Alenfide. Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant Fair,

Shine thro' the hov'ring cloud of care;
O sweet of language, mild of mien !
O Virtue's friend, and Pleasure's queen!
Alluage the flames that burn my breast,
Compole my jarring thoughts to rest,
And while thy gracious gifts I feel,
My long shall all thy praise reveal.

As once (it was in Astrea's reign)
The vernal pow'rs renew'd their train,
It happen'd that immortal Love
Was ranging thro' the spheres above,
And downward hither cast his eye
The year's returning pomp to fpy.
He saw the radiant god of Day
Waft in his car the roly May;
The fragrant Airs and genial Hours
Were shedding round him dews and flow'rs;
Before his wheels Aurora past,
And Hefper's golden lamp was last;
But fairest of the blooming throng
When Health majestick moy'd along,
Delighted to furvey below
The joys which from her presence flow,
While earth enliven'd hears her voice,
And fwains, and flocks, and fields rejoice,
Then mighty Love her charms confest,
And soon his vows inclin'd her breast,
And known from that auspicious morn
The pleasing Cheerfulness was born.

Thou, Cheerfulness ! by Heay'n design'd
To sway the movements of the mind,
Whatever fretful passion (prings,
Whatever wayward fortune brings
To disarrange the pow'r within,
And strain the musical machine,

Thou, Goddess! thy attemp'ring hand
Doth each discording string command,

Refines Eenside.

Refines the soft, and swells the strong,
And joining Nature's gen'ral song
Thro' many a various tone unfolds
The harmony of human souls.

Fair Guardian of domestick life!
Kind Banif her of homebred strife!
Nor fullen lip, nor taunting eye
Deforms the scene, where thou art by;
No fick’ning husband damns the hour
Which bound his joys to female pow'r;
No pining mother weeps the cares
Which parents waste on thankless heirs;
Th' officious daughters pleas'd attend,
The brother adds the name of friend:
By thee with flow'rs their board is crown'd,
With songs from thee their walks resound,
And morn with welcome lustre shines,
And ev'ning unperceiv'd declines.

Is there a youth whose anxious heart
Labours with love's unpity'd smart?
Tho' now he stray by rills and bow'rs,
And weeping waste the lonely hours,
Or if the nymph her audience deign
Debale the story of his pain
With flavish looks, discolour'd eyes,
And accents falt'ring into fighs,
Yet thou, auspicious Pow'r with ease
Canst yield him happier arts to please,
Inform his mien with manlier charms,
Instruct his tongue with noble arms,
With more commanding passion move,
And teach the dignity of love.

Friend to the Muse and all her train!
For thee I court the Muse again;
The Muse for thee may well exert
Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art,
Who owes to thee that pleasing sway,

Utenside. , Which earth and peopled heav'n obey.

Let Melancholy's, plaintive tongué
Repeat what later bards have fung;
But thine was Homer's ancient migłyt,
And thine victorious Pindar's Aight;
Thy hand each Lesbian wreath attir'd,
Thy lips Sicilian reeds infpir'd;
Thy spirit lent the glad perfume
Whence yet the flow'rs of Teos bloom,
Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale
Delicious blows th' enliv'ning gale,
While Horace calls thy sportive choir,
Heroes and Nymphs, around his lyre.

But see, where yonder pensive fage
(A prey perhaps to Fortune's rage,
Perhaps by tender griefs opprest,
Of glooms congenial to his breast)
Retires in desert scenes to dwell,
And bids the joyless world farewell:
Alone he treads th' autumnal shade,
Alone beneath the mountain laid,
He sees the nighty damps ascend,
And gath'ring storms aloft impend,
He hears the neighb'ring surges roll,
And raging thunders shake the pole,
Then struck by ev'ry object round,
And stunn'd by ev'ry horrid sound,
He asks a clue for Nature's ways,
But evil haunts him thro' the maze;
He sees ten thousand demons rile,
To wield the empire of the skies,
And Chance and Fate assume the rod,
Ane Malice blot the throne of God.

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O thou! whose pleasing pow'r I fing,
Thy lenient influence hither bring,
Compose the storm, dispel the gloom,
Till Nature wear her wonted bloom,
Till fields and shades their sweets exhale,
And mufick Iwell each op'ning gale;

Then 21enfide.

Then o'er his breast thy foftness pour,
And let him learn the timely hour
To trace the world's benignant laws,
And judge of that Presiding Cause
Who founds on discord Beauty's reign,
Converts to pleasure ev'ry pain,
Subdues each hostile form to rest,
And bids the universe be blest.

O thou! whose pleasing pow'r I sing,
If right I touch the votive ftring,
If equal praise I yield thy name,
Still govern thou thy poets Aame,
Still with the Muse my bosom share,
And footh to peace intruding care;
But most exert thy pleasing pow'r
On friendship’s consecrated hour,
And while my Sophron points the road
To godlike Wisdom's calm abode,
Or warm in freedom's ancient cause
Traceth the source of Albion's laws,
Add thou o'er all the gen'rous toil
The light of thy unclouded smile.
But if by Fortune's stubborn (way
From him and friendship torn away,
I court the Muse's healing spell
For griefs that still with absence dwell,
Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams
To such indulgent placid themes
As juit the struggling breast may cheer,
And just fufpend the starting tear;
Yet leave that sacred sense of wo
Which nonę but friends and lovers know!

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Zur folgenden schönen Hymne scheint Gray, der schon oben als elegischer Dichter vorkam, die erste Idee aus der borazischen Ode an die Glücksgåttin: 0 Diva, gratum quae regis Antium, genommen zu haben; und selbst Dr. Johnson , der ohne Zweifel über diesen Dichter von aners kannter Vortrefflichkeit allzu ftrenge und kalt urtheilt, legt ihm das Perdienst bei, daß er hier sein Original durch Mans nichhaltigkeit der Gedanken, und durch ihre moralische Ans wendung, åbertroffen habe.


Τον Φρονείν βρoτους οδω-
σαντα, τώ παθα μαθαν
Θέντα κυρίως έχειν. .

AESCHYL. Agamemtish


Daughter of Jove, relentless pow'r,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, affliet the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone.

When first thy fire to send on earth
Virtue, his darling child, design'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bad to form her infant mind;
Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore;
What sorrow was thou badst her know,
And from her own she learn'd to melt at others 'wo.


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