THE PORCUPINE,

OFT had I heard, and unbelieving still,
Stymphale, of thy wond'rous birds who fill
The air with arrows in their angry flight,
From iron pinions shot; but since my sight
Has rested on the porcupine, no more

I nurse the doubts that I indulged before.

His lengthen'd snout claims kindred with the swine,
His eager eyes with flames resplendent shine;

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His horned front deceitful crops reveals,
And dog-like limbs his bristly coat conceals.

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Nor yet is this unsightly monster left,

By careful Nature, of defence bereft :

O'er his whole form, when war demands, he rears

A wond'rous harvest of destructive spears,

Adorn'd with ebon spots, and varied light,

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And finely wrought in secret for the fight.

Nor like the tamer hedge-hog are these arms
Immoveable; when threaten'd war alarms,
In dark'ning showers he scatters them around;
Now like the Parthian see him fly and wound,

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Hurling his self-form'd missiles in the air;

Behold him now more artful war declare;

Like troops well disciplined, his grove of spears

He clashes, and each kindred shaft uprears;

His frame with military ardor shakes,

A rustling sound his native armour makes;

As hostile bands, who hear the trumpet's blast,

Their rattling spears against each other cast:

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Such rage within so small a compass lies.
Nor is this animal more strong than wise;
In action calm, nor lavish of his store,
Content to threaten, he attempts no more,
Till life requires defence; from error free,
His dext'rous aim is sure; neither does he
On distant objects waste his subtle darts,

But prudently delays his native arts,
Nor plans attack till certain of success.

To

power like this let human skill confess

Itself inferior! See th' Arcadian horn

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From slaughter'd goats with eager fury torn,

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And bent with fire; to stretch the nervous cord,

The stately bull his entrails must afford;

The shaft a reed supplies, tipp'd with bright steel

And wing'd with feathers: thus do we reveal

By slow degrees what he from nature draws,

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Careless of foreign aid; in him the laws,

The arts of warfare are at once combined,
In him the quiver, shaft, and bow we find.

If from example all our knowledge springs,

If watchful industry perfection brings,
Whoe'er first bade their arrows fly afar,
And distant enemies engage in war,
The valiant Cretan with unfailing bow,
The Parthian dreadful to th' unwary foe,
Own'd one instructor for their wily arts,

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The beast whom Nature thus has cased in darts

THE TORPEDO.

WHO hath not heard the dire Torpedo's fame,

The strength, the power, denoted in its name?
What though its form is tender, and its pace
Scarce leaves upon the sands a languid trace,
With subtle poison Nature arms its sides;
Throughout its frame a freezing influence glides,
Which binds all life and heat in icy chains,
And native winters dwell within its veins.

To Nature, too, deceitful arts it owes ;
The wond'rous gift, by her conferr'd it knows;

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