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Which spoke his ftrength mature beyond its prime, Niason.
Yet vigorous ftill, for from his healthy cheek
Time had not cropt a rofe, or on his brow
One wrinkling furrow plow'd; his eagle eye
Had all its youthful lightning, and each limb
The finewy ftrength, that toil demands and gives.

The warrior faw and paus'd: his nod with-

The crowd at awful diftance, where their ears,
In mute attention, drank the fage's prayer.
,,Parent of Good! (he cried) behold the gifts


Thy humble votary brings, and may thy fmile ,,Hallow his cuftom'd offering. Let the hand

That deals in blood, with blood thy fhrines dis-

Be mine this harmless tribute. If it fpeaks
„A grateful heart, can hecatombs do more?
Parent of Good! they cannot. Purple pomp
"May call thy prefence to a prouder fane



Than this poor cave; but will thy prefence there
Be more devoutly felt? Parent of Good!


It will not. Here then, fhall the proftrate heart,
That deeply feels thy prefence, lift its pray'r.


But what has he to afk who nothing needs,


„Save what unafk'd is from thy heav'n of heav'ns
"Giv'n in diurnal good? Yet, holy Power!
„Do all that call thee Father thus exult


In thy propitious prefence? Sidon finks.
"Beneath a tyrant's fccurge. Parent of Good!
"Oh free my captive country."---- Sudden here,
He paus'd and figh'd; and now, the raptur'd crowd
Murmur'd applaufe: he heard, he turn'd, and saw
The king of Macedon with eager ftep


Burft from his warrior phalanx. From the youth,
Who bore its ftate, the conqueror's own right hand
Snatch'd the rich wreath, and bound it on his brow.
His swift attendants o'er his shoulders caft

The robe of empire, while the trumpet's voice
Proclaim'd him king of Sidon, Stern he stood,


Mafon. Or, if he fmil'd, 'twas a contemptuous fmile,

That held the pageant honours in disdain.
Then burft the people's voice, in loud acclaim,
And bad him be their Father. At the word

The honour'd blood, that warm'd him, flush'd his
His brow expanded; his exalted step

March'd firmer; gracioufly he bow d the head.
And was the Sire they call'd him. Tell me king,"
Young Ammon cried, while o'er his bright'ning


He caft the gaze of wonder, how a foul
Like thine could bear the toils of Penury?"



Oh grant me, Gods!" he anfwer'd, „fo to bear


This load of Royalty. My toil was crown'd


With bleffings loft to kings; yet righteous Pow

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"If to my country ye transfer the boon,
"I triumph in the lofs: Be mine the chains


That fetter Sov'reignty; let Sidon (mile
"With your best bleffings, Liberty and Peace."



Keiner unter den jeßigen englischen Dichtern hat sich in der, von dieser Nation so häufig und so vorzüglich schön bes arbeiteten, artistischen Gattung des Lehrgedichts, so ausges zeichneten Beifall erworben, als William Hayley, Esq. aus der Grafschaft Sussex gebürtig. Seine drei hieher gez hörigen Gedichte sind indeß nicht Lehrgedichte im strengern Verftande des Worts, und in Virgil's Manier; es sind vielmehr, ihrer ganzen Form und Einrichtung nach, zugleich beschreibende und unterrichtende poetische Episteln, von der Art, wie die Horazischen an die Pisonen und an den August. Zuerst erschien der Essay on Painting, in zwei poez tischen Briefen, an den Mahler Romney gerichtet; dann der Effay on History, in drei Briefen, an den berühmten Geschichtschreiber Gibbon; und zuleßt der Essay on Epic Poetry, in fünf Episteln, an' Hrn. Mason. In allen ist der Gang nicht sowohl didaktisch, als historisch und charakterisie rend; aber eben in der Entwerfung der eigenthümlichen Vorzüge ́ jedes Mahlers, Geschichtschreibers und Heldens dichters zeigt Hr. Hayley einen sehr feinen Geschmack, und in ihrer Schilderung ein fehr fruchtbares poetisches Genie. Weberaus unterhaltend sind die jedem Gedichte beigefügten ausführlichen Anmerkungen, die zum Theil kritisch, meis ftens aber literarisch und historisch find. Unter denen zu dem lezten Gedichte befindet sich der glückliche Versuch einer Ues bersehung der drei ersten Gesånge aus der Hölle des Dante, mit beibehaltner Versart der terze rime. Die sämmtlis chen bisherigen Werke dieses Dichters find zu London 1785 in sechs Oktavbånden zusammen gedruckt; und die beiden ersten der drei angeführten Essays, aus deren jedem hier eis ne kurze Probe folgt, stehen, mit dem gedachten Kommentar begleitet, in den beiden bisherigen Bånden der Benzlerischen Poetical Library,


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Exhaufted Italy and tinfel France,
And fees in Britain, with exulting eyes,
Her vot'ries prosper, and her glories rife.
Yet tho, my friend, thy art is thus careft,
And with the homage of the public bleft,
And flourishes with growing beauty fair,
The child of Majesty's adoptive care,
The youthful artift ftill is doom't to feel
Obftruction's chilling hand, that damps his zeal:
Th' imperious voice of Vanity and Pride
Bids him from Fancy's region turn afide,
And quit the magic of her fcene, to trace
The vacant lines of fome unmeaning face:
F'en in this work his wifhes ftill are croft,
And all the efforts of his art are loft;
For when the canvas, with the mirror's truth,
Reflects the perfect form of age or youth,
The fond affections of the partial mind
The eye of judgment with delufion blind:
Each mother bids him brighter tints employ,
And give new spirit to her booby boy;
Nor can the painter, with his utmost art,
Exprefs the image in the lover's heart:
Unconscious of the change the feafons bring,
Autumnal beauty asks the rose of spring,
And vain felf-love, in every age the fame,
Will fondly urge fomne vifionary claim.
The luckiefs painter, deftin'd to fubmit,
Mourns the loft likenefs which he once had hit,
And, doom'd to groundless cenfure, bears alone
The grievous load of errors not his own.


Nor is Pride, or Folly's vain command,
That only tetters his creative hand;
At Fat hinon's nod he copies as they pafs
Each quaint reflection from her crowded glass.
The formal coat, with interfecting line,
Mars the free graces of his fair defign;
The towering cap he marks with like distress,
And all the motley mafs of female drefs.
The hoop extended with enormous fize,
The corks that like a promontory rife;
The stays of deadly fteel, in whofe embrace
The tyrant
Fashion tortures injur'd Grace.
But Art, despairing over shapes like these
To caft an air of elegance and eafe,
Invokes kind Fancy's aid the comes to spread
Her magic spells the Gothic forms are fled;
And fee, to crown the painter's juft defire,
Her free pofitions, and her light attire!
Th' ambitious artist wishes to pursue
This brilliant plan with more extenfive view,
And with adopted character to give
A lafting charm to make the portrait live;
All points of art by one nice effort gain,
Delight the learned, and content the vain;
Make hiftory to life new value lend,
And in the comprehenfive picture blend
The ancient hero with the living friend.
Moft faire device! „, but, ah! what foes to fenfe,
What broods of motley monsters rife from hen-
The ftrange pretenfions of each age and fex.
Thefe plans of fancy and of tafte perplex;
For male and female, to themselves unknown,
Demand a character unlike their own,
Till oft the painter to this quaint distress
Prefers the awkward chapes of common drefs.
Sweet girls, of mild and penfive softness, choose
The Sportive emblems of the comic Muse;
And sprightly damfels are inclin'd to borrow
The garb of penitence, and tears of forrow:

Beisp. Samml. 3. B.

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