Dr.Young. By tyrant Life dethron'd, imprison'd, pain'd?
By Death enlarg'd, ennobled, deify'd?
Death but entombs the body; Life the foul.
,,Is Death then guiltlefs? How he marks his way With dreadfull wafte of whar deferves to shine? Art, Genius, Fortune, elevated Pow'r!
"With various luftres Thefe light up the world,
"Which Death puts out; and darkens human Race."
Í grant, Lorenzo! this indictement just:
The Sage, Peer, Potentate, King, Conqueror!
Death humbles thefe; more barbarous Life, the Man;
Life is the Triumph of our mouldering clay;
Death of the fpirit infinite! divine!
Death has no dread, but what frail Life imparts;
Nor Life true joy, but what kind Death improves.
No blifs has Life to boaft, till Death can give
Far greater; Life's a debtor to the grave,
Dark lattice! letting in eternal day.
Lorenzo! blufh at Fondness for a Life,
Which fends celestial fouls on errands vile,
To cater for the sense; and ferve at boards,
Where every ranger of the wilds, perhaps,
Each reptile, juftly claims our upper hand.
Luxurious feaft! a foul, a foul immortal,
In all the dainties of a brute bemir'd!
Lorenzo! blufh at Terror for a Death,
Which gives thee to repofe in feftive Bowers,
Where nectars Iparkle, angels minifter,
And more than Angels fhare, and raife, and crown,
And eternize, the birth, bloom, burfts of blifs.
O feaft indeed luxurious! Earth, vile earth!
In all the glories of a God array'd,
And beaming inextinguishable bliss!
What need I more? Ŏ Death! the palm is thine.
Then welcome, Death! thy dreaded Harbin- Dr.Young.
Age, and Difeafe; difeale! tho' long my gueft;
That plucks my nerves, thofe tender ftrings of life,
Which, pluckt a little more, will toll the bell,
That calls my few friends to my funeral:
Where feeble nature drops, perhaps, a tear,
While reafon and religion, better taught,
Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb
With wreath triumphant. Death is victory;
It binds in chains the raging ills of life:
Luft and Ambition, Wrath and Avarice,
Dragg'd at his chariot-wheel, applaud his power.
That ills corrofive, cares importunate,"
Are not immortal too, o death! is thine.
Our day of diffolution? Name it right;
'Tis our great pay-day; 'tis our harvest, rich
And ripe. What tho' the fickle, fometimes keen,
Juft fcars us, as we reap the golden grain;
More than thy balm, o Gilead, heals the wound.
Birth's feeble cry, and Death's deep dismal groan,
Are flender tributes, low-tax'd Nature pays,
For migthy gain: the gain of each, a Life!
But o, the laft the former fo tranfcends,
Life dies, compar'd: Life lives beyond the grave.
And feel I, Death! no joy from thought of
thee?
Death, the great counsellor, who man infpires
With every nobler thought, and fairer deed!
Death, the deliverer, who refcues man!
Death, the rewarder, who the refcued crowns!
Death, that abfolves my birth; a curfe without it!
Rich Death, that realizes all my cares,
Toils, virtues, hopes; without it, a Chimaera!
Death, of all pain the period, not of joy;
Joy's Source, and Subject, ftill fubfift unhurt,
One in my foul, and one, in her great Sire;
Tho' the four winds were warring for my duft.
Yes, and from winds, and waves, and central night,
Dr.Young. Tho' prifon'd there, my duft too I reclaim
(To duft when drop proud Nature's proudeft fphe-
res)
And live entire. Death is the crown of Life;
Was Death deny'd, poor man would live in vain;
Was Death deny'd, to live would not be Life;
Was Death deny'd, even fools would wish to die.
Death wounds, to cure. We fall, we rife; we reign!
Spring from our fetters; faften in the 1kies;
Where blooming Eden withers in our fight.
Death gives us more than was in Eden loft.
This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
When fhall I die to vanity, pain, death?
When fhall I die?
When fhall I live for ever?
(Markus Akenside, geb. 1721, geft. 1770, ein gelehrs ter englischer Arzt, machte sein berühmtes, aus drei Büchern bestehendes Lehrgedicht, The Pleasures of Imagination, schon in einem Alter von drei und zwanzig Jahren zuerst bekannt, und erregte dadurch große Erwartungen. Das Subjekt, welches er wählte, gab seiner eignen Phantasie reichen Stoff; und man bewundert die vielen wahren poetischen Aeußeruns gen derselben mit Recht, die nur oft allzu üppig und ver. schwenderisch sind, und durch ihren unabläßig zußirdmenden Zufluß ermüdend werden. Alles fast ift Schimmer, und Licht shne Schatten, wie Dusch mit Recht bemerkt, dessen 18ter und 19ter Brief des zweiten Theils, n. A. überdieß Gedicht nachzulesen ist. Die hier aus dem ersten Buche ausgehobene Stelle betrifft das Vergnügen, welches die Phantasie aus den Eindrücken der Schönheit schöpft, die Verwandschaft des Schönen mit dem Wahren und Guten, und die daraus herflieffenden Pflichten des moralischen Verhaltens.)
But lo! disclos'd in all her fmiling pomp
Where BEAUTY onward moving claims the verfe.
Her charms infpire: the freely-flowing verfe
In thy immortal praife, o form divine,
Smooths her mellifluent ftream: Thee, BEAUTY thee,
The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray
The moffy roofs adore: thou, better fun!
For ever beameft on th' inchanted heart
Love and harmonious wonder, and delight
Poetic. Brightest progeny of heav'n!
How fhall I trace thy features? where felect
The rofeate hues to emulate thy bloom?
Hafte then, my fong, thro' nature's wide expanfe,
Atenside. Hafte then, and gather all her comeliest wealth, 'Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains, Whate'er the waters, or the liquid airt
To deck thy lovely labour! Wilt thou fly
With laughing autumn to' th Atlantic isles
And range with him th' Hefperian field, and fee
Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,
The branches fhoot with gold; where'er his step
Marks the glad foil, the tender clusters glow
With purple ripenefs, and inveft each hill
As with the blufhes of an evening sky.
Or wilt thou rather ftoop thy vagrant plume
Where, gliding thro' his daughter's honour'd fha
des,
The Smooth Peneus from his glaffy flood
Reflects purpureal Tempe's pleasant scene?
Fair Tempe! haunt belov'd of fylvan pow'rs,
Of nymphs and fawns: where in the golden age
They play'd in fecret on the fhady brink
With ancient Pan: While round their choral steps
Young hours and genial gales with conftant hand
Show'rd bloffoms, odours, fhow'r'd ambrofial dews
And fpring's Elyfian bloom. Her flow'ry store
To thee nor Tempe fhall refufe: nor watch
Of winged Hydra guard Hefperian fruits
From thy free fpoil. O bear then, unreprov'd,
Thy fmiling treafures to the green recefs,
Where young Dione ftays. With sweetest airs
Intice her forth to lend her angel-form
For beauty's honour'd image. Hither turn
Thy graceful footsteps: hither, gentle maid,
Incline thy polifh'd forehead: let the eyes
Effufe the mildness of their azure dawn;
And may the fanning breezes waft afide
Thy radiant locks, diffolving as it bends
With airy foftness from the marble neck
The cheek fair-blooming, and the rofy lip
Where winning fmiles and pleasure sweet as love
With fanctity and wisdom, temp'ring blend
Their foft allurement. Then the pleafing force
|