Sivut kuvina
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Schon oben haben wir ihn, aus seinem Gedichte, The Fleece, als Lehrdichter kennen lernen; noch höher aber ist der Rang, den er sich in der beschreibenden Poesie durch seine beiden, hier mitgetheilten Gedichte, Grongar - Hill, und The Ruins of Rome, erworben hat. Jenes ist sein schdustes Gedicht, reich an reizenden Scenen und Bildern, und voll von meisterhaft eingewebten, überaus treffenden kleinen Betrachtungen, worin ihm, nach Warton's Urtheil, selbst Denham, dem er nachahmte, nicht überlegen ist. Auch die Nachahmung Milton's wird man hier leicht gewahr. Dyer war Mahler, und that, zur Ausbildung seiner Kunst, eine Reise nach Italien. Nach seiner Rückkehr schrieb er das zweite Gedicht, Rom's Ruinen, welches gleichfalls sehr schöne und wahrhaft poetische Stellen hat, worunter sich die:

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The hermit oft, 'midft his orifons, hears

Aghaft, the voice of Time difparting towers; durch ihre nachdruckvolle Stärke vorzüglich auszeichnet.

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Silent nymph, with curious eye!
Who, the purple ev'ning, lie,
On the mountain's lonley van,
Beyond the noife of bufy man,
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet fings;
Of the tuneful nightingale
Charms the foreft with her tale;
Come with all thy various hues,
Come, and aid thy fifter mufe;
Now while Phoebus riding high
Gives luftre to the land and fky!

Beifp. Samml. 3. B.




Grongar Hill invites my fong,
Draw the landf'kip bright and strong;
Grongar, in whofe moffy cells
Sweetly-mufing Quiet dwells;
Grongar, in whofe filent fhade,
For the modeft Mufes made,
So oft I have, the even still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sate upon a flow'ry bed

With my hand beneath my head;
And stray'd my eyes o'er Towy's floɔd,

Over inead, and over wood,

From houfe to houfe, from hill to hill,
'Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd fides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And leave his brooks

And viftoes fhooting beams of day:
Wider and wider fpreads the vale;
As circles on a smooth canal:

The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,

Withdraw their fummits from the skies,
And leffen as the others rife:

Still the profpect wider spreads,

Adds a thousand woods and meads,

Still it widens, widens ftill,

And finks the newly-rifen hill.

Now, I gain the mountain's brow、

What a landi kip lies below!
No clouds, no vapours intervene,
But the gay, the open fcene
Does the face of nature fhow,
In all the hues of heaven's bow!
And, fwelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the fight.
Old castles on the cliffs arife,
Proudly tow'ring in the skies!


Rufhing from the woods, the fpires:

Seem from hence afcending fires!
Half his beams Apollo 1heds
On the yellow mountain-heads!
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks;
And glitters on the broken rocks!

Below me trees unnumber'd rife:
Beautiful in various dyes:

The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the fable yew,
The flender fir, that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs.
And beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phillis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,

On which a dark hill, fteep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring eye!
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,
His fides are cloath'd with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That caft an awful look below;
Whofe ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps;
So both a fafety from the wind
On mutual dependence find.

'Tis now the raven's bleak abode
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad;
And there the fox fecurely feeds;
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, mofs and weeds:
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls
Yet time has feen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has feen this broken pile compleat,
Big with the vanity of state;
But tranfient is the fmile of fate!


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A little rule, a little fway,
A fun beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And fee the rivers how they run,
Thro' woods and meads, in fhade and fun,
Sometimes fwift, and fometimes flow,
Wave fucceeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life to endless fleep!
Thus is nature's vefture wrought,
To inftruct our wand'ring thought;
Thus fhe dresses green and gay,
To difperfe our cares away.、

Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landskip tire the view?
The fountain's fall, the rivers flow,

The woody vallies, warm and low;
The windy fummit, wild and high,
Roughly rufhing on the fky!
The pleafant feat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the fhady bow'r;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Aethiop's arm.


See on the mountains fouthern fide,
Where the profpect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide ;
How close and fmall the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows crofs the eye!
A step methinks may pass the stream,
So little diftant dangers feem;
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd thro' hope's deluding glafs;
As yon fummits foft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,

Which to those who journey near,
Barren, and brown, and rough appear;

Still we tread the fame coarfe way,


The prefent's ftill a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,

And never covet what I fee:
Content me with an humble shade,
My paffions tam'd, my wifhes laid;
For while our wifhes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the foul:
'Tis thus the bufy beat the air;
And mifers gather wealth and carë.

Now, ev'n now, my joy runs high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr fings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with mufick fill the sky,
Now, ev'n now, my joy runs high.

Be full, ye courts, be great who will;
Search for Peace with all your skill:
Open wide the lofty door,

Seek her on the marble floor,

In vain you fearch, fhe is not there;
In vain ye fearch the domes of care!
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads;
On the meads, and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close ally'd,
Ever by each other's fide:

And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar-Hill,

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