Obrazy na stronie

Nature herself, whilst in the womb he was,
Sow’d strength and beauty through the forming
maSS ;
They mov'd the vital lump in every part,
And carv'd the members out with wondrous art.
She fill'd his mind with courage, and with wit,
And a vast bounty, apt and fit
For the great dower which Fortune made to it
'T is madness sure treasures to hoard,
And make them useless, as in mines, remain,
To lose th' occasion Fortune does afford
Fame and publick love to gain:
Ev’n for self-concerning ends,
'T is wiser much to hoard-up friends.
Though happy men the present goods possess,
Th’ unhappy have their share in future hopes no

How early has young Chromius begun
The race of virtue, and how swiftly run,
And borne the noble prize away,
Whilst other youths yet at the barriers stay !
None but Alcides e'er set earlier forth than he .
The God, his father's, blood nought could restrain,
'T was ripe at first, and did disdain
The slow advance of dull humanity.
The big-limb'd babe in his huge cradle lay,
Too weighty to be rock'd by nurses’ hands,
Wrapt in purple swadling-bands;

When, lo! by jealous Juno's fierce commands,
Two dreadful serpents coine,
Rolling and hissing loud, into the room;
To the bold babe they trace their bidden way;
Forth from their flaming eyes dread lightnings went,
Their gaping mouths did forked tongues, like thun-
der-bolts, present.

Some of th’ amazed women dropp'd down dead
With fear, some wildly fled
About the room, some into corners crept,
Where silently they shook and wept:
All naked from her bed the passionate mother leap'd,
To save or perish with her child;
She trembled, and she cry’d; the mighty infant
smil'd :
The mighty infant seem'd well pleas'd
At his gay gilded foes;
And, as their spotted necks up to the cradle rose,
With his young warlike hands on both he seiz'd;
In vain they rag'd, in vain they hiss'd,
In vain their armed tails they twist,
And angry circles cast about;
Black blood, and fiery breath, and poisonous soul,
he squeezes out!

With their drawn swords
In ran Amphitryo and the Theban lords;
With doubting wonder, and with troubled joy,
They saw the conquering boy

Laugh, and point downwards to his prey, Where, in death's pangs and their own gore, they folding lay. When wise Tiresias this beginning knew, He told with ease the things to ensue; From what monsters he should free The earth, the air, and sea; What mighty tyrants he should slay, Greater monsters far than they ; How much at Phlaegra's field the distrest Gods should owe To their great offspring here below; And how his club should there outdo Apollo's silver bow, and his own father's thunder too.

And that the grateful Gods, at last, The race of his laborious virtue past, Heaven, which he sav'd, should to him give; Where, marry'd to eternal youth, he should for ever live; Drink nectar with the Gods, and all his senses please In their harmonious, golden palaces; Walk with ineffable delight Through the thick groves of never-withering light, And, as he walks, affright The lion and the bear, Bull, centaur, scorpion, all the radiant monsters there,

THE PRAISE OF PINDAR. IN IMITATION OF HORACE's secon D ope, B. Iv. “Pindarum quisquis studet amulari, &c.”

PINDAR is imitable by none;
The Phoenix Pindar is a vast species alone.
Who e'er but Daedalus with waxen wings could fly,
And neither sink too low nor soar too high
What could he who follow'd claim,
But of vain boldness the unhappy fame,
And by his fall a sea to name *
Pindar's unnavigable song
Like a swoln flood from some steep mountain pours
The ocean meets with such a voice,
From his enlarged mouth, as drowns the ocean's

So Pindar does new words and figures roll

Down his impetuous dithyrambick tide,
Which in no channel deigns to abide,
Which neither banks nor dykes control:
Whether th’ immortal Gods he sings,

In a no less immortal strain,
Or the great acts of God-descended kings,
Who in his numbers still survive and reign;

Each rich-embroider'd line,
Which their triumphant brows around
By his sacred hand is bound,
Does all their starry'diadems outshine.

Whether at Pisa's race he please
To carve in polish'd verse the conqueror's images;
Whether the swift, the skilful, or the strong,
Be crowned in his nimble, artful, vigorous song;
Whether some brave young man's untimely fate,
In words worth dying for, he celebrate— -
Such mournful, and such pleasing words,
As joy to his mother's and his mistress' grief as-
He bids him live and grow in fame;
Among the stars he sticks his name;
The grave can but the dross of him devour,
So small is Death's, so great the Poet's, power

Lo, how th' obsequious wind, and swelling air,
The Theban swan does upwards bear

Into the walks of clouds, where he does play,

And with extended wings opens his liquid way !
Whilst, alas! my timorous Muse
Unambitious tracks pursues;
Does with weak, unballast wings,
About the mossy brooks and springs,
About the trees' new-blossom'd heads,
About the gardens' painted beds,
About the fields and flowery meads,

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