Part 10 (1/2)

Who now will guard bewildered youth Safe from the fierce a.s.saults of hostile rage?

Such war can Virtue wage, Virtue, that bears the sacred s.h.i.+eld of Truth!

Alas! full oft on Guilt's victorious car The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne; While the fair captive, marked with many a scar, In lone obscurity, oppressed, forlorn, Resigns to tears her angel form.

Ill-fated youth, then, whither wilt thou fly?

No friend, no shelter now is nigh, And onward rolls the storm.

III. 3.

But whence the sudden beam that shoots along?

Why shrink aghast the hostile throng?

Lo, from amidst Affliction's night, Hope bursts, all radiant, on the sight: Her words the troubled bosom sooth.

”Why thus dismayed?

”Though foes invade, ”Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid, ”Who tread the path of truth.

”'Tis I, who smooth the rugged way, ”I, who close the eyes of Sorrow, ”And with glad visions of to-morrow ”Repair the weary soul's decay.

”When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing heart, ”Dreams of heaven's opening glories I impart, ”Till the freed spirit springs on high, ”In rapture too severe for weak Mortality.”

_PYGMaeO-GERANO-MACHIA_, THE BATTLE OF THE PIGMIES AND CRANES.

FROM THE LATIN OF ADDISON.

The pygmy-people, and the feathered train, Mingling in mortal combat on the plain, I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs, Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines; The flas.h.i.+ng swords and fluttering wings display, And long bills nibbling in the b.l.o.o.d.y fray; Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes, Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumbered woes!

The wars and woes of heroes six feet long Have oft resounded in Pierian song.

Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece, And Argo, manned with all the flower of Greece?

Of Thebes' fell brethren, Theseus, stern of face, And Peleus' son, unrivalled in the race, aeneas, founder of the Roman line, And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne?

Who has not learned to weep at Pompey's woes, And over Blackmore's epic page to doze?

'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains, Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains; The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size, And armies rus.h.i.+ng down the darkened skies.

Where India reddens to the early dawn, Winds a deep vale from vulgar eyes withdrawn: Bosomed in groves the lowly region lies, And rocky mountains round the border rise.

Here, till the doom of Fate its fall decreed, The empire flourished of the pygmy-breed; Here Industry performed, and Genius planned, And busy mult.i.tudes o'erspread the land.

But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray, Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way, He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth, Its G.o.dlings mouldering on th' abandoned hearth; And starts, where small white bones are spread around, ”Or little footsteps lightly print the ground;”

While the proud crane her nest securely builds, Chattering amid the desolated fields.

But different fates befel her hostile rage, While reigned, invincible through many an age, The dreaded Pygmy: roused by war's alarms, Forth rushed the madding Mannikin to arms.

Fierce to the field of death the hero flies; The faint crane, fluttering, flaps the ground, and dies; And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!) With b.l.o.o.d.y bill loose-dangling marks the road.

And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay, And often made the callow young his prey; With slaughtered victims heaped his board, and smiled, To visit the sire's trespa.s.s on the child.

Oft, where his feathered foe had reared her nest, And laid her eggs and household G.o.ds to rest, Burning for blood, in terrible array, The eighteen-inch militia burst their way: All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell, When scarce his chirping bill had broke the sh.e.l.l.

Loud uproar hence, and rage of arms arose, And the fell rancour of encountering foes; Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc whelms, And Death's grim visage scares the pygmy realms.

Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire Of Mice, high theme of the Meonian lyre; When bold to battle marched the accoutered Frogs, And the deep tumult thundered through the bogs.

Pierced by the javelin-bulrush on the sh.o.r.e, Here, agonizing, rolled the mouse in gore; And there the frog (a scene full sad to see!) Shorn of one leg, slow sprawled along on three: He vaults no more with vigorous hops on high, But mourns in hoa.r.s.est croaks his destiny.

And now the day of woe drew on apace, A day of woe to all the pygmy-race, When dwarfs were doomed (but penitence was vain) To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain.

For roused to vengeance by repeated wrong, From distant climes the long-billed legions throng: From Strymon's lake, Cayster's plashy meads, And fens of Scythia green with rustling reeds; From where the Danube winds through many a land, And Mareotis laves the Egyptian strand, To rendezvous they waft on eager wing, And wait a.s.sembled the returning spring.

Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight, Whet their keen beaks, and twisting claws, for fight; Each crane the pygmy power in thought o'erturns, And every bosom for the battle burns.

When genial gales the frozen air unbind, The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind.

Far in the sky they form their long array, And land and ocean stretch'd immense survey, Deep, deep beneath; and triumphing in pride, With clouds and winds commixed, innumerous ride; 'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven.

Nor less the alarm that shook the world below, Where marched in pomp of war the embattled foe; Where mannikins with haughty step advance, And grasp the s.h.i.+eld, and couch the quivering lance; To right and left the lengthening lines they form, And ranked in deep array await the storm.

High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen, Of giant stature, and imperial mien.

Full twenty inches tall, he strode along, And viewed with lofty eye the wondering throng; And, while with many a scar his visage frowned, Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight The glorious meed of high heroic might.

For with insatiate vengeance, he pursued, And never-ending hate, the feathery brood.

Unhappy they, confiding in the length Of h.o.r.n.y beak, or talon's crooked strength, Who durst abide his rage; the blade descends, And from the panting trunk the pinion rends.