But, ah! what pangs each pygmy bosom wrung,
When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung,
High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord,
His wriggling form still lessening as he soared!
Lo! yet, again, with unabated rage,
In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage.
The crane with darted bill assaults the foe,
Hovering, then wheels aloft to scape the blow:
The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound;
But whirls in empty air the falchion round.
Such was the scene, when, midst the loud alarms, Sublime the eternal Thunderer rose in arms.
When Briareus, by mad ambition driven,
Heaved Pelion huge, and hurled it high at Heaven.
Jove rolled redoubling thunders from on high,
Mountains and bolts encountered in the sky;
Till one stupendous ruin whelmed the crew,
Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue.
But now, at length, the pygmy legions yield,
And, winged with terror, fly the fatal field.
They raise a weak and melancholy wail,
All in distraction scattering o'er the vale,
Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend;
Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend:
With unrelenting ire they urge the chase,
Sworn to exterminate the hated race.
'Twas thus the Pygmy Name, once great in war,
For spoils of conquered cranes renowned afar,
Perished. For, by the dread decree of Heaven,
Short is the date to earthly grandeur given,
And vain are all attempts to roam beyond
Where Fate has fixed the everlasting bound.
Fallen are the trophies of Assyrian power,
And Persia's proud dominion is no more;
Yea, though to both superior far in fame,
Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name.
And now, with lofty chiefs of antient time,
The pygmy heroes roam the Elysian clime.
Or, if belief to matron-tales be due,
Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view,
Their frisking form, in gentle green arrayed,
Gambol secure along the moonlight glade.
Secure, for no alarming cranes molest,
And all their woes in long oblivion rest.
Down the deep vale, and narrow winding way,
They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay :
'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove,
And Fairy-people is the name they love.
WHEN B*** invites me, and inviting sings,
Instant I'd fly, (had Heaven vouchsafed me wings)
To hail him in that calm sequestered seat,
Whence he looks down with pity on the great;
And, midst the groves retired, at leisure wooes
Domestic love, contentment, and the Muse.
I wish for wings and winds to speed my course;
Since B-t and the fates refuse a horse.
Where now the Pegasus of ancient time,
And Ippogrifo, famed in modern rhime?
O where that wooden steed, whose every leg
Like lightning flew, obsequious to the peg;
The waxen wings by Dedalus designed,
And China waggons wafted by the wind?
A Spaniard reached the moon, upborne by geese;
(Then first 'twas known that she is made of cheese.)
A fiddler on a fish through waves advanced,
He twanged his catgut, and the Dolphin danced.
Hags rode on broom-sticks, heathen-gods on clouds;
Ladies on rams and bulls have dared the floods.
Much famed the shoes Jack Giantkiller wore,
And Fortunatus' hat is famed much more.
Such vehicles were common once, no doubt;
But modern versemen must even trudge on foot,
Or doze at home, expectants of the gout.
Hard is the task, indeed 'tis wondrous hard,
To act the Hirer, yet preserve the Bard.
(but 'tis a sin to swear)
"I give my word, Sir, you shall have my mare ; "Sound wind and limb, as any ever was,
"And rising only seven years old next grass. Four miles an hour she goes, nor needs a spur ; A pretty piece of flesh, upon my conscience, Sir."
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