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النشر الإلكتروني

What feas of blood I view ! what worlds of flain !

An Iliad rifing from a day's campaign;

How fierce his jav'lin o'er the trembling lakes
The black-fur'd heroe Meridarpax shakes!
Unless fome fav'ring Deity defcend,
Soon will the Frogs loquacious empire end.
Let dreadful Pallas wing'd with pity fly,
And make her Ægis blaze before his eye:
While Mars refulgent on his ratling car,
Arrefts his raging rival of the war.

He ceas'd, reclining with attentive head,
When thus the glorious God of combats faid.
Nor Pallas, Jove! tho' Pallas take the field,
With all the terrors of her hiffing shield,
Nor Mars himself, tho' Mars in armour bright
Afcend his car, and wheel amidst the fight;
Not these can drive the desp'rate Mouse afar,
Or change the fortunes of the bleeding war.
Let all go forth, all heav'n in arms arise,
Or launch thy own red thunder from the skies.

Such

Such ardent bolts as flew that wond'rous day,

When heaps of Titans mix'd with mountains lay, When all the giant-race enormous fell,

And huge Enceladus was hurl'd to hell.

'Twas thus th' armipotent advis'd the Gods, When from his throne the cloud-compeller nods, Deep length'ning thunders run from pole to pole, Olympus trembles as the thunders roll.

Then swift he whirls the brandish'd bolt around,
And headlong darts it at the diftant ground;
The bolt difcharg'd inwrap'd with lightning flies,
And rends its flaming paffage thro' the skies:
Then earth's inhabitants, the nibblers, shake,
And Frogs, the dwellers in the waters, quake.
Yet ftill the Mice advance their dread defign,
And the last danger threats the croaking line,
'Till Jove that inly mourn'd the lofs they bore,
With ftrange affiftants fill'd the frighted fhore.
Pour'd from the neighb'ring ftrand, deform'd to

They march, a fudden unexpected crew!

[view,

Strong

Strong futes of armour round their bodies close,
Which, like thick anvils, blunt the force of blows;

In wheeling marches turn'd oblique they go;
With harpy claws their limbs divide below;
Fell sheers the paffage to their mouth command;
From out the flesh their bones by nature stand;
Broad spread their backs, their fhining fhoulders rife
Unnumber'd joints diftort their lengthen'd thighs;
With nervous cords their hands are firmly brac'd;
Their round black eye-balls in their bofom plac'd;
On eight-long feet the wondrous warriors tread;
And either end alike fupplies a head.

Thefe, mortal wits to call the Crabs, agree,
The Gods have other names for things than we.

Now were the jointures from their loins depend,
The heroes tails with fev'ring grafps they rend.
Here, fhort of feet, depriv'd the pow'r to fly,
There, without hands, upon the field they lie.
Wrench'd from their holds, and scatter'd all around,

The bended lances heap the cumber'd ground.

Help

Helpless amazement, fear pursuing fear,

And mad confusion thro' their hoft

appear:

O'er the wild wafte with headlong flight they go,

Or creep conceal'd in vaulted holes below.

But down Olympus to the western seas
Far-fhooting Phoebus drove with fainter rays;
And a whole war (fo Jove ordain'd) begun,
Was fought, and ceas'd, in one revolving fun.

то

To Mr. POPE.

T

O praise, yet still with due respect to praise,
A bard triumphant in immortal bays,

The learn'd to show, the fenfible commend,
Yet ftill preserve the province of the friend,
What life, what vigour, muft the lines require?
What mufic tune them? what affection fire?

O might thy genius in my bofom shine!
Thou shouldst not fail of numbers worthy thine,
The brightest antients might at once agree
To fing within my lays, and fing of thee.
Horace himself wou'd own thou doft excel
In candid arts to play the critic well.

Ovid himself might wish to fing the dame
Whom Windfor foreft fees a gliding ftream,
On filver feet, with annual ofier crown'd,
She runs for ever thro' poetic ground.

How

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