Sits musing on the pledges of her love,
Who fell the victims of paternal scorn.

Forgot, deserted in th' extremest need,
By him who shou'd have reard their tender age:
Was this, seducer, this the promis'd meed?".
She cries then sinks beneath affliction's rage.

دو

Her busy mind recalls the fatal plain,

Which with slow lab'ring steps she journey'd o'er,
Half-yielding to the fierce impetuous rain,
While in her arms two helpless babes she bore.

Her mind recalls how at that awful hour
The dismal owlet scream'd her shiv'ring note,
How shriek'd the spirit from the haunted tow't,
While other sounds of woe were heard remote.

How to the covert of a tott'ring shed,
As night advanc'd, she fearfully retir'd;
And as around the dark'ning horror spread,
Her famish'd infants on her breast expir'd.

How keenest anguish bad her bosom bleed,
As there she brooded o'er her hapless state:
,,Was this, seducer, this the promis'd meed?"
She cries then sinks beneath affliction's weight.

Another mourns her fall with grief sincere, · Whom tranquil reason tells she's shun'd, disdain'd, Repuls'd as vile, by those who held her dear, Who call'd her once companion, sister, friend.

That recollects the day when lost to shame,
She fondly sacrific'd her vestal charms,
Resign'd the virgin's for an harlot's name,
And left a parent's for a spoiler's arms.

Imagination pictures to her mind
The father's rage, the mother's softer woe:
Unhappy pair! to that distress consign'd,
A child can give, a parent only know.

At this deep scene, by fancy drawn, impress'd,
The filial passions in her heart revive:
Reproach vindictive rushes on her breast,
To nature's pangs too feelingly alive.

If this, or similar tormenting thought,'
Cling to their soul, when pensively alone,
For youth's offence, for love's alluring fault,
Say, do they not sufficiently atone?

Oh mock not then their penitential woes,
Thou who may'st deign to mark this humble theme;
Nor seek with foul derision to expose,
And give to infamy their tainted name.

Nor deem me one of melancholy's train,

If anxious for the sorrow-wedded fair,
Tho' little skillful of that heav'nly strain,
Whose melting numbers to the heart repair.

I steal impatient from the idle throng,
The roving gay companions of my age,
To temper with their praise my
artless song,
And soft-ey'd Pity in their cause engage.

'Tis Virtue's task to soothe affliction's smart,
To join in sadness with the fair distrest,
Wake to another's pain the tender heart,
And move to clemency the gen'rous breast.

ELIZABETH

CART E R.

LIZABETH CARTER, gestorben 1806 im 89sten Jahre ihres Alters, gab im Jahre 1762 unter dem Titel: Poems on several occasions, London 8, eine Sammlung von Gedichten heraus, die sich durch feines Gefühl und edeln geschmackvollen Vortrag auszeichnen. Die hier abgedruckte Ode to Wisdom wurde, ihrer Vortrefflichkeit wegen, von Richardson in seine Clarissa aufgenommen. Schon früher hat sich Mifs Carter als Übersetzerin der Werke Epictet's, und durch eine denselben vorgesetzte Einleitung über den Geist der stoischen Philosophie rühmlich bekannt gemacht. Dies Werk führt den Titel: Epictetus, translated from the original Greek; with an introduction and notes by the translator, 1758. 4. Sonst sollen noch zwei Aufsätze von ihr im Rambler stehen, nämlich No. 44 und No. 100. Wir haben diese

wenigen Notizen in Ermangelung aller andern Quellen gröfstentheils aus Herrn Hofrath Eschenburg's Beispielsammlung, Theil 4, S. 397 entlehnt. Wir bemerken nur noch, dafs die dritte Ausgabe der Gedichte der Mifs Carter unter dem Titel: Poems on several occasions, London 1776 erschienen ist.

ODE TO WISDOM.

The solitary bird of night

Thro' the pale shades now wings his flight,
And quits the time-shook tow'r,
Where, shelter'd from the blaze of day,
In philosophic gloom he lay,

Beneath his ivy bow'r.

With joy I hear the solemn sound,
Which midnight echoes waft around,

And sighing gales repeat:

Fav'rite of Pallas! I attend,

And, faithful to thy summons, bend

She loves the cool, the silent eve,

Where no false shows of life deceive,
Beneath the lunar ray;

Here Folly drops each vain disguise
Nor sport her gaily - colour'd dyes,
As in the glare of day.

O Pallas! queen of ev'ry art,

That glads the sense, or mends the heart,

Blest source of purer joys;

In ev'ry form of beauty bright,
That captivates the mental sight
With pleasure and surprize;

To thy unspotted shrine I bow,
Assist thy modest suppliant's vow,

That breathes no wild desires:
But, taught by the unerring rules,
To shun the fruitless wish of fools,

To nobler views aspires..

鼻

Not Fortune's gem, Ambition's plume,

Nor Cytherea's fading bloom,

Be objects of my pray'r,

Let av'rice, vanity, and pride,

These glittring envied toys divide,

The dull rewards of care.

To me thy better gifts impart,
Each moral beauty of the heart,
By studious thought refin'd:

For wealth, the smiles of glad content;
For pow'r, its amplest, best extent,
An empire o'er my mind.

When Fortune drops her gay parade,
When pleasure's transient roses fade,
And wither in the tomb,
Unchang'd is thy immortal prize,
Thy ever- - verdant laurels rise
In undecaying bloom.

By thee protected, I defy

The coxcomb's sneer, the stupid lye

Of ignorance and spite;

Alike contemn the leaden fool,
And all the pointed ridicule

Of undiscerning wit.

From envy, hurry, noise, and strife,
The dull impertinence of life,

In thy retreat I rest;

Pursue thee to thy peaceful groves,
Where Plato's sacred spirit roves,
In all thy graces drest.

He bid Ilyssus' tuneful stream
Convey the philosophic theme

Of perfect, fair, and good:
Attentive Athens caught the sound,'
And all her list'ning sons around
In awful silence stood,

Reclaim'd, her wild licentious youth
Confess'd the potent voice of truth,
And felt it's just controul:

584

BARBAULD.

The passions ceas'd their loud alarms,
And virtue's soft persuasive charms
O'er all their senses stole.

Thy breath inspires the poet's song,
The patriot's free unbiass'd tongue,
The hero's gen'rous strife:
Thine are retirement's silent joys,
And all the sweet endearing ties
Of still, domestic life.

No more to fabled names confin'd,
To thee, supreme, all-perfect mind,
My thoughts direct their flight:
Wisdom's thy gift, and all her force
From thee deriv'd, unchanging source
Of intellectual light!

O send her sure, her steady ray
To regulate my doubtful way,
Thro' life's perplexing road;
The mists of error to controul!
And thro' its gloom direct my soul
To happiness and good!

Beneath her clear discerning eye
The visionary shadows fly
Of folly's painted show:

She sees, thro' ev'ry fair disguise,
That all but Virtue's solid joys
Is vanity and woe.

MRS. BARBAULD.

ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD, cine vermuthlich noch itzt zu Hampstead bei London lebende Dichterin, gab im Jahre 1770 eine Sammlung von Gedichten heraus, welche sich durch Eleganz des Ausdrucks und edles Gefühl sehr vor theilhaft auszeichnen. Eine neue Ausgabe derselben erschien 1792 unter dem Titel: Poems by Anna Lætitia Barbauld, a new edition corrected, in welcher man aufser den schon frü