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When bold to battle march'd th* accoutred frogs,
And the deep tumult thunder'd through the bogs,
Pierced by the javelin bulrush on the shore
Here agonizing rolPd the mouse in gore j
And there the frog (a scene full sad to see !)
Shorn of one leg, slow sprawl'd along on three:
He vaults no more with vigorous hops on high,
But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny.

And now the day of woe drew on apace,
A day of woe to all the pygmy-race,
When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain)
To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain.
For, roused to vengeance by repeated wrong,
From distant climes the long-bill'd legions throng:
From Strymon's lake, C'ayster's plashy meads,
And fens of Scythia, green with rustling reeds,
From where the Danube winds through many a land,
And Mareotis laves th' Egyptian strand,
To rendezvous they waft on eager wing,
And wait assembled the returning spring.
Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight,
Whet their keen beaks, and twisting claws, for fight j
Each crane the pygmy power in thought o'erturns,
And every bosom for the battle burns.

When genial gales the frozen air unbind, The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind; Far in the sky they form their long array, And land and ocean stretch/d immense survey Deep deep beneath; and, triumphing in pride, With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride: 'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven.

Nor less th' alarm that shook the world below, Where march'd in pomp of war th* embattled foe: Where mannikins with haughty step advance, And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance:


To right and left the lengthening lines they form, And rank'd in deep array await the storm.

High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen, Of giant stature, and imperial mien: Full twenty inches tall, he strode along, And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng: And while with many a scar his visage frown'd, Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight The glorious meed of high heroic might. For with insatiate vengeance he pursued, And never-ending hate, the feathery brood. Unhappy they, confiding in the length Of horny beak, or talon's crooked strength, Who durst abide his rage ; the blade descends, And from the panting trunk the pinion rends: Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more, The trunk disfigured stiffens in its goie. What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force! What heaps of chicken carnage marked his course! How oft., 0 Strymon, thy lone banks along, Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song!

And now from far the mingling clamours rise, Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies. From skirt to skirt of Heaven, with stormy sway, A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day. Rear and more near descends the dreadful shade, And now in battailous array display'd, On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire, The cranes rush onward, and the fight require.

The pygmy warriors eye with fearless glare The host thick swarming o'er the burtheu'd air; Thick swarming now, but to their native land Doom'd to return a scanty straggling band.— When sudden, daniug down the depth of Heaven, Fierce on th' expecting foe the cranes are driven,

The kindling frenzy every bosom warms,

The region echoes to the crash of arms:

Loose feathers from th* encountering armies fly,

And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky.

To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane,

Then with fresh vigour downward darts again.

Success in equal balance hovering hangs.

Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs,

The bird transfiVd in bloody vortex whirls,

Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls;

There, while the life-blood babbles from his wound,

With little feet the pygmy beats the ground;

Deep from his breast the short short sob he draws,

And, dying, curses the keen pointed claws.

Trembles the thundering field, thick coverM o'er

With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming go'/e,

And pygmy arms, and beaks of ample size,

And here a claw, and there a finger lies.

Enr.ompass'd round witli heaps of slaughter^ foes, All grim in blood the pigmy champion glows, And on tb/ assailing host impetuous springs, Careless of nibbling bills, and flapping wings; And "midst the tumult, wheresoe'er he turns, The battle with redoubled fury burns; From ev'ry side th' avenging cranes amain Throng, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain. When suddenly (for such the will of Jove) A fowl enormous, sousing from above, The gallant chieftain clutch'd, and soaring high, (Sad chance of battle !) bore him up the sky. The cranes pursue, and clustering in a ring, Chatter triumphant round the captive king. But ah! what pangs each pygmy bosom wrung, When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung, High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord, His wriggling form still lessening as he soar'd.

Lo! yet again, with unabated rage, In mortal stri-fe the mingling hosts engage. The crane with darted bill assaults the foe, Hovering; then wheels aloft to 'scape the blow: The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound: But whirls in empty air the falchion round.

Such was the scene, when 'midst the loud alarms
Sublime th' eternal Thunderer rose in arms.
When Briareus, by mad ambition driven,
Heaved Pelion huge, and hurl'd it high at Heaven,
Jove roll'd redoubling thunders from on high,
Mountains and bolts encounter'd in the sky;
Till one stupendous ruin whelm'd the crew,
Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue.

But now at length the pygmy legions yield,
And wing'd with terror fly the fatal field.
They raise a weak and melancholy wail,
All in distraction scattering o'er the vale.
Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend;
Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend:
With unrelenting ire they urge the chase,
Sworn to exterminate the hated race.
Twas thus the pygmy name, once great in war,
For spoils of conquer'd cranes renown'd afar,
Perish'd. For, by the dread decree of Heaven,
Short is the date to earthly grandeur given,
And vain are all attempts to roam beyond
Where fate has fix'd the everlasting bound.
Fallen are the trophies of Assyrian power,
And Persia's proud dominion is no more;
Yea, though to both superior far in, fame,
Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name.

And uow with lofty chiefs of ancient time,
The pygmy heroes roam th' elysian clime.
Or, if belief to matron tales be due,
Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view,

Their frisking forms, in gentle green array'd,
Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade.
Secure, for no alarming cranes molest,
And all their woes in long oblivion rest:
Down the deep vale, and narrow winding way,
They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay:
'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove,
And Fairy-people is the name they love.


YES, yes, I grant the sons of Earth
Are doom'd to trouble from their birth.
We all oi sorrow have our share;
But say, is yours without compare?
Look round the world; perhaps you'll find
Each individual of our kind
Press'd with an equal load of ill,
Equal at least. Look further still,
And own your lamentable case
Is little short of happiness.
In yonder hut that stands alone
Attend to Famine's feeble moan;
Or view the couch where Sickness lies,
Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes,
His frame by strong convulsion torn,
His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn.
Or see, transfix'd with keener pangs,
Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs;
Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares,
Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares,
Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll
Their tempests on his harass'd soul.

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