Hark! the loud peal begins, the clamorous joy, | Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat
The gallant chiding loads the trembling air. Into the sheltering deeps. Ah! there he vents!

Ye Naiads fair, who o'er those floods preside, The pack plunge headlong, and pretended spears
Raise up your dripping heads above the wave, Menace destruction: while the troubled surge
And hear our melody. Th' harmonious notes Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind,
Float with the stream; and every winding creek | Affrighted, hide their heaps. Wild tumult reigns,
And hollow rock, that o'er the dimpling tlood And loud uproar. Ah, there, once more he vents!
Nods pendant, still improve from shore to shore See, that bold hound has seiz'd him! down they
Our sweet reiterated joys. What shouts!

sink What clamour loud! What gay heart-cheering Together lost: but soon shall he repent

sounds

His rash assault. See, there escap'd, he flies Urge through the breathing brass their mazy way! Half-drown'd, and clambers up the slippery bank Nor quires of Tritons glad with sprightlier strains With ouze and blood distain'd. Of all the brutes, The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides Whether by Nature form’d, or by long use, In triumph o'er the deep. How greedily This artful diver best can bear the want They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade Of vital air. Unequal is the fight, Rank-scenting clings! See! how the morning Beneath the whelming element. Yet there

dews

He lives not long; but respiration needs They sweep, that from their feet besprinkling drop At proper intervals. Again he vents; Dispers'd, and leave a track oblique behind. Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierc'd Now on firm land they range; then in the flood His neck, the crimson waves confess the wound. They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools Fixt is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest, Rustling they work their way: no hole escapes Where'er he flies; with him it sinks beneath, Their curious search. With quick sensation now With him it mounts; sure guide to every foe. The fuming vapour stings; flutter their hearts, Inly he groans; nor can his tender wound And joy redoubled bursts from every mouth Bear the cold stream. Lo! to yon sedgy bank In louder symphonies. Yon hollow trunk, He creeps disconsolate: his numerous foes That with its hoary head incurv'd salutes Surround him, hounds, and men. Pierc'd through The passing wave, must be the tyrant's fort,

and through, And dread abode. How these impatient climb, On pointed spears they lift him high in air; While others at the root incessant bay!

Wriggling he hangs, and grins, and bites in vain: They put him down. See, there he drives along! Bid the loud horns, in gaily-warbling strains, Th' ascending bubbles mark his gloomy way. Proclaim the felon's fate; he dies, he dies.

Gre e n.

Matthew Green ward 1696 zu London geboren und gehörte zu der Secte der Quäker, von der er sich jedoch später lossagte, ohne indessen zu einer anderen Gemeine überzutreten. Er bekleidete einen Posten bei dem Zollamte und starb 1737 in seiner Vaterstadt. Unter seinen wenigen hinterlassenen Gedichten zeichnet sich vorzüglich sein descriptiv-didactisches Poem the Spleen,

durch Originalität, Energie und Naivetät sehr vortheilhaft aus.

From Green's Spleen.

Contentment, parent of delight, So much a stranger to our sight, Say, goddess, in what happy place

Mortals behold thy blooming face;
Thy gracious auspices impart,
And for thy temple choose my heart.
They, whom thou deignest to inspire,
Thy science learn, to bound desire;

Richard Savage, - berühmter durch seine traurigen Schicksale als durch seine poetischen Leistungen, die eigentlich von jenen mehr Glanz erhalten als sie selbst besitzen, ward am 10. Januar 1697 oder 1698 in Foxcourt, Holborn, geboren. Er war ein natürlicher Sohn des Earl Rivers und der Gräfin von Macclesfield, die ihre Schande offen bekannte, um dadurch zur Ehescheidung zu gelangen, und ihr armes Kind, vom Augenblicke seiner Geburt an, mit dem widernatürlichsten Hasse verfolgte. Es ward der Sorgfalt einer armen Frau übergeben und dieser eingeschärft, ihm nie seinen Ursprung zu entdecken. So wuchs Savage auf, nothdürftige Bildung in einer lateinischen Schule zu St. Albans erhaltend. Durch den Tod seiner Pflegemutter erfuhr er das Geheimniss seiner Geburt, aber alle seine Bemühungen, die Anerkennung seiner Mutter zu erhalten, waren vergeblich; sie stiess ihn zurück und suchte ihn zu unterdrücken, wo sie es nur vermochte. Der Mangel zwang ihn, sich seinen Lebensunterhalt durch die Feder zu verdienen; Noth und Elend trieben ihn unstät herum; Nichts erweichte die Gräfin, ja, als er das Unglück gehabt hatte, im Zorn des Rausches einen Menschen zu erstechen, und zum Tode verurtheilt wurde, wandte sie alle ihr zu Gebote stehenden Mittel an, seine Begnadigung zu verhindern. Er ward jedoch trotz dem begnadigt und Lord Tyrconnel nahm ihn zu sich in sein Haus; Savage war indessen durch seine Leiden moralisch zerstört und überwarf sich mit seinem Wohlthäter. Er erhielt dann eine kleine

Pension von der Königin Caroline, die aber mit deren Tode wieder einging. Eine unbedeutende Schuld brachte ihn darauf zu Bristol in das Gefängniss, wo er am 1. August 1743 starb.

Savage hat ein Trauerspiel, ein Lustspiel, mehrere descriptive Gedichte und kleinere Poesieen hinterlassen; seine besten Leistungen sind the Wanderer und the Bastard; - es finden sich darin einzelne nicht gewöhnliche Schönheiten, deren Wirkung jedoch durch eben so viel Unbedeutendes und Geringes geschwächt wird.

Select Passages
from the Wanderer.

Beneath appears a place, all outward bare,
Inward the dreary mansion of despair!
The water of the mountain-road, half stray'd,
Breaks o'er it wild, and falls a brown cascade.
Has nature this rough, naked piece design'd,

A feeble taper, from yon lonesome room,
Scattering thin rays, just glimmers through the
gloom.

There sits the sapient bard in museful mood,
And glows impassion'd for his country's good!
All the bright spirits of the just combin'd,
Inform, refine, and prompt his towering mind!
He takes the gifted quill from hands divine,
Around his temples rays refulgent shine!
Now rapt! now more than man! I see him
climb,

To hold inhabitants of mortal kind?
She has. Approach'd, appears a deep descent,
Which opens in a rock a large extent!
And hark! its hollow entrance reach'd, I hear
A trampling sound of footsteps hastening near!
A death-like chillness thwarts my panting breast:
Soft! the wish'd object stands at length con-Let some a name by adulation raise,

To view this speck of earth from worlds sublime!
I see him now o'er nature's works preside!
How clear the vision! and the scene how wide!

Unjust derision too! that tongue of gall! Thy foes are virtue's, and her friends are thine! Slow comes relief, with no mild charms endued, Patience is thine, and peace thy days shall Usher'd by pride, and by reproach pursued.

crown; Fore'd pity meets him with a cold respect, Thy treasure prudence, and thy claim renown: Unkind as scorn, ungenerous as neglect. Myriads, unborn, shall mourn thy hapless fate,

Yet, suffering worth! thy fortitude will shine; And myriads grow, by thy example, great!

Robert Blair ward 1699 in Edinburg geboren; Sohn und Enkel ausgezeichneter Geistlichen, widmete er sich ebenfalls der Theologie, erhielt eine treffliche Erziehung, machte dann grössere Reisen und wurde darauf 1731 Prediger zu Athelstaneford in der Grafschaft East-Lothian, wo er am 4. Februar 1746 starb.

Einige Gelegenheitsverse abgerechnet hat Blair nur ein einziges Gedicht geschrieben, The Grave, das erst nach seinem Tode, 1747 zu Edinburg erschien, und seitdem unzählige Mal wieder aufgelegt worden ist. Es ist ein didactisches, religiöses Poem, voll ernster, tiefer Wahrheit, reich an ergreifenden Schilderungen in einer kräftigen, lebendigen und überaus wohllautenden Sprache geschrieben, und verdient die Anerkennung, deren es sich selbst jetzt noch erfreut, vollkommen.

Dull grave.

*

Select Pass a ges from: Seem'd too, too much in haste! still the full

heart The Grave.

Had not imparted half; 'twas happiness Invidious grave! how dost thou rend in sunder Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed, Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one! Not to return, how painful the remembrance! A tie more stubborn far than nature's band.

thou spoil'st the dance of youthFriendship! mysterious cement of the soul;

ful blood, Sweetner of life, and solder of society,

Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, I owe thee much. Thou has deserv'd from me, And ev'ry smirking feature from the face; Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.

Branding our laughter with the name of madness. Oft have I prov'd the labours of thy love, And the warm efforts of thy gentle heart, Anxious to please. Oh! when my friend and I In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on, Strength too thou surly, and less gentle Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down

boast Upon the sloping cowslip-cover'd bank, Of those that loud laugh at the village ring; Where the pure limpid stream has slid along A fit of common sickness pulls thee down In grateful errors through the under-wood, With greater ease, than e'er thou didst the Sweet murmuring: methought the shrill-tongu'd

stripling thrush

That rashly dar'd thee to th' unequal fight. Mended his song of love; the sooty black-bird What groan was that I heard ?

deep groan Mellow'd his pipe, and soften'd every note:

indeed! The eglantine smell'd sweeter, and the rose With anguish heavy laden; let me trace it: Assum'd a dye more deep; whilst ev'ry flower From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man, Vied with its fellow plant in luxury

By stronger arm belabour'd, gasps for breath Of dress. Oh! then, the longest summer's day Like a hard-hunted beast. How his heart