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48 The Chariot Race.-The Polar Winter.

THE CHARIOT RACE.

HAST thou beheld, when from the goal they start,
The youthful charioteers with heaving heart
Rush to the race, and panting scarcely bear
Th' extremes of fev'rish hope and chilling fear;
Stoop to the reins, and lafh with all their force?
The flying chariot kindles in the course :
And now alow, and now aloft they fly,
As borne thro' air, and feem to touch the sky.
No stop, no stay; but clouds of fand arise,
Spurn'd and cast backward on the followers' eyes.
The hindmoft blows the foam upon the first.
Such is the love of praise, an honourable thirst!

DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.

THE POLAR WINTER.

THE fun from far peeps with a fickly face,
Too weak the clouds and mighty fogs to chase;
When up the skies he shoots his rofy head,
Or in the ruddy ocean feeks his bed,
Swift rivers are with fudden ice conftrain'd;
And ftudded wheels are on their back fuftain'd-

An

The Polar Winter.

49

An hoftry now for waggons, which before
Tall fhips of burthen on their bosom bore.
The brazen caldrons with the froft are flaw'd;
The garment ftiff with ice at hearths is thaw'd;
With axes first they cleave the wine, and thence
By weight the folid portions they dispense.

From locks uncomb'd, and from the frozen beard,
Long icicles depend, and crackling founds are

heard.

Meantime perpetual fleet and driving snow
Obfcure the fkies, and hang on herds below.
The ftarving cattle perish in their stalls,
Huge oxen ftand inclos'd in wintry walls

Of fnow conceal'd; whole herds are buried there
Of mighty ftags, and scarce their horns appear.
The dextrous huntfman wounds not these afar
With fhafts, or darts, or makes a diftant war
With dogs, or pitches toils to stop their flight;
But close engages in unequal fight;
And, while they strive in vain to make their way
Through hills of snow, and pitifully bray,
Affaults with dint of word, or pointed fpears,
And homeward, on his back, the burthen bears.

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50

The Alps at Day-break.

The men to fubterranean caves retire

Secure from cold, and crowd the cheerful fire:

With trunks of elms and oaks the hearth they load,

Nor tempt th' inclemency of heav'n abroad.
Their jovial nights in frolic and in play
They pass, to drive the tedious hours away.

DRYDEN'S VIRGIL

THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.

THE funbeams ftreak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain's brow:
With hounds and horns the hunters rife,
And chafe the roebuck thro' the fnow.

The goats wind flow their wonted way,
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;
Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,
From defert cave or hanging wood.

And while the torrent thunders loud,
And as the echoing cliffs reply,
The huts peep o'er the morning cloud,
Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.

ROGERS.

The Olive.A Wib.

51

THE OLIVE.

SEE the young olive in the sylvan scene,
Crown'd by fresh fountains with eternal green,
Lifts the gay head in fnowy flow'rets fair,
And plays and dances to the gentle air,
When lo a whirlwind from high heav'n invades
The tender plant, and withers all its shades;
It lies uprooted from its genial bed,

A lovely ruin, now defaced and dead.

POPE'S HOMer.

A WISH.

MINE be a cat befide a hill;

A bee-hive's hum fhall footh my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall fhall linger near.

The fwallow, oft, beneath my thatch
Shall twitter from her clay-built neft;
Oft fhall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

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52

Pity. Afcending the Alps.

Around my ivied porch fhall fpring

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, fhall fing,

In ruffet gown and apron blue.

PITY.

ROGERS.

No radiant pearl which crefted fortune wears,
No
gem
that twinkling hangs from beauty's ears,
Not the bright stars which night's blue arch adorn,
Nor rising funs that gild the vernal morn,
Shine with fuch luftre as the tear that breaks
For others' woe down virtue's manly cheeks.

DARWIN.

ASCENDING THE ALPS.

PLEASED at the firft the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and feem to tread the fky;
Th eternal fnows appear already past,

And the first clouds and mountains feem the last.
But, thofe attain'd, we tremble to furvey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
Th' increafing profpec tires our wand'ring eyes;
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arife.

POPE.

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