He broke his arrows, ftampt the ground, What woes, he cry'd, hath luft of gold But ye From the deep-vaulted mine shall rife The rage that sweeps my fons away, XXXX XXXXXX Τ The Dying INDIAN. By the Same. HE dart of Izdabel prevails! 'twas dipt Tin double poifon I fhall foon arrive In -I At the blest island, where no tigers fpring On heedlefs hunters; where anana's bloom Down my forefathers feaft -O my fon, Down to the fea; where Daily on hearts of Spaniards! I feel the venom busy in my breaft, Approach, and bring my crown, deck'd with the teeth Of that bold chriftian who firft dar'd deflour The virgins of the fun; and, dire to tell! I mark'd the spot where they interr'd this traitor, Thy much-lov'd mother from the defart woods ** ODE O DE occafion'd by Reading Mr. WEST'S Tranflation of PINDAR. By the Same. I. 1. LBION exult! thy fons a voice divine have heard, A The man of Thebes hath in thy vales appear'd! Hark! with fresh rage and undiminish'd fire, Great Theron's foaming courfers strain! The fearful, frigid lays of cold and creeping Art, Nor touch, nor can transport th' unfeeling heart; • Where Cadmus and Achilles dwell, And ftill of daring deeds and dangers tell. 2 See 2. Olym. Od. I. 3. Away I. 3. Away, enervate bards, away, b As wreaths for fome vain Louis' head, No more your polifh'd lyrics boast, The glimmerings of a waxen flame, To his own Ætna's fulphur-fpouting caves, When clouds and burning rocks dart thro' the troubled air. II. 1. In roaring cataracts down Andes' channel'd steeps Mark how enormous Orellana sweeps! And fafely builds his leafy bow'r, From slavery far, and curft Iberian pow'r ;' b Alluding to the French and Italian lyric poets. See 1. Pyth. Od. II. 2. So II. 2. So rapid Pindar flows. O parent of the lyre, Let me for ever thy fweet fons admire! O ancient Greece! but chief the bard whose lays Who melts in useful woes the bleeding breaft; *། For the bleft man, the mufe's child & 7 h M No widows' midnight shrieks, nor burning town, Nor ceafelefs toils for fordid gains, Nor purple pomp, nor wide domains, Nor heaps of wealth, nor power, nor ftatefman's fchemes, Nor all deceiv'd Ambition's feverish dreams, Lure his contented heart from the sweet vale of eafe. |