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That glare of life which often blinds the wise.
Our dying friends are pioneers, tor smooth
Our rugged pass to death; to breath those bars
Of terror and abhorrence Nature throws
Cross our obstructed way; and, thus to make
Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm.
Each friend by fate snatch'd from us, is a plume
Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity,
Which makes us stoop from our aërial heights,
And dampt with omen of our own decease,
On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd,
Just skim earth's surface, ere we break it up,
O'er putrid earth to scratch a little dust,
And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends
Are angels sent on errands full of love;
For us they languish, and for us they die:
And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain?
Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades
Which wait the revolution in our hearts?
Shall we disdain their silent, soft address;
Their posthumous advice, and pious prayer?
Senseless, as herds that graze their hallow'd

Tread under foot their agonies and groans;
Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths?
"Is virtue, then, and piety the same?"
No; piety is more; 'tis virtue's source;
Mother of every worth, as that of joy.
Men of the world this doctrine ill digest:
They smile at piety; yet boast aloud
Good-will to men; nor know they strive to part
What nature joins; and thus confute themselves.
With piety begins all good on earth;
'Tis the first-born of rationality.

And yet still more on piety itself.

A soul in commerce with her God is heaven;
Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life;
The whirls of passions, and the strokes of heart.
A Deity believ'd, is joy begun;
A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd;
A Deity belov'd, is joy matur❜d.
Each branch of piety delight inspires;

Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,
O'er death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides;
Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy,
That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still;
Prayer ardent opens heaven, lets down a stream
Of glory on the consecrated hour
Of man, in audience with the Deity.
Who worships the great God, that instant joins
The first in heaven, and sets his foot on hell.
Thus, darkness aiding intellectual light,
And sacred silence whispering truths divine,
And truths divine, converting pain to peace,
My song the midnight raven has outwing'd,
And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes,
Beyond the flaming limits of the world,
Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flight
Of fancy, when our hearts remain below?
Virtue abounds in flatteries and foes;

'Tis pride to praise her; penance to perform.
To more than words, to more than worth of

Lorenzo! rise, at this auspicious hour;
An hour, when Heaven's most intimate with


When, like a falling star, the ray divine Glides swift into the bosom of the just;

Conscience, her first law broken, wounded lies; And just are all, determin'd to reclaim;
Enfeebled, lifeless, impotent to good;

A feign'd affection bounds her utmost power.
Some we can't love, but for the Almighty's sake;
A foe to God was ne'er true friend to man;
Some sinister intent taints all he does;
And, in his kindest actions, he's unkind.
On piety, humanity is built;
And on humanity, much happiness;

Which sets that title high within thy reach.
Awake, then: thy Philander calls: awake!
Thou, who shalt wake, when the creation sleeps:
When, like a taper, all these suns expire;
When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath,
Plucking the pillars that support the world,
In Nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd;
And midnight, universal midnight! reigns.


Thomas Tickell, Sohn eines Geistlichen ward 1686 zu Bridekirk in Cumberland geboren, studirte in Oxford und ward durch Addison's Vermittelung, dessen vertrauter Freund er war, Unter-Staatssecretair, später aber Secretair der Lords Justices of Ireland, ein Amt, das er bis zu seinem 1740 erfolgten Tode bekleidete.

Seine Schriften erschienen zuerst gesammelt unter dem Titel Miscellaneous Works, London 1753, 3 Bde. in 12.; seine Poesieen finden sich auch im 26. Bande der Johnson'schen, im 73. der Bell'schen und im 8. der Anderson'schen Sammlung. Natürliches Gefühl und Wärme sind ihm eigen, und weisen ihm daher einen höheren Rang an, als ihn die vielen Convenienzpoeten seiner Zeit verdienen. Am Gelungensten sind seine Balladen und seine Elegie auf Addison's Tod. Als Prosaist zeigte er sich correct und geistreich in seinen Beiträgen zum Spectator, an welcher Zeitschrift er lebhaften Antheil nahm.

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Oft at this grave, the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,
They deck the sacred green:

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.

Ramsa y.

Allan Ramsay, der erste schottische Dichter, dessen in dem Dialect seiner Heimath geschriebene Poesieen, besonders sein Schäferspiel: The Gentle Shepherd sich über ganz Grossbritannien verbreiteten und klassische Geltung erlangten, ward 1686 im Kirchspiel von Crawford Moor in Lanarkshire, wo sein Vater als Bergmann lebte, geboren, kam zu einem Perrückenmacher in die Lehre und liess sich später als Buchhändler in Edinburg nieder, wo er die erste Leihbibliothek für Schottland gründete. Nachdem er mehrere altschottische Gedichte, welche selten geworden, herausgegeben, trat er 1721 mit eigenen Poesieen auf, denen 1726 sein Gentle Shepherd folgte, der ihm grossen und allgemeinen Ruhm erwarb. Er starb 1758.

Ramsay's übrige Gedichte sind ziemlich vergessen, sein Schäferspiel aber, sowie seine beiden Sammlungen altschottischer Balladen, The Tea-table Miscellany und The Evergreen, in welchen sich auch manches Lied von ihm befindet, welches das Volk sich zu eigen machte, werden sich erhalten, so lange es Freunde schottischer Muse giebt. Anmuth, Natürlichkeit, warmes Gefühl und Leichtigkeit der Behandlung zeichnen ihn aus. Der Inhalt des Schäferspiels ist einfach: die Handlung trägt sich in den Pentland Hügeln bei Edinburg zu und behandelt die Liebe eines Schäfers Patie und einer Schäferin Peggy. Der Erstere ist der Sohn eines Verbannten, welcher mit Gut und Geld beladen zurückkommt, ihn erkennt und von ihm verlangt, eine Vornehmere zur Frau zu wählen. Der junge Mann kann sich nicht dazu entschliessen; es offenbart sich aber zuletzt, dass seine Geliebte ein Findling, auch von gutem Herkommen ist, und nun endet Alles in Frieden und Freude.

Select Passages from:
The Gentle Shepherd.


O Patie, let me gang, I mauna stay;
We're baith cry'd hame, and Jenny she's away.


I'm laith to part sae soon; now we're alane,
And Roger he's away wi' Jenny gane;
They're as content, for aught I hear or see,
To be alane themselves, I judge, as we.
Here, where primroses thickest paint the green,
Hard by this little burnie let us lean:
Hark! how the lav'rocks chant aboon our heads,
How saft the westlin winds sough through the

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Ye wrang me sair, to doubt my being kind;
In speaking sae, ye ca' me dull and blind,
Gif I could fancy aught's sae sweet or fair
As my sweet Meg, or worthy of my care.
Thy breath sweeter than the sweetest brier,
Thy cheek and breast the finest flow'rs appear:
Thy words excel the maist delightfu' notes
That warble through the merle or mavis' throats:
With thee I tent nae flowers that busk the field,
Or ripest berries that our mountains yield:
The sweetest fruits that hing upon the tree
Ar far inferior to a kiss of thee.


But Patrick for some wicked and may fleech,
And lambs should tremble when the foxes preach.
I darena stay; ye joker, let me gang;
Anither lass may gar ye change your sang;
Your thoughts may flit, and I may thole the


Sooner a mother shall her fondness drap,

And wrang the bairn sits smiling on her lap:
The sun shall change, the moon to change shall




Jenny sings saft the "Broom of Cowden knows,"
And Rosie lilts the "Milking of the ews;'
There's nane, like Nancy, "Jenny Nettles" sings:
At turns in "Maggy Lawder," Marion dings:
But when my Peggy sings wi' sweeter skill
The "Boatman" or the "Lass of Patie's Mill,"
It is a thousand times mair sweet to me;
Tho' they sing weel, they canna sing like thee.


The gaits to clim, the sheep to yield the fleece, Wert thou a giglet gawky like the lave,
Ere ought by me be either said or done,
That little better than our nowt behave,
Shall skaith our love; I swear by a'aboon.
At naught they'll ferly, senseless tales believe,
Be blyth for silly hechts, for trifles grieve
Sic ne'er cou'd win my heart, that kenna how
Either to keep a prize, or yet prove true:
But thou in better sense, without a flaw,
As in thy beauty, far excels them a'.
Continue kind, and a' my care shall be,
How to contrive what pleasing is for thee.

Then keep your aith but mony lads will swear,
And be mansworn to twa in half a year:
Now I believe ye like me wonder weel;
But if a fairer face your heart shou'd steal,
Your Meg, forsaken, bootless might relate
How she was dauted anes by faithless Pate.

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I dare not think sae high - I now repine
At the unhappy chance that made not me
A gentle match, or still a herd kept thee.
Wha can, withouten pain, see frae the coast,
The ship that bears his a' like to be lost?
Like to be carried by some rever's hand
Far frae his wishes to some distant land.


Ne'er quarrel fate, whilst it wi' me remains
To raise thee up, or still attend these plains.

My father has forbid our loves, I own:
But love's superior to a parent's frown:

I falsehood hate: come kiss thy cares away:

I ken to love as weel as to obey.

Sir William's generous; leave the task to me
To mak strict duty and true love agree.


Sure heaven approves


and be assur'd of me,

I'll ne'er gang back o' what I've sworn to thee:
And time, tho' time maun interpose a while,
And I maun leave my Peggy and this isle,
Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face,
If there's a fairer, e'er shall fill thy place.

Speak on! speak ever thus, and still my grief; I'd hate my rising fortune should it move

But short I dare to hope the fond relief;

New thoughts a gentler face will soon inspire,
That wi' nice airs swims round in silk attire;
Then I poor me! wi' sighs may ban my fate,
When the young laird's nae mair my heartsome



Nae mair again to hear sweet tales exprest,
By the blyth shepherd that excell'd the rest.
Nae mair be envied by the tattling gang,
When Patie kiss'd me, when I danc'd or sang;
Nae mair, alake! we'll on the meadow play,
And rin half breathless round the rucks of hay,
As aft times I hae fled from thee right fain,
And fawn on purpose that I might be tane:
Nae mair around the foggy know I'll creep
To watch and stare upon thee, while asleep.
But hear my vow -'twill help to give me ease,
May sudden death, or deadly sair disease
And warst of ills attend my wretched life!
If e'er to ane but you I be a wife.

The fair foundation of our faithfu' love.
If at my feet were crowns and sceptres laid,
To bribe my soul frae thee, delightfu' maid,
For thee I'd soon leave these inferior things
To sic as hae the patience to be kings.
Wherefore that tear? believe, and calm thy mind.


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I greet for joy, to hear my words sae kind;
When hopes were sunk, and nought but mirk

Made me think life was little worth my care:
My heart was like to burst; but now I see
Thy gen'rous thoughts will save thy love for me:
Wi' patience then, I'll wait each wheeling year,
Hope time away, till thou wi' joy appear;
And all the while I'll study gentler charms
To make me fitter for my trav❜ler's arms.


Alexander Pope, der Sohn eines Linnenhändlers, welcher genau denselben Namen führte, ward am 22. Mai 1688 zu London geboren. Verwachsen und kränklich ward er auf dem Lande erzogen, da sein Vater katholischer Confession, nach dem Falle der Stuarts London gänzlich verliess. Der junge Pope war meist sein eigener Lehrer und zeichnete sich bereits so früh durch seine poetischen Leistungen aus, dass er schon einen bedeutenden dichterischen Ruf hatte, ehe er noch sein fünfundzwanzigstes Jahr überschritten. Er lebte nur poetischen Beschäftigungen und namentlich trug ihm seine Uebersetzung des Homer so viel ein, dass er sich in vollkommener Unabhängigkeit befand und sich ein Landhaus in Twickenham erstand, wo er den Rest seiner Tage grösstentheils zubrachte. Er starb am 30. Mai 1744.

Der Tod überraschte Pope bei der Herausgabe seiner sämmtlichen Werke, welche von Dr. Warburton besorgt wurde. Die erste Auflage erschien London 1751. 9 Bde in 8., und ward später vielfach wiederholt unter den Bemühungen Anderer wie z. B. Warton, Ruffhead u. s. w. Die beste Edition ist die von W. Lesle Bowles, London 1806. An poetischen Schriften enthalten sie Hirtengedichte (Pastorals), didactische Gedichte (Essay on Criticism, Essay on Man), ein komisches Epos the Rape of the Lock, ein satyrisches Gedicht the Dunciad, Oden, Heroiden (unter denen Heloisens Brief an Abälard, die berühmteste), kleinere lyrische Gedichte, Satyren, Allegorieen, Uebersetzungen u. A. m.

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