Beattie. C

Beattie.

James Beattie, dieser durch die Gründlichkeit und den Scharfsinn seiner, größtentheils überfesten, philosophis schen und ästhetischen Schriften auch unter uns rühmlich bes kannte, noch lebende, Schottländer, gehört zu den besten heutigen englischen Dichtern. Sein größeres und sehr schö nes Gedicht, The Minstrel, würde ich im vorigen Bande als› Beispiel der befchreibenden Poesie mitgetheilt haben, wenn mich nicht die Länge desselben, und der neuerliche Abdruck in Hrn. Benzler's Poetical Library anders bestimmt håtten. Von den unter seinen Gedichten befindlichen Elegieen ist die folgende, auf den Tod eines jungen Frauenzimmers, eine der schönsten.

ELEGY.

Still fhall unthinking man fubftantial deem
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream?
On clouds, where Fancy's beam amufive plays,
Shall heedlefs hope the towering fabric raife?
Till at Death's touch the fairy vifions fly,
And real Scenes ruíh dismal on the eye;
And from Elyfium's balmy flumber torn
The ftartled foul awakes to think and mourn!

O ye, whofe hours in jocund train advance,
Whole Spirits to the fong of gladness dance,
Who flowery vales in endless view furvey
Glittering in beams of vifionary day;
O yet, while Fate delays th' impending woe
Be roufed to thought, anticipate the blow;
Left, like the lightning's glance, the fudden ilt
Flafh to confound, and penetrate to kill;
Left, thus encompass d with funereal gloom,
Like me, ye bend o'er fome untimely tomb,

Beattie. Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear, And half pronounce Heaven's facred doom severe.

Wife, Beauteous, Good! O every grace combi-
ned,

That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fair as the floweret opening on the morn,
Whofe leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
Sweet, as the downy-pinion'd gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!
Mild as the ftrains, that, at the close of day,
Warbling remote, along the vales decay!

Yet why with thefe compared? What tints so fine,
What fweetnefs, mildnefs, can be matched with
thine?

Why roam abroad? fince ftill, to Fancy's eyes,
I fee, I fee thy lovely forms arife.

Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces fimile;
That foul expreffing eye, benignly bright,
Where meeknefs beams ineffable delight;
That brow, where Wisdom fits enthron'd ferene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien:
Still let me liften, while her words impart
The fweet effufions of the blameless heart,
Till all my foul, each tumult charm'd away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's eafy fway.

By thee infpired, o Virtue, Age is young,
And mufick warbles from the faltering tongue:
Thy ray creative chears the clouded brow,
And decks the faded cheek with rofy glow,
Brightens the joyless afpect, and fupplies
Pure heavenly luftre to the languid eyes:

But when youth's living bloom reflects thy
beams,

Refiftless on the view the glory ftreams,
Love, Wonder, Joy, alternately alarm,
And Beauty dazzles with angelic charm.

'Ah!

Ah! whither fled?

ye dear illufions stay

Lo, pale and filent lies the lovely clay.

Beattie.

How are the roses on that cheek decay'd,
Which late the purple light of youth display'd?
Health on her form each sprightly grace beftow'd,
With life and thought each speaking feature
glow'd.

Fair was the flower, and soft the vernal sky;
Elate with hope we deem'd no tempeft nigh;
When lo, a whirlwinds inftantaneous guit
Left all its beauties withering in the duft.

All cold the hand, that footh'd woe's weary
head!

And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that fhed!
And mute the voice, whofe pleafing accents stole
Infufing balm, into the rankled foul!

O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power,
And fpare the idle weed, yet lop the flower!
Why fly thy fhafts in lawless error driven;
Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven!
But peace, bòld thought! be ftill my bursting
heart!

We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.

Scaped the dark dungeon does the flave complain,
Nor blefs the hand that broke the galling chain?
Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn,
On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn?
Where reason's meteor-rays, with fickly glow,"
O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw?
Disclosing dubious to the affrighted eye
O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high,
Black billowy feas in ftorm perpetual toffed,
And weary ways in wildering labyrinths loft.
O happy stroke, that burfts the bonds of clay,
Darts thro' the rending gloom the blaze of day,
And wings the foul with boundless fight to foar,
Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more.

Beattie.

Transporting thought! here let me wipe away
The tear of grief, and wake a bolder lay.
But ah! the fwinming eye o'erflows anew,
Nor check the facred drops to pity due;
Lo, where in fpeechlefs, hopeless anguish, bend
O'er her loved duft, the Parent, Brother, Friend!
How vain the hope of man! But cease thy

ftrain,

Nor Sorrow's dread folemnity profane;

Mix'd with yon drooping Mourners, on her bier
In filence fhed the fympathetic tear.

von Gemmingen.

Unter den Briefen, nebst andern poetischen und prosaischen Stücken des noch lebenden Herzogl. Würs temb. Geheimenraths, Eberhards Freiherrn von Gems mingen, die der fel. Zacharid im J. 1769 vermehrter her ausgab, findet man einige der Erhaltung sehr würdige Gez dichte voll edeln Gefühls und fanften Wohlklangs. Von der Art sind vorzüglich die beiden folgenden elegischen Lieder.

von Gemmina

gen.

I.

Ueber den Verlust seiner Geliebten.

So flichst du mich, du tugendhafte Seele,
Und dein Geschick reisst dich von mir dahin?
D! daß ich dich vergebens sah, dich wähle,
Und mir allein zum Unglück zårtlich bin!
Entferne dich, nur lehre mich indessen
Die schwere Kunst, dich zu vergessen.

Ein harter Schluß vom ewigen Geschicke
hat mir dein Herz, dein edles Herz entdeckt,
Und durch die Macht der unschuldsvollen Blicke,
Den redlichsten, den besten Trieb, erweckt;
Und diesen Trieb, den Zeit und Sehnsucht mehren,
Soll eines Zufalls Blindheit stören?

Wie ruhig schlug, eh es dein Reiz empörte,
Mein stilles Herz in dieser frohen Brust,
Wie reichlich trug die Freiheit, die ich ehrte,
Zufriedenheit und unbesorgte Lust!

Und all mein Glück mir plößlich zu entführen,
Muß ich dich kennen, und verlieren!

O! rührt dich noch der Kummer meiner Seelen,
Ein edler Trieb, der deine Tugend kennt,

Und