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dropping down on either side
mighty plumes in yielding pride, O'er his bent visage and his orbs of flame Dark shadows pour in thrilling dream; Whelm'd in the’impetuous stream of sound, He lifts his arching back and drops in sleep profound.
Wisdom and the melting Muse Together mingle a resistless charm; * The lord of battle drops his arm, And heav'nly souls their loftier fancies lose. he has omitted one beautiful phrase, βλεφαρων αδο κλαίσρον, πλhich the attentive West has but poorly translated, if I remember right; But they, from whom immortal Jove Has turn'd his radiant smiles of love, Whether in earth or Ocean's dark profound Hear Discord shriek in ev'ry sound. Such he it, the Gods' relentless foe, Fills the Tartarean gulph with howls of maddning woe.
While gentle sleep his closing eyelid seals; besides the entire omission of that majestic description of the posture of the royal bird while dropping to slumber,
6 de xywoOWY υγρον νωτον αιωρεί, ,
&c. yet I cannot but think, that Pindar is not a little indebted to his imitator for the translation of his κελαινω πιν δ' επι οι νεφελαν &c. which our Bard has thus rendered;
Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie
* Kai gap Blac
On Thracia's hills the lord of War
Fierce with hundred-handed strength,
Where the beams of day expire,
* Horace seems to ascribe to music a very different effect on wicked minds,
Vide Od. II. Lib. 3.
Arid oft the volvent flames sublimely bright,
eyc, And shakes the rocky steep, and thunders thro' the
EPIGRAM. When the Devil engaged with Job's patience in battle,
Tooth and nail'strove to weary him out of his life, He robb'd him of children, slaves, houses, and cattle;
But; mark me he ne'er thought of taking his wife.
But Heaven, at length, Job's forbearance rewards;
At length double wealth, dotible honour arrives ; Heaven doubles his children, slaves, houses, and herds man But we don't hear a word of a couple of wires.
Movemur, nescio quo pacto, ipsis locis, quibus, quorum admin samur, adsunt vestigia.
O! that to yonder sphere of light,
That scorns the mountain's crested height, Where never eagle dipt her plume in gold,
Upborne on wings of rapture I might soar, The world beneath with tranceful gaze behold, Then close my eyes in night, and see no more!
So might I from those frozen snows,
Where Norway's son's disdain repose,
With panting soul, and orbs that mock at space, Each deedful scene of carth, that l'ame has stampt,
Yet whither, whither shall I turn
The ardour of my longing eyes,
Or there, whcre Alpine ramparts rise
Or where, of kingly floods supreme,
Or Scylla holds, with savage sway,
Its wild, unvoyageable way:
The angry Persian lashed the rebel tide,
But where that mighty dome,
That swept the southern sky,
Low in the dust its glories lie!
The warning voice has gone in vain
And quaff the cup of revelry!
Your curst carousals madly keep,
Hereafter they shall wake to weep: