Who, fir'd with mutual hate, their arms employ,

And in the field declare for Greece or Troy;
Till Jove convenes a council to affwage
Their rising fury, and fufpend their rage;

Though the bleft Gods, remov'd from human eyes,
Live in immortal eafe within the diftant fkies.
And now th' infernal realm his theme he makes,
The reign of Pluto, the Tartarean lakes,
The Furies dreadful with their curling fnakes.
He gathers omens from each bird that flies,
And signs from every wing that beats the skies.
He now describes a banquet, where the guest
Prolongs with narratives the royal feast.
Or at the glorious hero's tomb we read
Of games ordain'd in honour of the dead.
And oft for mercies in old times difplay'd,
To their own Gods their annual rites are paid.
For monstrous Python flain, their praises rise,
And lift the fame of Phoebus to the skies.
In hymns Alcides' labours they resound,
While Cacus lies extended on the ground,
Alternate fing the labours of his hands,
Enjoin'd by fierce Euryftheus' ftern commands ;
The den of Cacus crowns the grateful strain,
Where the grim monster breathes his flames in vain.
Mark how fometimes the Bard without control
Exerts his fire, and pours forth all his foul;
His lines fo daring, and his words fo ftrong;
We fee the fubject figur'd in the fong:

When with the winds old* Ocean he deforms,
Or paints the rage and horrors of the storms;
Or drives on pointed rocks the bursting ships,
Toft on the Euxine, or Sicilian deeps.
Or fings the † plagues that blast the livid sky,
When beafts by herds, and men by nations die ;
Or the fierce flames § that Etna's jaws expire,
Her melted rocks, and deluges of fire,

When from her mouth the bursting vapour flies,
And, charg'd with ruin, thunders to the skies ;
While drifts of fmoak in footy whirlwinds play,
And clouds of cinders ftain the golden day.
See! as the Poet founds the dire alarms,
Calls on the war, and fets the hofts in arms;
Squadrons on fquadrons driven, confus'dly die;
Grim Mars in all his terrors ftrikes the eye;
More than description rifing to the fight,
Prefents the real horrors of the fight;

A new creation feems our praife to claim;
(Hence Greece derives the facred || Poet's name ;)
The dreadful clang of clashing arms we hear;,
The agonizing groan, the fruitless prayer,
And fhrieks of fuppliants thicken on the ear.
Who, when he reads a city ftorm'd, forbears
To feel her woes, and fympathize in tears?
When o'er the palaces the flames afpire.

From wall to wall, and wrap the domes in fire?

* Æneid. Lib. I. + Ibid. Lib. III. v. 137. Ibid.

V. 571.

| Ατέ ποιεῖν.

Vid. Æneid. Lib. II.

The

The fire, with years and hostile rage oppreft!
The starting infant, clinging to the breaft!
The trembling mother runs, with piercing cries,
Through friends and foes, and fhrieking rends the skies.
Drag'd from the altar, the distracted fair

Beats her white breast, and tears her golden hair.
Here in thick crowds the vanquish'd fly away,
There the proud victors heap the wealthy prey ;
With rage relentless ravage their abodes,
Nor fpare the facred temples of the Gods.
O'er the whole town they run with wild affright,
Tumultuous haste, and violence of flight.

Why should I mention how our fouls afpire,
Loft in the raptures of the facred fire?
For ev'n the foul not always holds the fame,
But knows at different times a different frame.
Whether with rolling feasons fhe complies,
Turns with the fun, or changes with the skies;
Or through long toil, remiffive of her fires,
Droops with the mortal frame her force inspires;
Or that our minds alternately appear

Now bright with joy, and now o'ercaft with care.
No!-but the Gods, th’immortal Gods supply
The glorious fires; they speak the deity.
Then bleft is he who waits th' aufpicious nod,
The warmth divine, and prefence of the God;
Who his fufpended labours can reftrain,
Till heaven's ferene indulgence fmiles again.
But ftrive, on no pretence, against your power,
Till time brings back the voluntary hour.

Some

Sometimes their verdant honours leave the woods,
And their dry urns defraud the thirsty floods;
Nor ftill the rivers a full channel yield,

Nor Spring with flowery beauties paints the field:
The Bards no lefs fuch fickle changes find,
Dampt is the noble ardor of the mind;
Their wonted toil her wearied powers refufe;
Their fouls grow slack and languid to the Muse,
Deaf to their call; their efforts are withstood ;
Round their cold hearts congeals the freezing blood.
You'd think the Mufes fled; the God no more
Would fire the bofom where he dwelt before,
No more return!-how often, though in vain,
The Poet would renew the wonted ftrain!
Nor fees the Gods who thwart his fruitless care,
Nor angry Heaven relentless to his prayer.
Some read the antient Bards, of deathlefs fame,
And from their raptures catch the noble flame
By juft degrees; they feed the glowing vein,
And all th' immortal ardour burns again
In its full light and heat; the fun's bright ray
Thus (when the clouds disperse) reftores the day:
Whence shot this fudden flash that gilds the pole?
The God, the God comes rushing on his foul;
Fires with ethereal vigour every part,
Through every trembling limb he feems to dart,
Works in each vein, and fwells his rifing heart.
Deep in his breast the heavenly tumult plays,
And fets his mounting fpirits on a blaze.

}

Nor

Nor can the raging flames themselves contain,
For the whole God defcends into the man.
He quits mortality, he knows no bounds,
But fings infpir'd in more than human founds.
Nor from his breast can fhake th' immortal load,
But pants and raves impatient of the God;
And, rapt beyond himself, admires the force
That drives him on reluctant to the course.
He calls on Phoebus, by the God opprest,
Who breathes exceffive fpirit in his breast;
No force of thirst or hunger can control
The fierce, the ruling transport of his foul.
Oft in their fleep, infpir'd with rage divine,
Some Bards enjoy the vifions of the Nine:
Vifions! themselves with due applause may crown,
Vifions that Phoebus or that Jove may own.
To fuch an height the God exalts the flame,
And fo unbounded is their thirst of fame.
But here, ye youths, exert your timely care,,
Nor truft th' ungovernable rage too far;
Ufe not your fortune, nor unfurl your fails,
Though foftly courted by the flattering gales,
Refufe them ftill; and call your judgment in,
While the fierce God exults and reigns within ;
To reason's standard be your thoughts confin'd,
Let judgment calm the tempeft of the mind.
Indulge your heat with conduct, and restrain;
Learn when to draw, and when to give the rein.
But always wait till the warm raptures cease,
And lull the tumults of the foul to peace;

Then,