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T'indulge awhile. Now solemn rites he pays
To Bacchus, author of heart- cheering mirth.
His honest friends, at thirsty hour of dusk,
Come uninvited; he with bounteous hand
Imparts his smoking vintage, sweet reward
of his own industry; the well- fraught bowl
Circles incessant, whilst the humble cell
With quavering laugh and rural jests resounds.
Ease, and content, and undissembled love
Shine in each face; the thoughts of labour past
Encrease their joy. As, from retentive cage
When sullen Philomel escapes, her notes
She varies, and of past imprisonment
Sweetly complains; her liberty retriev'd
Cheers her sad soul, improves her pleasing song.
Gladsome they quaff, yet not exceed the bounds
Of healthy temperance, nor encroach on nigbt,
Season of rest, but well bedew'd repair,
Each to his hoine, with unsupplauted feet.
Ere heaven's emblazon'd by the rosy dawn,
Domestic cares awake them; brisk they rise,
Refresh'd, and lively with the joys that flow
From amicable talk, and moderate cups
Thomas PanneLL; 1679 zu Dublin geboren, besog nach dem in einer Grammar-school genossenen Unterricht die Universität, nahm 1700 den Grad eines Magisters der freien Künste an, wurde gleich darauf zum Diaconus ordinirt, und erhielt 1705 das Archidiaconat von Clogher. Gegen das Ende der Regierung Anna's zeichnete er sich zu London sowohl durch seine Anhänglichkeit an das Ministerium, als durch seine Kanzelberedsamkeit aus, und
dadurch die Aufinerksamkeit des Erzbischofs King, der ihin 1713 eine Präbende, und 1716 eine einträgliche Predigerstelle zu Finglas in der Diöces von Dublin gab. Die letztere konnte er jedoch nicht antreten; denn er starb bereits 1717 auf seiner
Reise nach Irland zu Chester. ' Er ist Verfasser einer Reihe geschmackvoller Gedichte, die sein Freund Pope gesammelt, herausgegeben und dem Grafen von Oxford dedicirt hat, Poems on several occasions, written by Thomas Parnell, and publish'd by A. Pope, London 1721 und 1760. 8. Goldsmith hat diese Ausgabe wiederholt, sie mit einigen Stücken vermehrt, und ihr das Leben des Dichters vorgesetzt, London 1770, 8. In dieser Gestalt findet man sie in dem 44sten Bande der Johnsonschen, im 7ten der Andersonschon, und im 67sten und 68sien der Bellschen Sammlung der Werke Englischer Dichter abgedruckt. Zu den vorzüglichsten Stücken gehören: Hesiod, or the rise of woman; a Fairy Tale, in the ancient english style; the night-piece on death; the book - worm; the vigil of Venus; the hermit; the Allegory
Dem letztern Gedicht erkennt Johnson die Palme zu, der übrigens von unserm Dichter behauptet, dass er immer ergötze, aber nie entzücke. Das Leben des Dichters haben, aufser Goldsmith, auch Johnson und An.. derson erzählt.
A thoughtful being, long and spare,
Our race of mortals call him Care
(Were Homer living, well he knew
What name the gods have callid him too);
With fine mechanic genius wrought,
And lov'd to work, though no one bought.
This being, by a model bred
In Jove's éternal sable head,
Contriv'd a shape empower'd to breathe,
And be the worldling here beneath.
The man rose staring, like a stake,
Wondering to see himself-awake!
Then look'd so wise, before he knew
The business be was made to do;
That, pleas'd to see with what a grace
He gravely shew'd his forward face,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,
An under-something of the sky.
But ere he gave the mighty nod,
Which ever binds a poet's god
(For which his curls ambrosial shake
And niother Earth's oblig'd to quake),
He saw old mother Earth arise;
She stood confess'd before his eyes;
But not with what we read she wore,
A castle for a crown before,
Nor with long streets and longer roads
Dangling behind her, like commodes;
As yet with wreaths alone she drest,
And trail'd a landskip - painted vest.
Then thrice she rais'd, as Ovid said,
And ihrice she bow'd ber weighty head.
Her honours made Great Jove, she cry'd, This thing was fashion'd from my
side: His hauds, his heart, bis head, are inine; Then what hast' thou to call him thine ?
Nay, rather ask, the Monarch said, What boots his hand, his heart, his head, Were what I
remov'd away? Thy part's an idle shape of clay.
Halves, more than halves ! cy'd honest Care,
Your pleas wquld make your tiiles fair;
You claim the body,, you the soul,
But I, who join'd them, claim the whole.
Thus with the gods debate began,
On such a trivial cause, as man.
And can celestial tempers rage;
Quoth Virgil, in a later age.
As thus they wrangled , Time came by;
(There's none that paint him such as I;
For what the fabling ancients sung
Makes Saturn' old, when Time W.19 young);
As yet his winters had not shed
Their silver honours on his head;
He just had got his pinions free
From his old sire, Eternity.
A serpent girdled round he wore,
The tail within the mouth, before;
By which our almanacks are clear
That learned Egypt meant the year.
A staff he carry'd, where on high
A glass vas fix'd to measure by,
As amber boxes made a show
For heads of canes an age ago.
His vest, for day and night, was py'd;
A bending sickle arm'd his side;
And Spring's new months bis train adorn!
The other Seasons were unborn,
Known by the gods, as near he draws,
They make liim umpire of the cause.
Oe'r a low truok his arm he laid,
Where since his hours ai dial made;
Then leaning hearil the nice debate,
And thus pronounc'd the words of Fate :
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystall well:
Remote from men, with God be pass'd the days,
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.
A life so sacred, such serene repose,
Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose;
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey,
This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway:
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenour of his soul is lost:
So when a smooth expanse receives Imprest
Calm nature's image on its watery breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with answering colours glow:
But if a stone the gentle sea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
And glimmering fraginents of a broken sun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.
To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight,
To find if books, or swains, report it riglit;
(For yet by swains alone the world he kuew,
Whose feet came wandering o'er ihe nightly dew)
He quits his cell; the pilgrim - staff he bore,
And fix'd the scallop in his bat before;
Then with the sun a rising journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each event.
The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; But when the southern sun bad warm'd the day, A youth came posting o’er a crossing way; His raiment decent, his complexion fair, And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. Then near approaching, father, hail! he cry'd, And „hail, my son!” the reverend sire reply'd; Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road; Till each with other pleas'd, and loth 10 part, While in their age they differ, join in heart. Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.
Now sunk the sun; the closing hoár of day Came onw
nward, mantled o'er with sober grey;