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'Tis fear's half brother, of refembling face,
But fix'd, unwavering, and bound down to place:
Earneft, alarmful gaze, intently keen,
Notes the weigh'd object — yet, distrusts it, seen;
As in pale churchyards, gleam'd by filent night,
Shou'd fome crofs'd spectre fhade the moon's dim

Shudd'ry, the back'ning blood, revolving swift,
Cloggs the prefs'd heart ftretch'd fibres fail to

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Loft, in doubt's hard'ning frost-stopt motion lies,
While fenfe climbs, gradual, to the ftraining eyes.







Glücklicher noch in der beschreibenden, als in der eis gentlichen didaktischen Dichtungsart war John Dyer, geb. 1700, geft. 1758. Das größte seiner Gedichte ist indeß von der lehtern Gattung, und hat die Ueberschrift: The Fleece, øder, die wolle. Es besteht aus vier Büchern, wovon das erste die Schafzucht und Schafschur, das zweite die Gewin nung und Zubereitung der Wolle, das dritte das Verfahren beim Weben und Fårben derselben, und das vierte den englischen Wollhandel zum Inhalt hat. Die Wahl dieses Ge; genstandes war nicht allzu glücklich, und konnte bloß für seine Nation durch den Umstand, daß der Wolhandel eins ihrer vornehmsten Gewerbe ist, einiges Intereffe gewinnen. Der Dichter wußte indeß seinen Gegenstand durch Hülfe seis ner bilderreichen Phantasie, und durch einige ganz angenehme Episoden, ftellenweise zu beleben; nur dem Ganzen manz gelt es doch an lebhaft anziehender Kraft; wovon aber freilich die Schuld mehr dem Subjekt, als dem Dichter beizus messen ist. Zur Probe gebe ich hier den Schluß des ersten Gesanges, worin die Freuden und festlichen Gebräuche, bei der Schaffschur, besonders in Wales, und am Ufer des Flußses Severn, geschildert werden. Vergl. Dusch's Briefe, Th. I. 10. 11.


THE FLEECE, B. I. v. 555. ff.

Now, jolly Swains! the harvest of your cares
Prepare to reap, and feek the founding caves
Of high Brigantium, *) where, by ruddy flames,
Vulcan's ftrong fons, with nervous arm, around
The fteady anvil and the glaring mafs


*) The caves of Brigantium the forges of Sheffield, in Yorkshire, where the shepherds' fheers, and all edgetools, are made.

Clatter their heavy hammers down by turns,
Flatt ning the fteel: from their rough hands re-


The fharpen'd inftrument that from the flock
Severs the Fleece. If verdant elder fpreads
Her filver flowr's; if humble daifies yield
To yellow crow-foot, and luxuriant grafs
Gay fhearing time approaches. First, howe'er
Drive to the double fold, upon the brim
Of a clear river, gently drive the flock
And plunge them one by one into the flood.
Plung'd in the flood, not long the ftruggler finks,
With his white flakes that gliften thro' the tide;
The sturdy ruftic, in the middle wave,
A waits to feize him rifing; one arme bears
His lifted head above the limpid stream,
While the full clammy Fleece the other laves
Around, laborious, with repeated toil;
And then refigns him to the funny bank,
Where, bleating loud, he fhakes his dripping

Shear them the fourth or fifth return of morn
Left touch of bufy fly-blows wound their fkin,
Thy peaceful fubjects without murmur yield
Their yearly tribute: 'tis the prudent part
To cherish and be gentie, while ye ftip
The downy vefture from their tender fides.
Prefs not too clofe; with caution turn the points,
And from the head in regular rounds proceed:
But fpeedy, when ye chance to wound, with


Prevent the wingy fwarm and fcorching heat;
And careful houfe them, if the low ring clouds
Mingle their ftores tumultuous: thro' the gloom
Then thunder oft with pond'rous wheels rolls

And breaks the crystal urns of heav'n; adown
Falls ftreaming rain. Sometimes among the fteeps
Of Cambrian glades (pity the Cambrian glades!)
Faft tumbling brooks on brooks enormous fwell

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And fudden overwhelm their vanish'd fields:
Down with the flood away the naked fheep
Bleating in vain, are borne, and ftraw-built

And rifted trees, and heavy enormous rocks
Down with the rapid torrent to the deep.
At fhearing time along the lively vales
Rural feftivities are often heard;
Beneath each blooming arbour all is joy
And lufty merriment. While on the grafs
The mingled youth in gaudy circles fport,
We think the Golden Age again return'd,
And all the fabled Dryades in dance:
Leering they bound along, with laughing air
To the fhrill pipe, and deep-remurm'ring cords
Of th' ancient harp or tabor's hollow found,
While th' old apart, upon a bank reclin'd,
Attend the tuneful carol, foftly mix'd
With every murmur of the ftiding wave,
And every warble of the feather'd choir,
Mufic of Paradile! which ftill is heard.
When the heart liftens, ftill the views, appear
Of the first happy garden, when Content
To Nature's flowery fcenes directs the fight.
Yet we abandon thofe Elyfian walks,
Then idly for the loft delight repine;
As greedy mariners, whofe defp'rate fails
Skim o'er the billows of the foamy flood,
Fancy they see the leffening fhores retire,
And figh a farewell to the finking hills.

Could I recall thofe notes which once the

Heard at a fhearing, near the woody fides
Of blue-topp'd Wreakin! *) Yet the carols (weet
Thro' the deep maze of the memorial cell
Faintly remurmur. First arofe in fong
Hoar-headed Damon, venerable fwain;

*) Wreakin, a high hill in Shropshire.


The footheft fhepherd of the flow'ry vale:
This is no vulgar scene; no palace-roof
„Was e'er fo lofty, nor fo nobly rife
"Their polifh'd pillars as these aged oaks,
„Which o'er our Fleecy wealth and harmless

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Thus have expanded wide their 1 helt'ring arms
Thrice told an hundred fummers, fweet Con-


"Ye gentle Shepherds! pillow us at night."

"Yes, tuneful Damon, for our cares are short, „Rifing and falling with the cheerful day." Colin reply'd; „and pleafing weariness „Soon our unaching heads to fleep inclines. Is it in cities fo? where, poets tell, "9 The cries of forrow fadden all the streets, ,,And the diseases of intemp'rate wealth.



Alas! that any ills from wealth fhould rife! "May the fweet nightingale on yonder fpray, „May this clear stream, these lawns, thofe fnowwhite lambs


Which with a pretty innocence of look


Skip on the green, and race in little troops; "May that great lamp which finks behind the hills And ftreams around variety of lights,


Recall them erring! this is Damon's with."

"Huge Breaden's *) ftony fummit once
I climb'd

After a kidling: Damon, what a scene!

What various views unnumber'd fpread beneath! "Woods, tow rs, vales, caves, dells, cliffs and torrent floods

,,And here and there, between the fpiry rocks,



The broad flat fea. Far nobler profpects thefe ,Than gardens black with smoke in dufty towns "Where ftenchy vapours often blot the fun: "Yet, flying from his quiet, thither crowds

K 2

*) Breaden, a hill on the borders of Montgomeryshire.

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