Thom Her firft endearments twining round the foul,
Thomson., Afresh, her beauties on his bufy thought,
With all the witchcraft of enfnaring love.
Straight the fierce ftorm involves his mind anew,
"Flames thro' the nerves, and boils along the veins;
While anxious doubts diftract the tortur'd heart:
For even the fad affurance of his fears
Were ease to what he feels.,
Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds,
Thro' flowery-tempting paths, or leads a life
Of fevered rapture, or of cruel care;
His brightest flames extinguifh'd all, and all
His brightest moments running down to waste.
But happy they! the happiest of their Kind!
Whom gentler ftars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings
blend.
"Tis not the coarfer tie of human laws,
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind,
That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
Attuning all their paffions into love;
Where friendship full-exerts her fofteft power,
Perfect esteem, enlivened by defire
Ineffable, and fympathy of foul;
Thought meeting thought, and will preventing
will,
With boundless confidence: for nought but love
Can answer love, and render blifs fecure.
Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent
To bless himself, from fordid parents buys
The loathing virgin, in eternal care,
Well merited, confume his nights and days:
Let barbarous nations, whofe inhuman love
Is wild defire, fierce as the funs they feel,
Let eastern tyrants, from the light of Heaven
Seclude their bofom-flaves, meanly poflefs'd
Of a mère,
lifeless, violated form:
While thofe, whom love cements in holy faith,
And equal transport, free as Nature live,
Disdaining fear. What is the world to them,
Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonfenfe all?
Who in each other clafp whatever fair
High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish;
Something than beauty dearer, fhould they look
Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face;
Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love,
The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven.
Meantime a fmiling offfpring rifes round,
And mingles both their graces. By degrees.
The human bloffom blows, and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, fhews fome new charm,
The father's luftre, and the mother's bloom,
The infant reafon grows apace, and calls
For the kind hand of an affiduous care.
Delightful tafk! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to fhoot,
To pour the fresh inftruction o'er the mind,
To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpofe in the glowing breaft.
Oh speak the joy! ye, whom the fudden tear
Surprizes often, while you look around.
And nothing strikes your eye but fights of bliss,
All various Nature, preffing on the heart.
An elegant fufficiency, content,
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Eafe and alternate labour, ufeful life,
Progreffive virtue, 'and approving Heaven.
Thefe are the matchlefs joys of virtuous love;
And thus their moments fly. The Seafons thus,
As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll,
Still find them happy; and confenting SPRING
Sheds her own rofy garland on their heads:
Thomson. Till evening comes at laft, ferene and mild;
When after the long vernal day of life,
Enamour'd more, as more remembrance fwells
With many a proof of recollected love,
Together down they fink in focial fleep;
Together freed, their gentle spirits fly
To scenes, where love and blifs immortal reign.
B. 1. S. 81, diefer Sammlung ist schon dieses Dichters und seines beschreibenden Gedichts, The Deserted Village, das veròdete Dorf, erwähnt worden. Seine Absicht war, die verderblichen Einflüsse des brittischen Lurus und der Auswandrungen nach Oft- und Westindien auf die Entvôl kerung der Dörfer zu schildern; und dieß Gemählde, wär'es auch größtentheils bloß idealisch, ist ihm sehr geglückt. Es hat überaus viel Natur, Wahrheit und Interesse. Der Dichs ter führt darin den Bewohner eines solchen Dorfs, welches er Auburn nennt, redend ein. Die rührende Aurede an daffelbe, womit das Gedicht anfängt, und die schöne Charakterifirung des Dorfpredigers, werden hier zur Probe hinreichend seyn, Da das englische Original in Deutschland mehr als Einmal abgedruckt und überseht ist.
Sweet AUBURN, lovelieft village of the plain Where health and plenty cheared the labouring fwain,
Where fmiling fpring its earlieft vifit paid,
And parting fummer's lingering blooms delayed,
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each fcene;
How often have I paufed on every charm
The fheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never failing brook, the busy mill
The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bufh, with feats beneath the fhade,
For talking age and whifpering lovers made.
How often have I bleft the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
Goldsmith. And all the village train from labour free
Led up their fports beneath the fpreading tree,
While many a paftime circled in the fhadé,
The young contending as the old furveyed;
'And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And flights of art and feats of strength went round.
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired;
The dancing pair, that fimply fought renown
By holding out to tire each other down,
The fwain mistruftlefs of his fmutted face,
While fecret laughter tittered round the place,
The bafhful virgin's fide-long looks of love,
The matron's glance that would thofe looks re-
prove.
These were thy charms, fweet village; sports like
thefe,
With fweet fucceffion, taught even toil to please;
These round thy bowers their chearful influence
Shed,
Thefe were thy charms. But all these charms
are fled.
'Sweet fmiling village, lovelieft of the lawn, Thy fports are fled, and all thy charms with drawn;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is feen,
And defolation faddens all thy green.
One only mafter grafps the whole domain,
And half a tillage ftints thy fmiling plain;
No more thy glaffy brook reflects the day,
But choaked with fedges, works it weedy way,
Along thy glades a folitary guest,
The hollow founding bittern guards its neft
Amidst thy defert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Sunk are thy bowers in fhapeless ruin all
And the long grafs o'ertops the mouldering
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