Begins to lofe in blind oblivious love,
Snatch'd from her yielded hand, he knows not
Thro' forefts huge, and long untravel'd heaths
With defolation brown, he wanders wafte,
In night and tempeft wrapt; or fhrinks aghaft,
Back, from the bending precipice; or wades
The turbid ftream below, and ftrives to reach
The farther fhore; where fuccourlefs, and fad,
She with extended arms his aid implores;
But ftrives in vain: borne by th' outrageous flood
To diftance down, he rides the ridgy wave,
Or whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy finks.
Thefe are the charming agonies of love,
Whofe mifery delights. But thro' the heart
Should jealoufy its venom once diffuse,
'Tis then delightful mifery no more,
But agony unmix'd, inceffant gall,
Corroding every thought, and blasting all
Love's paradife. Ye fairy profpects, then,
Ye beds of rofes, and ye bowers of joy,
Farewel! Ye gleamings of departed peace,
Shine out your laft! the yellow tinging plague
Internal vifion taints, and in a night...
Of livid gloom imagination wraps.
Ah! then, instead of love-enlivened cheeks,
Of funny features, and of ardent eyes
With flowing rapture bright, dark looks fucceed,
Suffus'd, and glaring with untender fire;
A clouded afpect, and a burning cheek,
Where the whole poifon'd foul, malignant, fits,
And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears
Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views
Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms
For which he melts in fondness, eat him up
With fervent anguifh, and confuming rage.
In vain reproaches lend their idle aid,
Deceitful pride, and refolution frail,
Giving falfe peace a moment. Fancy pours,
Thomson., Afresh, her beauties on his bufy thought,
Her first endearments twining round the foul,
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 distract the tortur'd heart:
For even the fad affurance of his fears
Were eafe 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 happieft of their Kind! Whom gentler ftars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.
'Tis not the coarser 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 friend hip full-exerts her softest 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 anfwer love, and render blifs fecure.
Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent
To blefs himself, from tordid 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 poffefs'd
Of a mere, lifeless, violated form:
While thofe, whom love cements in holy faith,
And equal tranfport, free as Nature live,
Disdaining fear. What is the world to them,
Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense 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 shoot,
To pour the fresh inftruction o'er the mind,
To breathe th' enlivening fpirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Oh fpeak 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.
Thele are the matchless joys of virtuous love;
And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus,
As ceafelefs round a jarring world they roll,
Still find them happy; and confenting SPRING
Sheds her own rofy garland on their heads:
Beisp. Samml. 3. B.
Thomson. Till evening comes at laft, ferenè 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 fpirits fly
To fcenes, where love and bliss immortal reign.
B. I. S. 81, diefer Sammlung ist schon dieses Dichters und seines beschreibenden Gedichts, The Deferted Village, das verddete Dorf, erwähnt worden. Seine Absicht war, die verderblichen Einflüsse des brittischen Lurus und der Auswandrungen nach Ost- und Westindien auf die Entvdle kerung der Dörfer zu schildern; und dieß Gemälde, wår? es auch größtentheils bloß idealisch, ist ihm sehr geglückt. Es hat überaus viel Natur, Wahrheit und Interesse. Der Dichter führt darin den Bewohner eines solchen Dorfs, welches er Auburn nennt, redend ein. Die rührende Anrede an daffelbe, womit das Gedicht anfängt, und die schöne Charakterisirung des Dorfpredigers, werden hier zur Probe hinreichend fenn, da das englische Original in Deutschland mehr als Einmal abgedruckt und übersezt ist.
Sweet AUBURN, lovelieft village of the plain Where health and plenty cheared the labouring fwain,
Where fmiling fpring its earliest visit paid,
And parting fummer's lingering blooms delayed,
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and eafe
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene;
How often have I paused on every charm,
The fheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never failing brook, the bufy mill
The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bufh, with feats beneath the fhade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.
How often have I bleft the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
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