Though happy men the present goods possess, The' unhappy have their share in future hopes no less. How early has young Chromius begun The slow advance of dull humanity. The big-limb'd babe in his huge cradle lay, 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 thunderbolts, present. Some of the' amazed women dropp'd down dead About the room, some into corners crept, All naked from her bed the passionate mother [leap'd, She trembled, and she cry'd; the mighty infant smiled: The mighty infant seem'd well pleased At his gay gilded foes; And, as their spotted necks up to the cradle rose, With his young warlike hands on both he seized; In vain they raged, in vain they hiss'd, 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; 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, What mighty tyrants he should slay, How much at Phlægra's field the distress'd 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 saved, 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 SECOND ODE, B. IV. "Pindarum quisquis studet æmulari, &c." PINDAR is imitable by none; The Phoenix Pindar is a vast species alone. What could he who follow'd claim, But of vain boldness the unhappy fame, Pindar's unnavigable song [along; 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 noise. So Pindar does new words and figures roll Or the great acts of God-descended kings, Each rich-embroider'd line, Does all their starry diadems outshine. Whether at Pisa's race he please To carve in polish'd verse the conqueror's images Such mournful, and such pleasing words, As joy to his mother's and his mistress' grief affords He bids him live and grow in fame; Among the stars he sticks his name; The grave can but the dross of him devour, Does with weak, unballast wings, mossy brooks and springs, About the trees' new-blossom'd heads, About the gardens' painted beds, And all inferior beauteous things, Like the laborious bee, For little drops of honey flee, And there with humble sweets contents her in dustry. VOL. II. L THE RESURRECTION. NOT winds to voyagers at sea, Than Verse to Virtue; which can do Till heaven itself shalt melt away, Begin the song, and strike the living lyre; All hand in hand do decently advance, [dance! In the last trumpet's dreadful sound: That to the spheres themselves shall silence bring, Untune the universal string: Then all the wide-extended sky, And all the' harmonious worlds on high, And he himself shall see in one fire shine Rich Nature's ancient Troy, though built by hands divine. |