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 lone 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 sooth.

66

Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid, "Who tread 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

66

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."

PYGMÆO-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 woes.
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Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn: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.
Here, till the doom of Fate its fall deereed,
The empire flourish'd of the pygmy-breed ;
Here Industry perform'd, and Genius plann'd,
And busy multitudes o'erspread the land.

But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray,
Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way,

T

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 thro' many an age,
The dreaded Pygmy: rous'd 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 houshold gods to rest,
Burning for blood, in terrible array,

The eighteen-inch militia burst their way: