Sivut kuvina

G r a inger.


Dr. James Grainger, ein, vermuthlich noch leben: ber, englischer Arzt, ift Verfasser eines Gedichts ir vier Bås chern: The Sugar Cane, das' Zuderrohr, überschrieben. Das erste Buch handelt von deffen Anbau wud dem dazu ers foderlichen Boden; das zweite von den Unfällen, denen es während seines Wachsthums ausgeseßt ist; das dritte von der Behandlung des Rohrs und dem Zuckersieden; und das legte schildert den Zustand der Negern in den Zuderpflans jungen, und fodert die Landesleute des Dichters zu großerer Menschlichkeit gegen dieselben auf. Da Dr. Grainger felbft, als Arzt, in Weftindien einen Theil seines Lebens zus brachte, lo schildert er die bier vorkoinmenden Gegenstände, Scenen und Anstalten aus eigner Ansicht und Kenntniß ; nur verliert er sich dadurch zu oft aus den Gränzen der Poes fie in das wissenschaftliche, besonders botanische, Gebiete. Dadurch wird fein Gedicht weniger unterhaltend, als unters richtend; und dieß lektere ift es auch durch die beigefügtex ausführlichen Anmerkungen. Unbenust hat er indeß die Vortheile nicht gelassen, welche selbft die Beschaffenheit reis nes Gegenstandes ihm zu Schilderungen minder bekannter Naturscenen, zu kleineu erzählenden Episoden, und interes fanten Beschreibungen darbot. Vergl. Dusch's Vriefer

L 12, 13.


B. III. v. 1-164.


rom scenes of deep distress, the heavenly Muse,
Emerging joyous, claps her dewy wings.
As when a pilgrim, in the howling waste,
Hath long time wandered, fearful at each step,
Of tumbling cliffs, fell ferpents, whelmning bog's;
At last, from fome long eminence, descries
Fair haunts of social life; wide-cultur'd plains,

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Grainger. O'er which glad reapers pour; he chearly sings:

So she to Iprightlier notes her pipe attunes,
Than e'er these mountains heard; to gratulate,
With duteous carols, the beginning year.



, eldest birth of Time! in other climes,
In the old world, with tempests of her'd in;
While rified nature thine appearance wails,
And savage winter wields his iron mace:
But not the rockiest verge of these green isles,
Tho' mountains heapt on mountains brave the sky,
Dares winter, by his residence, prophane.
At times the ruffian, wrapt in murky state,
In roads will, fly, attempt; but foon the fun,
Benign protector of the Cane-land isles,
Repells the invader, and his rude mace breaks.
Here, every mountain, every winding dell,
(Haunt of the Dryads; where, beneath the shade,
Of broadleaf'd china, idly they repore,
Charm'd with the murmur of the tinkling rill;
Charm’d with the hummings of the neighbouring

Welcome thy glad approach: but chief the Cane
Whole juice now longs to murmur down the

Hails thy lov'd coming; January, hail!


O! M**! thou, whose polish'd mind contains
Each science useful to thy native isle!
Philosopher, without the hermit's spleen!
Polite, yet learned ; and, tho' folid, gay!
Critic, whose heart each error fings in friendly

Planter whose youth fage cultivation taught
Each secret lesson of her sylvan school:
To thee the Muse a grateful tribute pays;
She owes to thee the precepts of her song:
Nor wilt thou, four, refuse; tho' other cares,
The public welfare, claim thy busy hour;
With her to roam (thrice pleasing devious walk)


The ripened cane-piece; and, with her, to taste (Delicious draught!) the nectar of the mill!


The planter's labour in a round revolves; Ends with the year, and with the year begins.

Ye swains, to Heaven bend low in grateful

prayer, Worship the Almighty; whose kind - fostering

hand Hath blest your labour, and hath given the cane To rise fuperior to each menac'd ill.

Nor less, ye planters, in devotion, lue, That nor the heavenly bolt, nor casual spark, Nor hand of malice may the crop destroy.

Ah me! what numerous, deafnings bells,

What cries of horror ftartle the dull sleep?
What gleaming brightness makes, at midnight,

By its portentuous glare, too well I fee
Palaemon's fate; the virtuous, and the wise !
Where were ye, watches, when the flame burst

A little care had then the hydra quelld:
Bút, now, what clouds of white smoke load the

How strong, how rapid the combustion pours!
Aid not, ye winds! with your destroying breath,
The spreading vengeance — They contemn my


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Rous'd by the deafning bells, the cries, the

From every quarter, in tumultuous bands,
The Negroes rush; and, 'mid the crackling flames,
Plunge, daemon-like! All

, all, urge every nerve: This way, tear up those Canes; dash the fire out,

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Grainger. Which sweeps, with serpent-error, o'er the ground.
There, hew these down; their topmost branches

And here bid all thy watery engines play:
For here the wind the burning deluge drives.

In vain. More wide the blazing torrent rolls; More loud it roars, more bright it fires the pole! And toward thy manfion, see, it bends its way. Haste ! far, o far, your infant throng remove: Quick from your ftables drag your steeds and mu.

les : With well-wet blankets guard your cypress-roofs; And where thy dried Canes in large stacks are

pil d.


Efforts but ferve to irritate the fames:
Naught but thy ruin can their wrath appease.
Ah, my Palaemon! what avail'd thy care,
Oft to prevent the earliest dawn of day,
And walk thy ranges, at the noon of night?
What tho' nú ills afraild thy bunching sprouts,
And seafons pour'd obedient to thy will:
All, all must perish; nor shalt thou préserve
Where with to feed thy little orphan-throng.
Oh, may the Cane-isles know few nights, like

For now the fail-clad points, impatient, wait
The hour of sweet release, to court the gale.
The late-hung coppers wish to feel the warmth,
Which well-dried fewel from the Cane imparts:
The Negroe train, with placid looks, survey
Thy fields, which full perfection have attain'd,
And pant to wield the bill: (no surly watch
Dare now deprive them of the luscious Cane :)
Nor thou, my friend, their willing ardour check;
Encourage rather; cheerful toil is light.
So from no field, shall flow-pac'd oxen draw
More frequent loaded wanes; which many a day,

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And many a night shall feed thy cracklings mills Grainger.
With richest offerings : while thy far seen flames,
Bursting thro' many a chimney, bright emblaze
The Aethiop.brow of night. And see, they pour
(Ere phosphor his pale circlet yet withdraws,
What time grey dawn stands tip-toe on the hill,)
O'er the rich Cane-grove: Muse, their labour fing.

Some bending, of their faplels burden ease
The yellow ointed canes (whose height exceeds
A mounted trooper, and whose clammy round
Measures two inches full;) and near the root
Lop the item off which quivers in their hand
With fond impatience: foon it's branchy fpires,
(Food to thy cattle) it resigns; and foon
It's tender prickly tops, with eyes thick set,
To load with future crops thy long- hoed land.
These with their green, their pliant branches

(For not a part of this amazing plant,
But ferves some useful purpose) charge the young:
Not laziness from it's leafy pallet crawls,
To join the favoured gang. What of the Cane
Remains, and much the largest part remains,
Cut into junks a yard in length, and tied
In small light bundles; load the broad. wheel'd

The mules crook-harnest, and the sturdier crew,
With sweet abundance. As on Lincoln plains
(Ye plains of Lincoln found your Dyer's praise!)
Wlier the lay'd snow-white flocks are numerous

The senior swains, with i narpen'd shears, cut off
The fleecy vestment; others stir the tar;
And some impress, upon their captives Gides,
Their master's cypher; while the infant throng
Strive by the horns to hold the struggling ram,
Proud of their prowess. Nor meanwhile the jest
Light-bandied round, but innocent of ill;
Nor choral song are wanting; eccho rings.

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