to Caefar, Albanact, or Brute,
The British Arthur, or the Danish Knute,
(Tho' this of old no lefs Conteft did move,
Than when for Homer's Birth fev'n Cities ftrove)
(Like him in Birth, thou fhouldft be like in Fame,
As thine his Fate, if mine had been his Flame)
But whofoe'er it was, Nature defign'd

First a brave Place, and then as brave a Mind.
Not to recount those fev'ral Kings, to whom
It gave a Cradle or to whom a Tomb;

But thee, great *) Edward, and thy greater fon,
(The Lillies which his Father wore, he won)
And thy **) Bellona, who the Confort came
Not only to thy Bed, but to thy Fame,
She to thy Triumph led one Captive ***) king,
And brought that Son, which did the fecond bring.
Then didst thou found that Order (whether Love
Or Victory thy Royal Thoughts did move)
Each was a noble caufe, and nothing lefs
Than the defign, has been the great fuccefs:
Which foreign Kings, and Emperors esteem
The fecond Honour to their Diadem.

Had thy great Destiny but giv'n thee fkill
To know, as well as pow'r to act her will,
That from thofe Kings, who then thy Captives were,
In after-times fhould spring a Royal Pair
Who fhould poffefs all that thy mighty Pow'r,
Or thy Defires more mighty, did devour:
To whom their better Fate referves what e'er
The Victor hopes for, or the Vanquifht fear;
That Blood, which thou and thy great Grandfire
fhed,

And all that fince thefe fifter Nations bled,
Had been unfpilt, had happy Edward known
That all the Blood he fpilt, had been his own.
When he that Patron chofe, in whom are join'd
Soldier and Martyr, and his Arms confin'd
Within the azure Circle, he did feem
But to foretell, and prophefie of him

Who to his Realms that azure round hath join'd,
Which Nature for their bound at first design'd.
That bound, which to the World's extreameft end,

Denham.

*) Edward III, and the Black-Prince.

**) Queen Philippa.

***) The Kings of France and Scotland.

End

Denham, Endless itself, its liquid Arms extends.

د.

Nor doth he need thofe Emblems which we paint,
But is himself the Soldier and the Saint,

Here i hould my Wonder dwell, and here my Praise,
But my
fixt Thoughts my wandring Eye betrays,
Viewing a neighb'ring Hill, whofe top of late
A Chappel crown'd, till in the Common Fate
Th' adjoining Abby fell: (may no fuch Storm
Fall on our times, where ruin muft reform.)
Tell me, my Mufe, what monftrous dire Offence,
What Crime could any Chriftian king incenle
To fuch a Rage? Was 't Luxury, or Luft?
Was he fo temperate, fo chaft, lo just?

Were these their Crimes? They were his own much

more:

But Wealth is Crime enough to him that's poor,
Who having spent the Treasures of his Crown,
Condemns their Luxury to feed his own,
And yet this Act, to varnish o'er the Shame
Of Sacrilege, must bear Devotion's Name.
No Crime to bold, but would be understood
A real, or at least a feeming Good:

Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the Name,
And free from Confcience, is a Slave to Fame:
Thus he the Church at once protects, and spoils:
But Princes Swords, are fharper than their Styles.
And thus to th' Ages paft he makes amends,
Their Charity destroys, their Faith defends,
Then did Religion in a lazy Cell,

In empty, airy Contemplations dwell;
And like the Block, unmoved lay: but ours,
As much too active, like the Stork devours.
Is there no temp'rate Region can be known,
Betwixt their frigid, and our torrid Zone?
Cou'd we not wake from that lethargick Dream,
But to be reftlefs in a worse Extream?

And for that Lethargy was there no cure,
-But to be caft into a Calenture?

Can Knowledge have no bound, but must advance
So far, to make us with for Ignorance?

And

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