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See now the mourner of the lonely Made
By gods protected, and by hosts obey'd,
A Nave, a chief, by fickle Fortune's play,
In the short course of one revolving day.
What wonder if the youth, so strangely blest,
Felt his heart flutter in his little breast!
His thick-embatteld troops, with secret pride,
He views extended half an acre wide ;
More light he treads, more tall he seems to rise,
And ftruts a straw-breadth nearer to the skies.
O for thy Muse, * great Bard, whose lofty strains
In battle join'd the Pygmies and the Cranes !
Each gaudy knight, had I that warmth divine,
Each colour'd legion in my verse should shine.
But simple I, and innocent of art,
The tale, that footh'd
years, impart, The tale I heard whole winter eves, untir’d, And sing the battles, that my nurse inspir'd.
Now the shrill corn-pipes, echoing loud to arms, To rank and file reduce the straggling swarms. Thick rows of spears at once, with sudden glare, A grove of needles, glitter in the air ;
Loose in the wind small ribbon streamers flow,
Dipt in all colours of the heav'nly bow,
And the gay hoft, that now its march pursues,
Gleams o'er the meadows in a thousand hues.
On Buda’s plains thus formidably bright,
Shone Asia's sons, a pleasing dreadful sight.
In various robes their silken troops were seen,
The blue, the red, and prophet's facred green:
When blooming BRUNSWICK near the Danube's flood,
First stain'd his maiden sword in Turkish blood.
Unseen and silent march the now brigades
Through pathless wilds, and unfrequented shades,
In hopes already vanquish'd by surprize,
In Albion's power the fairy empire lies;
Already has he seiz'd on Kenna's charms,
And the glad beauty trembles in his arms.
The march concludes; and now in prospect near,
But fenc'd with arms, the hostile towers appear,
For Oberon, or Druids falsely sing,
Wore his prime visir in a magic ring,
· A subtle spright, that opening plots foretold
By sudden dimness on the beamy gold.
Hence in a crescent form'd, his legions bright
With beating bosoms waited for the fight;
To charge their foes they march, a glitt'ring band,
And in their van doth bold Azuriel ftand.
that hour did Albion's foul poffefs,
Let chiefs, imagine, and let lovers guess !
Forth issuing from his ranks, that strove in vain
To check his course, athwart the dreadful plain
He strides, indignant: and with haughty cries
To single fight the fairy prince defies.
Forbear, ralh youth, th' unequal war to try;
Nor, sprung from mortals, with immortals vie.
No god stands ready to avert thy doom,
Nor yet thy grandfire of the waves is come.
My words are vain-no words the wretch can move,
By beauty dazzled, and bewitch'd by love:
He longs, he burns to win the glorious prize,
And sees no danger, while he sees her eyes.
Now from each host the eager warriors start, And furious Albion flings his hasty dart: 'Twas feather'd from the bee's transparent wing, And its fhaft ended in a hornet's sting; But, toss'd in rage, it flew without a wound, High o'er the foe, and guiltless pierc'd the ground. Not so Azuriel's : with un-erring aim Too near the needle-pointed javelin came,
Drove through the seven-fold shield, and filken vest,
And lightly ras'd the lover's ivory breast.
Rous'd at the smart, and rising to the blow,
With his keen fword he cleaves his fairy foe,
Sheer from the fhoulder to the waift he cleaves,
And of one arm the tore’ring trunk bereaves.
His ufeless steel brave Albion wields no more,
But sternly smiles, and thinks the combat o'er :
So had it been, had aught of mortal strain,
Or less than fairy felt the deadly pain.
But empyreal forms, howe'er in fight
Gash'd and dismember'd, easily unite.
As some frail cup of China's purest mold,
With azure varnish'd, and bedrop'd with gold,
Tho' broke, if curd by some nice virgin's hands,
In its old strength and pristine beauty stands ;
The tumults of the boiling Bohea braves,
And holds secure the Coffee's fable waves':
So did Azuriel's arm, if fame fay true,
Rejoin the vital trunk whence first it grew;
And, whilft in wonder fix'd poor Albion stood,
Plung'd the curs'd fabre in his heart's warm blood.
The golden broidery tender Milkah wove,
The breast to Kenna facred and to love,
Lie rent and mangled : and the gaping wound
Pours out a flood of purple on the ground.
The jetty lustre sickens in his eyes;
On his cold cheeks the bloomy freshness dies ;
' Oh Kenna, Kenna, thrice he try'd to say,
• Kenna farewel :' and sigh'd his foul away.
His fall the Dryads with loud shrieks deplore,
By sister Naiads echo'd from the shore,
Thence down to Neptune's secret realms convey'd,
Through grots, and glooms, and many a coral shade.
The sea’s great fire, with looks denouncing war,
The trident shakes, and mounts the pearly carr :
With one stern frown the wide-spread deep deforms,
And works the madding ocean into storms.
O'er foaming mountains, and through bursting tides,
Now high, now low, the bounding chariot rides,
'Till through the Thames in a loud whirlwind's roar
It shoots, and lands him on the destin'd shore.
Now fix'd on earth his tow'ring stature stood,
Hung o'er the mountains, and o'erlook'd the wood.
To Brumpton's grove one ample stride he took,
(The valleys trembled, and the forests shook)
The next huge step reach'd the devoted shade,
Where choak'd in blood was wretched Albion laid :