James Thomson Summer, 1727 Zur deutschen Übersetzung From brightening fields of ether fair disclos’d, Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, In pride of youth, and felt thro’ Nature’s depth. He comes attended by the sultry Hours, And ever-fanning Breezes, on his way: While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring Averts her blushful face; and earth, and skies, All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade, Where scarce a sun-beam wanders thro’ the gloom; And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak Rolls o’er the rocky channel, lie at large, And sing the glories of the circling year. Come, Inspiration! from thy hermit-seat, By mortal seldom found: may Fancy dare, From thy fix’d serious eye, and raptur’d glance Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look Creative of the Poet, every power Exalting to an ecstacy of soul. And thou, my youthful Muse’s early friend, In whom the human graces all unite: Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart; Genius, and wisdom; the gay social sense, By decency chastis’d; goodness and wit, In seldom-meeting harmony combin’d; Unblemish’d honour, and an active zeal For Britain’s glory, Liberty, and Man: O Dodington! attend my rural song, Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line, And teach me to deserve thy just applause. With what an awful world-revolving power Were first the unwieldy planets launch’d along Th’ illimitable void! Thus to remain, Amid the flux of many thousand years, That oft has swept the toiling race of Men, And all their labour’d monuments away, Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course; To the kind-temper’d change of night and day, And of the Seasons ever stealing round, Minutely faithful: such th’ all-perfect Hand! That pois’d, impels, and rules the steady whole. When now no more th’ alternate Twins are fir’d, And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze, Short is the doubtful empire of the night; And soon, observant of approaching day, The meek-ey’d Morn appears, mother of dews, At first faint-gleaming in the dappled East: Till far o’er ether spreads the widening glow; And, from before the lustre of her face, White break the clouds away. With quickened step, Brown Night retires: young Day pours in apace, And opens all the lawny prospect wide. The dripping rock, the mountain’s misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. Blue, thro’ the dusk, the smoking currents shine; And from the bladed field the fearful hare Limps, awkward: while along the forest glade The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze At early passenger. Music awakes The native voice of undissembled joy; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. Rous’d by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves His mossy cottage, where with Peace he dwells; And from the crowded fold, in order, drives His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn... Aus: Jahreszeiten/Seasons von James Thomson Für Quereinsteiger: Zur Hauptseite von Urs Engeler Editor