PYGMÆO-GERANO-MACHIA: THE BATTLE OF THE PYGMIES AND CRANES. From the Latin of Addison. 1762. THE pygmy-people, and the feather'd train, Mingling in mortal combat on the plain, I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs, Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines; The flashing swords and fluttering wings display, And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray; Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes, Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumber'd woes. The wars and woes of heroes six feet long Have oft resounded in Pierian song. Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece, And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece? And William glorious on the banks of Boyne? Where India reddens to the early dawn, He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth, Its godlings mouldering on th' abandon'd hearth; And starts, where small white bones are spread around, "Or little footsteps lightly print the ground;" While the proud crane her nest securely builds, But different fates befel her hostile rage, The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground, and dies; And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!) With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road. And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay, And often made the callow young his prey; With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board, and smiled avenge the parent's trespass on the child. T' Oft, where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest, And laid her eggs and household gods to rest, The eighteen-inch militia burst their way : All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell, Whence scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell. Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc whelms, Of Mice, high theme of the Meonian lyre; And now the day of wo drew on apace, A day of wo to all the pigmy-race, When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain) From distant climes the long-bill'd regions throng: From Strymon's lake, Cäyster's plashy meads, And fens of Scythia green with rustling reeds; To rendezvous they waft on eager wing, And wait assembled the returning spring. Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight, Whet their keen beaks, and twisting claws, for fight; Each crane the pygmy power in thought o'erturns, And every bosom for the battle burns. When genial gales the frozen air unbind, The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind. Far in the sky they form their long array, And land and ocean stretch'd immense survey Deep deep beneath; and, triumphing in pride, With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride; 'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven. Nor less th' alarm that shook the world below, Where march'd in pomp of war th' embattled foe Where mannikins with haughty step advance, And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance; |