And dropping down on either side
His mighty plumes in yielding pride,
O'er his bent visage and his orbs of flame
Dark shadows pour in thrilling dream;
Whelm'd in the' impetuous stream of sound,
He lifts his arching back and drops in sleep profound.

STROPHE II.

Wisdom and the melting Muse
Together mingle a resistless charm ;

The lord of battle drops his arm,

And heav'nly souls their loftier fancies lose.

he has omitted one beautiful phrase, βλεφαρων αδο κλαίσρον, which the attentive West has but poorly translated, if I remember right;

While gentle sleep his closing eyelid seals;

besides the entire omission of that majestic description of the posture of the royal bird while dropping to slumber,

ο δε κνώσσων

υγρον νωτον αιωρει, &c.

yet I cannot but think, that Pindar is not a little indebted to his Imitator for the translation of his κελαινω πιν δ' επι οι νεφελάν &c. which our Bard has thus rendered;

Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie

The terror of his beak and lightnings of his eye.

* Και γαρ βια

τας Αρης, τραχειαν ανευθε λιπων

εγχεων ακμαν, ιαίνει καρδίαν

κωματι

Gray has numbered this also among the powers of harmony;→

On Thracia's hills the lord of War

Has curb'd the fury of his car,

And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command,

* But they, from whom immortal Jove
Has turn'd his radiant smiles of love,
Whether in earth or Ocean's dark profound
Hear Discord shriek in ev'ry sound.

Such he †, the Gods' relentless foe,

Fills the Tartarean gulph with howls of madd'ning woe.

ANTISTROPHE II,

Fierce with hundred-handed strength,
And raging with a hundred mouths of pain,
He, loud and irefully insane,

Dashes with chains of fire his mighty length.
To him of old Cilicia's cave

A refuge for existence gave.

Now Cuma, wild with circling Ocean's roar,

And hot Sicilia's angry shore,

And Ætna's column, lord of air,

Weigh on his shaggy breast pond'rous and huge despair.

STROPHE III.

Where the beams of day expire,

From darkling caves big with horrendous shade,

Fierce hissing o'er it's gleaming head
Spout flames of wild intolerable fire.
Mingling the rolling smoke with gold
The blazing sulph'rous sheets unfold;

*Horace seems to ascribe to music a very different effect on

wicked minds.

+ Typhæus.

Vide Od. II. Lib. 3

And oft the volvent flames sublimely bright,
Breaking the dread repose of night,

Deep in the wave with wildest crash

Torn from th' ardurous rock the fearful splinters dash.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Lifting short his painful head

The huge Vulcanian, Monster hurls on high
Tremendous whirlpools to the sky;

When bleeding on the flint's sharp rugged bed,
And howling underneath his woods

An echo to the sulph'rous floods,

He clothes the purple rock with clotted gore.

Deep list'ning to his fearful roar

Th' Etnean Genius lifts his awful eye,

And shakes the rocky steep, and thunders thro' the sky.

EPIGRAM.

WHEN the Devil engaged with Job's patience in battle, Tooth and nail strove to weary him out of his life, He robb'd him of children, slaves, houses, and cattle; But, mark me-he ne'er thought of taking his wife.

But Heaven, at length, Job's forbearance rewards; At length double wealth, double honour arrives; Heaven doubles his children, slaves, houses, and herdsBut we don't hear a word of a couple of wives.

s. W.

VOL. VI.

餅

RETROSPECTION,

Movemur, nescio quo pacto, ipsis locis, quibus, quorum admi

ramur, adsunt vestigia.

CICERO

STROPHE I.

O! that to yonder sphere of light,
That scorns the mountain's crested height,
Where never eagle dipt her plume in gold,
Upborne on wings of rapture I might soar,
The world beneath with tranceful gaze behold,
Then close my eyes in night, and see no more!
So might I from those frozen snows,
Where Norway's son's disdain repose,

To where with blood-shot eye, and tusked mouth,
Laps the fierce boar the billows of the South,

With panting soul, and orbs that mock at space, Each deedful scene of earth, that Fame has stampt, retrace!

ANTISTROPHE I.

Yet whither, whither shall I turn
The ardour of my longing eyes,

Yonder, where Lybian deserts burn,

Or there, where Alpine ramparts rise,

Or where, of kingly floods supreme,
Nile rolls his many-mouthed stream;
Or Scylla holds, with savage sway,
Its wild, unvoyageable way:

Or where in reason's spite, in pomp of pride,
The angry Persian lashed the rebel tide,
Or Macedonia's haughty conqueror hurl'd

The light'nings of his spear o'er the wide-wond'ring

world?

EPODE I.

But where that mighty dome,
That swept the southern sky,

With shadowy frown o'er Tiber's darkling flood?-
Low in the dust its glories lie!-

Is this then all thy boasted grandeur, Rome?
For this was half a globe immerg'd in blood?
For this did Brutus from pollution start,

And Cato sheath the dagger in his heart?

Ah! self-devour'd, self-murther'd, self-betray'd,

Smear'd with the wounds thy own misdeeds have made, The warning voice has gone in vain

Thy silken sons, a dastard train,

In Pleasure's lap supinely lie
And quaff the cup of revelry!
Offspring of Scorn, from night to morn,
Your curst carousals madly keep,-

In soft repose your eyelids close,

Hereafter they shall wake to weep:

L'en now, e'en now from yonder Northern shores The hordes of Carnage rush, and hungry Vengeance

roars]