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Yet, oh ye Pow'rs! what 'Torture ’ris to part
From one so deeply rooted in my Heart!
And with what wretched Prospeã must I live!
Take Courage, Heart! for cou'dit thou yet return,
And in ignoble Pallions meanly burn,
Yet she has injur’d, and can ne'er forgive.

Milton's Stile imitated, in a Translati

, on of a Story out of the Third Æneid.

L ,

OST in the gloomy Horror of the Night
Horrid and waste; its Entrails fraught with Fire:
That now casts out dark Fumes and pitchy Clouds,
Vast Show’rs of Ashes hov'ring in the smoak;
Now belches molten Stones and ruddy Flame
Incenft, or tears up Mountains by the Roots,
Or flings a broken Rock aloft in Air.
The bottom works with smother'd Fire, involv'd
In peftilential Vapours, Stench and Smoak.

'Tis said that Thunder-ftruck Enceladus, Grov'ling beneath th’incumbent Mountain's Weight Lyes stretch'd supine, Eternal Prey of Flames'; And when he heaves against the burning Load, Reluctant to invert his broiling Limbs, A sudden Earth-Quake shoots through all the Isle, And Ætna thunders dreadful under Ground, Then pours out Smoak in wreathing Curls convolvid, And Mades the Sun's bright Orb, and blots out Day.

Here in the shelter of the Woods we lodg'd, And frighted heard strange Sounds and dismal Yells, Nor saw from whence they came; for all the Night A Murky Storm deep low’ring o'er our Heads Hung imminent, that with impervious Gloom


Oppos’d it self to Cynthia's Silver Ray,
And shaded all beneath: but now the Sun
With Orient Beams had chas'd the dewy Night
From Earth and Heav'n; all Nature food disclos'do
When looking on the Neighb'ring Woods we saw
The ghaftly Visage of a Man unknown,
An uncouth Feature, Meager, Pale, and Wild,
Affliction's foul and terrible Dismay
Sate in his Looks, his Face impair'd and worn
With Marks of Famine, speaking sore Distress.
His Locks were tangled, and his faggy Beard
Matted with Filth, in all things else a Greek-

He first advanc'd in haste, but when he saw Trojans and Trojan Arms, in mid Career Stopt thort, he back recoild as one surpriz'd: But soon recoy’ring speed, he ran, he few Precipitant, and thus with piteous Cries Our Ears assaild: “ By Heav'n's Eternal Fires, “ By ev'ry God that fits Enthron’d on high, “ By this good Light, relieve a Wretch forlorn, “ And bear me hence to any distant Shore, So I may shun this Savage Race accurft. 'Tis true I fought among the Greeks that late " With Sword and Fire o'er-turn'd Neptunian Troy, “ And laid the Labour of the Gods in Duft; «For which, if so the sad Offence deserves, « Plung'd in the Deep for ever let me lye " Whelm'd under Seas; if Death must be my doom, « Let Man inflict it, and I die well-pleas’d.

He ended here, and now profuse of Tears
In suppliant Mood fell proftrate at our Feet;
We bade him speak from whence, and what he was,
And how by Atress of Fortune sunk thus low;
Anchises too with friendly Aspect mild
Gave him his Hand, sure Pledge of Amity;
When, thus encourag'd, he began his Tale.

I'm one, says he, of poor Descent, my Name
Is Achamenides, my Country Greece,
VoL, V.


Vlrifes' sad Compeer, who whilft he Aed
The raging Cyclops, left me here behind
Disconfolate, forlorn; within the Cave
He left me, Giant Polypheme's dark Cave;
A Dungeon wide and horrible, the Walls
On all sides furr'd with mouldy Damps, and kung
With Clots of ropy Gore, and human Limbs,
His dire Repaft: Himself's of mighty size,
Hoarse in his voice, and in his Visage grim,
Intractable, that riots on the Fleth
Of Mortal Men, and swills the vital Blood.
Him did I see snatch up with horrid Grasp
Two sprawling Greeks, in either Hand a Man;
I saw him when with huge tempestuous fway
He dasht and broke'em on the Grundfil Edge;
The Pavement swam in Blood, the Walls around
Were spatter'd o'er with Brains. He lapt the Blood,
And chew'd the tender Flesh still warm with Life,
That swell’d and heav'd it self amidst his Teeth
As sensible of Pain. Not less mean while
Our Chief incens'd, and studious of Revenge,
Plots his Deftruction, which he thus effects.
The Giant, gorg'd with Flesh, and Wine, and Blood,
Lay stretcht at length and snoring in his Den,
Belching raw Gobbets from his Maw, o'er-charg'd
With purple Wine and cruddi'd Gore confus'd.
We gather'd round, and to his single Eye,
The single Eye that in his Forehead glar'd
Like a full Moon, or a broad burnish'd Shield,
A forky Staff we dext'rously apply'd,
'Which in the spacious Socket turning round,
Scoopt the big round Gelly from its Orb.
But let me not thus interpose Delays ;
Fly, Mortals, fly this curft detested Race:
A hundred of the same ftupendous size,
A hundred Cyclops live among the Hills,
Gigantick Brotherhood, that stalk along
With horrid Strides o'er the high Mountains tops,

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Enormous in their Gait; I oft have heard
Their Voice and Tread, oft seen 'em as they past,
Sculking and scowring down, half dead with fear.
Thrice has the Moon washt all her Orb in Light,
Thrice travell'd o'er, in her obscure sojourn
The realms of Night inglorious, since I've liv'd
Amidst these Woods, gleaning from Thorns and Shrubs
A wretched Sustenance. As thus he spoke,
We saw descending from a Neighb’ring Hill
Blind Polypheme; by weary Steps and flow
The groping Giant with a Trunk of Pine
Explor'd his way; around, his woolly Flocks
Attended grazing; to the well-known Shore
He bent his Course, and on the Margin stood,
A hideous Monster, terrible, deformid;
Full in the midst of his high Front there gap'd
The spacious hollow where his Eye-ball rolld,
A ghastly Orifice: He rins'd the Wound,
And wash'd away the Strings and clotted Blood
That cak'd within; then stalking through the deep
He Fords the Ocean, while the Topmost Wave
Scarce reaches up his middle side; we stood
Amaz'd be sure, a sudden Horror chill
Ran through each Nerve, and thrill'd in ev'ry Vein,
'Till using all the Force of Winds and Oars
We sped away; he heard us in our Course,
And with his out-stretch'd Arms around him gropid,
But finding nought within his reach, he rais'd
Such hideous Shouts that all the Ocean shook.
Ev'n Italy, tho' many a League remote,
In distant Eccho's answer'd; Arna roarid,
Through all its inmoft winding Caverns roar'd.

Rous'd with the Sound, the mighty Family
Of One-ey'd Brothers hasten to the shore,
And gather round the bellowing Polypheme,
A dire Assembly: we with eager

Work ev'ry one, and from afar behold
A Host of Giants cov'sing all the shore.

So stands a Forest call of Mountain Oaks
Advanc'd to mighty growth : the Traveller
Hears from the humble Valley where he rides
The hollow Murmurs of the Winds that blow
Amidst the Boughs, and at the distance sees
The shady tops of Trees unnumber'd rise,
A stately Prospect, waving in the Clouds.

On the Death of the late Earl of Rochester.

By Mrs. A. Behn,

, , ,

The Young, the Noble Strephon is no more, Yes, yes, he fed quick as departing Light, And ne'er fhall rise from Death's eternal Night. So rich a Prize the Stygian Gods ne'er bore, Such Wit, such Beauty, never grac'd their Shore, He was but lent this duller World t'improve In all the Charms of Poetry, and Love; Both were his Gift, which freely he bestow'd, And like a God, dealt to the wond'ring Crowd, Scorning the little Vanity of Fame, Spight of himself attain'd a Glorious name. But oh! in vain was all his peevish Pride, The Sun as soon might his vaft Lustre hide, As piercing, pointed, and more lasting bright, As suffering no vicissitudes of Night.

Mourn, Mourn, ye Muses, all your less deplore,

The Young, the Noble Strephon is no more.
Now uninspir'd upon your Banks we lye,
Unless when we wou'd mourn his Elegy ;
His Name's a Genius that wou'd Wit dispense,
And give the Theme a Soul, the Words a Sense.
But all fine Thought that ravish'd when it spoke,
With the soft Youth eternal leave has took ;
Uncommon Wit that did the Soul o'ercome,
Is buried all in Strephen's Worship’d Tomb;

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