Lychenor (fecond of the glorious name)
Striding advanc'd, and took no wand'ring aim;
Thro' all the Frog the fhining jav'lin flies,
And near the vanquish'd Mouse the victor dies.
The dreadful stroke Crambophagus affrights,
Long bred to banquets, lefs inur'd to fights,
Heedlefs he runs, and ftumbles o'er the fteep,
And wildly flound'ring flashes up the deep;
Lychenor following with a downward blow,
Reach'd in the lake his unrecover'd foe ;
Gasping he rolls, a purple ftream of blood
Diftains the furface of the filver flood;
Thro' the wide wound the rushing entrails throng,
And flow the breathless carcass floats along.
Lymnifius good Tyroglyphus affails,
Prince of the Mice that haunt the flow'ry vales, Loft to the milky fares and rural feat,
He came to perish on the bank of fate.
The dread Pternoglyphus demands the fight, Which tender Calaminthius fhuns by flight,
Drops the green target, fpringing quits the foe,
Glides thro' the lake, and fafely dives below.
But dire Pternophagus divides his way
Thro' breaking ranks, and leads the dreadful day. No nibbling prince excell'd in fierceness more, His parents fed him on the favage boar ;
But where his lance the field with blood imbru'd,
Swift as he mov❜d, Hydrocharis pursu❜d.
'Till fall'n in death he lies, a fhatt'ring ftone
Sounds on the neck, and crushes all the bone,
His blood pollutes the verdure of the plain,
And from his noftrils bursts the gushing brain.
Lychopinax with Borbocates fights,
A blameless Frog, whom humbler life delights;
The fatal jav'lin unrelenting flies,
And darkness feals the gentle croaker's eyes.
Incens'd Praffophagus with spritely bound,
Bears Cniffiodortes off the rifing ground,
Then drags him o'er the lake depriv'd of breath,
And downward plunging, finks his foul to death.
But now the great Pfycarpax fhines afar,
(Scarce he fo great whofe lofs provok'd the war)
Swift to revenge his fatal jav'lin fled,
And thro' the liver ftruck Pelufius dead;
His freckled corps before the victor fell,
His foul indignant fought the shades of hell.
This faw Pelobates, and from the flood
Heav'd with both hands a monft'rous mass of mud,
The cloud obfcene o'er all the heroe flies,
Dishonours his brown face, and blots his eyes.
Enrag'd, and wildly fputt'ring, from the fhore
A ftone immenfe of size the warrior bore,
A load for lab'ring earth, whose bulk to raise,
Afks ten degen❜rate Mice of modern days.
Full on the leg arrives the crushing wound;
The Frog fupportless, writhes upon the ground.
Thus flufh'd, the victor wars with matchlefs force,
'Till loud Craugafides arrefts his course,
Hoarse-croaking threats precede! with fatal speed
Deep thro' the belly run the pointed reed,
Then ftrongly tugg'd, return'd imbru'd with gore,
And on the pile his reeking entrails bore:
The lame Sitophagus opprefs'd with pain,
Creeps from the defp'rate dangers of the plain;
And where the ditches rifing weeds fupply
To spread their lowly shades beneath the sky,
There lurks the filent Moufe reliev'd from heat,
And safe embow'r'd, avoids the chance of fate.
But here Troxartas, Phyfignathus there,
Whirl the dire furies of the pointed spear:
But where the foot around its ankle plies,
Troxartas wounds, and Phyfignathus flies,
Halts to the pool, a safe retreat to find,
And trails a dangling length of leg behind.
The Moufe ftill urges, ftill the Frog retires,
And half in anguish of the flight expires.
Then pious ardor young Praffæus brings,
Betwixt the fortunes of contending kings:
Lank, harmless Frog! with forces hardly grown,
He darts the reed in combats not his own,
Which faintly tinkling on Troxartas' shield,
Hangs at the point, and drops upon the field.
Now nobly tow'ring o'er the reft appears
A gallant prince that far transcends his years,
Pride of his fire, and glory of his house,
And more a Mars in combat than a Mouse:
His action bold, robust his ample frame,
And Meridarpax his refounding name.
The warrior fingled from the fighting croud,
Boafts the dire honours of his arms aloud;
Then ftrutting near the lake, with looks elate,
To all its nations threats approaching fate,
And fuch his ftrength, the filver lakes around
Might roll their waters o'er unpeopled ground.
But pow'rful Jove, who fhews no lefs his grace.
To Frogs that perifh, than to human race,
Felt foft compaffion rifing in his foul,
And shook his facred head, that shook the pole.
Then thus to all the gazing pow'rs began
The fire of Gods, and Frogs, and Mice, and Man.
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