But come, forfake the feene unbleft
Which first beheld your faithful breaft
To groundless fears a prey;

Come, where with my prevailing lyre
The kies, the ftreams, the groves, confpire
To charm your doubts away.

Thron'd in the Sun's defcending car
What pow'r unfeen diffufes far
This tendernefs of mind?

What genius fmiles on yonder flood?
What god in whispers from the wood
Bids ev'ry thought be kind?

O thou! whate'er thy awful name, Whofe wildom our untoward frame

Arenside.

Utenfide. With focial love reftrains;

Thou, who by fair affection's ties
Giv'ft us to double all our joys
And half difarm our pains;

Let univerfal candour ftill,
Clear as yon' heav'n-reflecting rill,
Preferve my open mind,

Nor this nor that man's crooked ways
One fordid doubt within me raise
To injure humankind.

1

Miß Carter.

Unter der nicht geringen Anzahl schäzbarer Schriftstelles rinnen, die England von jeher gehabt hat, und noch hat, ist wohl keine, in der sich Wiß und Geschmack mit Gelehrsam keit und gründlicher Philosophie in einem so vorzüglichen Grade vereinigen, als Elisabeth Carter, deren Uebersetzung der Werke Epikter's vor dreißig Jahren erschien, vor welcher fich eine vortreffliche Einleitung über den Geist der heidnis schen, besonders der ftoischen, Philosophie befindet. Als Dichterin hatte sie sich vorher schon durch nachstehende schdne Ode an die Weisheit bekannt gemacht, die der Werfasser der Klarissa einer Aufnahme in seinen unsterblichen Roman würdigte, und die hernach auch in der Sammlung ihrer übrigen, durch feines Gefühl und edeln, geschmackvollen Vortrag schåßbaren, Gedichte (Poems on feveral Occasions; Lond. 1762. 8.) S. 85. ff. abgedruckt ist. Eine des Origi nals würdige Uebersehung dieser Ode von Hrn. Uz steht in dessen sämtl. poet. Werken, B. L. S. 221.

ODE TO WISDOM.

T

HE folitary Bird of Night

Thro' the pale Shades now wings his Flight,
And quits the Time-fhook Tow'r:

Where, fhelter'd from the Blaze of Day,
In philofophic Gloom he lay,

Beneath his Ivy Bow'r.

With Joy I hear the folemn Sound,
Which Midnight Echoes waft around,
And fighing Gales repeat:
Fav'rite of Pallas! I attend,

And faithful to thy Summons bend,

At Wisdom's awful Seat.

She

Miß Carter.

4

She loves the cool, the filent Eve

Where no falfe Shows of Life deceive
Beneath the lunar Ray:

Here Folly drops each vain Disguise,
Nor fport her gayly-colour'd Dyes,
As in the Glare of Day.

O Pallas! Queen of ev'ry Art

That glads the Senfe, or mends the Heart,"

Bleft Source of purer Joys:

In ev'ry Form of Beauty bright,
That captivates the mental Sight,
With Pleasure and Surprize!

To thy unfpotted Shrine I bow,
Affift thy modeft Suppliant's Vow,
That breathes no wild Defires:
But taught by thy unerring Rules,
To fhun the fruitlefs Wifh of Fools,
To nobler Views afpires.

Not Fortune's Gem, Ambition's Plume,
Nor Cytherea's fading Bloom,

Be Objects of my Pray'r:
Let Av'rice, Vanity, and Pride,
Thefe glitt'ring envy'd Toys divide
The dull Rewards of Care.

To me thy better Gifts impart,
Each moral Beauty of the Heart
By ftudious Thought refin'd:
For Wealth, the Smiles, of glad Content,
For Pow'r, its ampleft, beft Extent,
An Empire o'er my Mind.

When Fortune drops her gay Parade,
When Pleasure's tranfient Rofes fade,
And wither in the Tomb:
Unchang'd is thy immortal Prize,
Thy ever-verdant Lawrels rife
In undecaying Bloom.

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By