464. 
tion of an equitable pofterity, will not fink, 
like thofe of the eulogifis of Louis XIV. in- 
to abje@ flatteries. Ramler flourifhed too, 
while literary excellence was new and rare in 
Germany, and of courfe highly prized 5 
while Lefling pafied for an Ariftotle, Men- 
delfohn for a Plato, and Gleim for an Ana- 
creon. All thefe were friends of Ramler: 
fuffice it to his praife, that to him the epi- 
thet of the German Horace was applied with 
icfs hyperbole. 
A few of his more prominent poems fhall 
be now produced: but the reader muft recol- 
te&, that poetical artis, {tudious polithers a 
tines, and weighers of words, and fuch w 
Ramler, Gohee more by tranflation than jen 
tical geuinfes, who excel rather in force of 
thought than in‘dexterity of exprefiion : it is 
but too probable that thefe {pecimen ns are .not 
Geftined to realize the authar’s phophecy, 
Ungefchwacht fell ihre 
‘Tone der Brittifche Barde trinken. 
ODE V.—T Winter, 
Storms ride the air, and veil the fky in 
clouds, 
And chafe the ehindecne ftreams athwart 
the land 5 
Bare ftand the ceasls the focial linden s 
leaves 
Far o’er the vallies whirl. 
The vine—a wither’d ftalk: but why bewail 
The godlike vine? Friends, come and quaff 
its blood. 
Let Autumn with his emptied horn retire 5 
Bid fir-crown’d Winter hail! 
He decks the flood with adamantine fhield, 
Which laughs to fcorn the fhafts of day. A- 
mand. 
The tenants of the wood new bloffoms view: 
Strange lilies ftrow the ground. 
No more in tottering gondolas the brides 
Tremble: on gliding cars they boldly feud 5 
Hid in her fur-clad neck the favourite’s 
hand 
Afks an unneeded warmth. 
No more, like fifhes, plunge the bathing boys 5 
On fteel-wing’d fhoes es fkim the harden’d 
wave: 
The fpoufe of Venus in the glittering blade 
The lightning’s {wiftnefs hid. 
O Winter ! "Gi thy coldeft eaft-wind: drive 
The lingering warriors from Kohemia back, 
With them my Kleift*; for him Lycoris 
| ftays, 
And his friend’s tawny wine. 
AC Obie NGI Nit Rohl Sw 0) a vane Rabe he 
* Chriftian Ewald von Kleift was born in 
1715, at Zeblin, and died in 1759, of wounds 
received in the battle of Kunnessdorf. He 
publifhed a volume of elegant poems, among 
which, ‘¢ The Spring” is the moft diftinguith- 
ed eather ‘popularity, however, tranicends 
their merit: a fourth edi ie appeared in 
17382. The) Mofes and the Arts have repaid 
at his tomb the worfhip with ich he ho- 
noured them while living. 
- 
Original Poetry. 
[June 
ODE XIX.—To Kings. 
Again is all the world to perifh? Pours 
A fecond deluge on the fentenc’d earth, 
Thunders of hoarfer wrath, 
And heavier iron hail? 
Muft every temple’s cloud-difparting fpire, 
And every ftoried trophy’s marble fide, 
Crumble to namelefs duit, 
And trickle with the inven? 
Late from the caves of ruin fhall each Art, 
Like fome diffepulchred half-waken ghof, 
Siow ftretch a wither’d hand, 
Or cower to end:efs night ? 
And all the wifdom of the forewerld, dumb, 
Dumb to unliftening robbers, not fuffice 
To tell our children’s oe 
How was the plough-fhare cury’d ? 
Ye defoiaters, than Vefuvius worfe, 
Thana fubter;anean town-ingorging chafms, 
Comrades of Peftilence, 
Ghavat Hunger’s minifers, 
Ye who on every fea, on every fhore, 
In thundering water-chariots carry — 
. Hiring the ruffan hand 
From Tajo’s to Oby’s bank, . 
Arming the German ‘gainft his brother's 
oe 
Who at the friend ‘of peace, our Father, 
{cof ; 
Slayers ik living youth, 
Pofterity’s dire foes, 
If to your murderous rage fome angel, fent 
From heaven’s high mercy-feat, fhould whif- 
per paufe, 
And to their antient lords 
The wafted regions give, 
Would ye not feel remorfe (alas! Remorfe 
From you, by fophifts honey-tongu’d ene 
tic’d, 
Her pictur’d horrors hides, 
Her fcorpions charms to fleep), 
That on the fields where green’d the wheat— 
ye flew 
Millions it fhould have nourifh’d >—To the 
Ww ae 
Back !—and with plgrim fees 
Humanity your guide, 
Like Mango Capak, to the wildeft fhores 
Sailing, fy Se ets of culture bear, _ 
‘Taming the fruitlefs earth 
To yield her yearly food; 
Teaching the homelefs rovers of the wood 
To throng obedient round the fmoke-tipt, 
cot, 
Founding the holy rites 
Of wedlock undefil’d, 
And to the kneeling favaee point yon fun, 
Beit emblem of the Lord of life and light, 
That he fhould hail its ray, 
Religion’s earlief pledge. 
'¢ 
ODE 
