The troops of fe
Along the plain

The joyous swain

orn mists retire.

Eyes the gay villages again,

And gold-illumined spire;

While on the billowy ether borne
Floats the loose lay's jovial measure;

And light along the fairy Pleasure,
Her green robes glittering to the morn,
Wantons on silken wing. And goblins all

To the damp dungeon shrink, or hoary hall;

Or westward, with impetuous flight,

Shoot to the desert realms of their congenial night.

II. 1.

When first on childhood's eager gaze

Life's varied landscape, stretch'd immense around,
Starts out of night profound,

Thy voice incites to tempt th' untrodden maze.
Fond he surveys thy mild maternal face,
His bashful eye still kindling as he views,
And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace,
With beating heart the upland path pursues:
The path that leads, where, hung sublime,
And seen afar, youth's gallant trophies, bright
In Fancy's rainbow ray, invite

His wingy nerves to climb.

II. 2.

Pursue thy pleasurable way,

Safe in the guidance of thy heavenly guard,
While melting airs are heard,

And soft-eyed cherub-forms around thee play:
Simplicity, in careless flowers array'd,
Prattling amusive in his accent meek;
And Modesty, half turning as afraid,

The smile just dimpling on his glowing cheek!

Content and Leisure, hand in hand

With Innocence and Peace, advance, and sing;

And Mirth, in many a mazy ring,

Frisks o'er the flowery land.

II. 3.

Frail man, how various is thy lot below!

To-day though gales propitious blow,

And Peace soft gliding down the sky

Lead Love along, and Harmony,

To-morrow the gay scene deforms;
Then all around

The thunder's sound

Rolls rattling on through Heaven's profound,
And down rush all the storms.

Ye days, that balmy influence shed,

When sweet childhood, ever sprightly,
In paths of pleasure sported lightly,
Whither, ah whither are ye fled?

Ye cherub train, that brought him on his
O leave him not 'midst tumult and dismay;

way,

For now youth's eminence he gains:

But what a weary length of lingering toil remains!

III. 1.

They shrink, they vanish into air,

Now Slander taints with pestilence the gale;

And mingling cries assail,

The wail of Woe, and groan of grim Despair.

Lo, wizard Envy from his serpent eye

Darts quick destruction in each baleful glance
Pride smiling stern, and yellow Jealousy,

Frowning Disdain, and haggard Hate advance;

Behold, amidst the dire array,

Pale wither'd Care his giant-stature rears,
And lo, his iron hand prepares

To grasp its feeble prey.

III. 2.

Who now will guard bewilder'd youth

Safe from the fierce assault of hostile rage?

Such war can Virtue wage,

Virtue, that bears the sacred shield of Truth?
Alas! full oft on Guilt's victorious car
The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne ;
While the fair captive, mark'd with many a scar,
In long obscurity, oppress'd, forlorn,

Resigns to tears her angel form.

Ill-fated youth, then whither wilt thou fly?

No friend, no shelter now is nigh,

And onward rolls the storm.

III. 3.

But whence the sudden beam that shoots along?

Why shrink aghast the hostile throng?

Lo, from amidst affliction's night

Hope bursts all radiant on the sight:

Her words the troubled bosom soothe.

Why thus dismay'd?

Though foes invade,

Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid,

Who read the path of truth.

"Tis I, who smooth the rugged way,

I, who close the eyes of Sorrow,

And with glad visions of to-morrow

Repair the weary soul's decay.

When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing heart,

Dreams of Heaven's opening glories I impart,

Till the freed spirit springs on high

In rapture too severe for weak mortality.'

PYGMEO-GERANO-MACHIA:

THE

BATTLE OF THE PYGMIES AND CRANES.

FROM THE LATIN OF ADDISON.

1762.

THE pygmy-people, and the feather'd train,
Mingling in mortal combat on the plain,

I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs,

Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines:
The flashing swords and fluttering wings display,
And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray;
Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes,
Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumber'd woe
The wars and woes of heroes six feet long
Have oft resounded in Pierian song.

Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece,
And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece?
Of Thebes' fell brethren. Theseus stern of face,
And Peleus' son unrivall'd in the race,
Eneas, founder of the Roman line,
And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne?
Who has not learn'd to weep at Pompey's woes;
And over Blackmore's epic page to doze?
"Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains

Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains;
The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size,
And armies rushing down the darken'd skies.

Where India reddens to the early dawn,
Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn:
Bosom'd in groves the lowly region lies,
And rocky mountains round the border rise.

breed;

Here, till the doom of fate its fall decreed,
The empire flourish'd of the pygmy.
Here Industry perform'd, and Genius plann'd,
And busy multitudes o'erspread the land.
But now to these long bounds if pilgrim stray,
Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way,
He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth,

Its godlings mouldering on th' abandon'd hearth;
And starts, where small white bones are spread around,
'Or little footsteps lightly print the ground;'
While the proud crane her nest securely builds,
Chattering amid the desolated fields.

But different fates befel her hostile rage,
While reign'd, invincible through many an age,
The dreaded pygmy: roused by war's alarms,
Forth rush'd the madding mannikin to arms.
Fierce to the field of death the hero flies;

The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground, and dies;
And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!)
With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road.

And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay,

And often made the callow young his prey;

With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board, and smil'd,

T' avenge the parent's trespass on the child.

Oft, where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest,
And laid her eggs and household gods to rest,

Burning for blood, in terrible array,

The eighteen inch militia burst their way;
All went to wreck: the infant foeman fell,

Whence scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell.
Loud uproar hence, and rage of arms arose,

And the fell rancour of encountering foes;

Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc whelms,
And Death's grim visage scares the pygmy-realms.

Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire
Of mice, high theme of the Mecnian lyre;