Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine,

Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads fhine:

'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,

And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains fmile.

Others with tow'ring piles may please the fight,
And in their proud aspiring domes delight,
A nicer touch to the stretch'd canvas give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live:

'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
And hold in balance each contending ftate,
To threaten bold prefumptuous Kings with war
And answer her afflicted neighbour's pray'r.
The Dane and Swede, rous'd up by fierce alarms,
Blefs the wife conduct of her pious arms:
Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hush'd in peace.
Th' ambitious Gaul beholds with fecret dread

Her thunder aim'd at his afpiring head,

And fain her godlike fons wou'd disunite
By foreign gold, or by domeftic fpite:

Ma acquiftare, o dividere in van provafi,
Cui l'arme di Nafsè, e'l fenno guida.

Del nome accefo, cui fovente ho trove
Remoti climi, e lingue rifonare,
Con pena, imbriglio mia lottante Mufa,
Che ama lanciarfi in piu ardita prova.
Ma io di già hovvi turbato assai,

Ne tentar ofo un piu fublime canto.
Più dolce thema il basso verfo chiedemi,

Fioriți prati, o gorgoglianti rivi,

Mal proprio per gli eroi: Che i carmi eterni Qual di Virgilio, o voftri onorar debbono.

But strives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Nassau's arms defend and counfels guide.

Fir'd with the name, which I fo oft have found
The distant climes and diff'rent tongues refound,
I bridle in my struggling Mufe with pain,
That longs to lanch into a bolder strain.

But I've already troubled you too long,

Nor dare attempt a more advent'rous fong.
My humble verse demands a softer theme,
A painted meadow, or a purling stream;
Unfit for heroes; whom immortal lays,

And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, fhou'd praife.

[72]

Milton's ftyle imitated, in a Tranflation of a Story out of the third Æneid.

L

OST in the gloomy horror of the night

We

upon

the coaft where Etna lies,

Horrid and waste, its entrails fraught with fire,
That now cafts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds,
Vaft showers of ashes hov'ring in the smoke;
Now belches molten ftones and ruddy flame

Incenft, or tears up mountains by the roots,
Or flings a broken rock aloft in air.

The bottom works with fmother'd fire, involv'd
In peftilential vapours, ftench and smoke.

'Tis faid, that thunder-ftruck Enceladus

Groveling beneath th'incumbent mountain's weight Lies ftretch'd fupine, eternal prey of flames; And when he heaves against the burning load, Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs,

A fudden earthquake fhoots through all the isle,

And

And Ætna thunders dreadful under ground,

Then poursout smoke in wreathing curls convolv'd, And shades the fun's bright orb, and blots out day.

Here in the shelter of the woods we lodg'd, And frighted heard strange founds and dismal yells, Nor faw from whence they came; for all the night A murky storm deep louring o'er our heads Hung imminent, that with impervious gloom Oppos'd itself to Cynthia's filver ray,

And shaded all beneath. But now the fun
With orient beams had chas'd the dewy night
From earth and heav'n; all nature ftood difclos'd:
When looking on the neighb'ring woods we saw
The ghaftly visage of a man unknown,

An uncouth feature, meagre, pale, and wild;
Affliction's foul and terrible difmay

Sat in his looks, his face impair'd and worn
With marks of famine, fpeaking fore distress;
His locks were tangled, and his fhaggy beard
Matted with filth; in all things elle a Greek.

He firft advanc'd in hafte; but when he faw Trojans and Trojan arms, in mid career

Stopt