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This thinking mirth not always in the wrong,
Would sometimes condescend to hear a song;
And that, fatigued with his exaited fits,
His beauties, gewgaws, whirligigs, and wits,
Would leave them all, far happier to regale
With prose and friendship o'er a pot of ale.
Then to thy friend's opinion sometimes yield,
And seem to lose, although thou gain'st the field;
Nor, proud that thy superior sense be shown,
Rail at his studies, and extol your own,

For when Aurora weeps the balmy dew,
(And dreams, as reverend dreamers tell, are true)
Sir George my shoulder slaps, just in the time
When some rebellious word consents to rhyme:
Sudden my verses take the rude alarm,
New-coin'd, and from the mint of fancy warm;
I start, I stare, I question with my eyes:-
At once the whole poetic vision flies.
"Up, up," exclaims the knight; "the season fair;
See how serene the sky, how calm the air;
Hark! from the hills the cheerful horns rebound,
And Echo propagates the jovial sound;
The certain hound in thought his prey pursues,
The scent lies warm, and loads the tainted dews."
1 quit my couch, and cheerfully obey,
Content to let the younker have his way;
I mount my courser, fleeter than the wind,
And leave the rage of poetry behind:
But when, the day in healthful labour lost,
We eat our supper earn'd at common cost; [troul,
When each frank tongue speaks out without con-
And the free heart expatiates o'er the bowl;
Though all love prose, my poetry finds grace,
And, pleas'd, I chant the glories of the chase.

Of old, when Scotia's sons for empire fought, Ere avarice had debas'd each generous thought," Ere yet, each manlier exercise forgot,

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One half had learn'd to dose, one half to vote,
Each hardy toil confirm'd their dawning age,
And mimic sights inspir'd to martial rage;
'Twas theirs with certain speed the dart to send,
With youthful force the stubborn yew to bend;
O'ercame with early arm the fiercest floods,
Or rang'd 'midst chilling snows the pathless woods;
Toil'd for the savage boar on which they fed:
'Twas thus the chief of Bannockburn was bred:
That gave (not polish'd then below mankind)
Strength to the limbs, and vigour to the mind.
The smiling dame, in those victorious days,
Was woo'd by valour, not seduc'd by praise;
Who ne'er did fears, but for her country, feel,
And never saw her lover, but in steel;
Could make a Douglas' stubborn bosom yield,
And send her hero raging to the field;
Heard kind the honest warrior's one-tongu'd vow,
Pleas'd with a genuine heart, as H*** is now.
How would the generous lass detest to see
An essenc'd fopling puting o'er his tea;
Ah how, distasteful of the mimic show,
Disdain the false appearance, as a foe!
To greet, unfolding every social charm,
Her soldier from the field of glory warm.

But now, alas! these generous aims are o'er;
Each foe insults, and Britain fights no more,
Yet bumbler tasks may claim the patriot's toil:
Who aids her laws no more, may mend her soil.
Since to be happy man must ne'er be still,
Th' internal void let peaceful labours fill;
When kind amusements hours of fame employ,
The working mind subsides to sober joy:

Behold, in fair autumnal honours spread,
The wheaten garland wreathe the laurel'd head;
Where stagnant waves did in dull lakes appear,
Rich harvests wave, the bounty of the year;
In barren heaths, where summer never smil'd,
The rural city rises o'er the wild;
Along the cool canal, or shooting grove,
Disport the sons of mirth and gamesome love.
It now remains I counsel, if indeed
My counsel, friend, can stand thee ought in stead.
Judge well of whom you speak; nor will you find
It always safe to tell each man your mind.
Ev'n honesty regard to safety owes;
Nor need it publish all it thinks and knows.
Th' eternal quest'ner shun: a certain rule,
There is no blab like to the quest'ning fool;
Ev'n scarce before you turn yourself about,
Whate'er he hears his leaky tongue runs out;
The word elanc'd no longer we controul,
Once sally'd forth, it bursts from pole to pole.

Guard well your heart, ah! still be beauty-proo
Beneath fair friendship's venerable roof,
What though she shines the brightest of the fair,
A form even such as Wallace self might wear!
What though no rocks nor marble arm her breast,
A yielding Helen to her Trojan guest,
The dangerous combat fly: why wouldst thou gam
A shameful conquest won by years of pain?
For know, the short-liv'd guilty rapture past,a
Reflection comes, a dreadful judge, at last:
'Tis that avenges (such its pointed stings)
The poor man's cause on statesmen and on kings.
To praise aright, is sure no easy art;
Yet prudence here directs the wise man's part,
Let long experience then confirm the friend,
Dive to his depth of soul, ere you commend.
Should you extol the fool but slightly known,
Guiltless you blush for follies not your own.
Alas! we err: for villains can betray,
And gold corrupt the saint of yesterday.
Then yield, convicted by the public voice,
And frankly own the weakness of your choice
So greater credit shall your judgment gain,
When you defend the worth that knaves arraign;
Whose soul secure, confiding in your aid,
Hopes the kind shelter of your friendly shade;
When envy on his spotless name shall fall
Whose venom'd tooth corrupts and blackens all
This mutual help the kindred virtues claim; u
For calumny eats on from fame to fame.
When o'er thy neighbour's roof the flames aspi
Say, claims it not thy care to quench the fire?
When envy rages, small the space betwixt,
In worth ally'd, thy character is next.

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Fir'd at the first with what the great impart, Frank we give way, and yield up all the heart, How sweet the converse of the potent friend How charming when the mighty condescend! The smile so affable, the courtly word!— And, as we would a mistress, trust a lord. Th' experienc'd dread the cheat; with prudent care Distrust alike the powerful and the fair. Thou, when thy vessel flies before the wind, Think on the peaceful port thou left behind; Though all serene, yet bear an humble sail, Lest veering greatness shift the treacherous gale How various, man! yet such are Nature's laws, With powerful force each different humour draw: The grave the cheerful hate; these hate the sad, Your sober wiseman thinks the wit quite mad;

He, happy too in wit's inverted rule,
Thinks every sober wiseman more than fool;
Whose active mind from toil to toil can run,
And join the rising to the setting sun,
Like Philip's son for fame, pursuing gains
While yet one penny unsubdued remains;
Admires how lovers waste th' inactive day,
Sigh, midst the fair, their gentle souls away.
The tuneful bard, who boasts his varied strains,
Shares with the lark the glory of the plains,
Whose life th' impression of no sorrow knows,
So smoothly caim, he scarcely feels it flows.
In vocal woods each fond conceit pursues,
Pleas'd with the gingling bauble of a muse,
Pities the toiling madman's airy scheme,
When greatness sickens o'er th' ambitious dream;
Each boon companion, who the night prolongs
In noise and rapture, festivals and songs,
Condemus the graver mortal for an ass
Who dares refuse his bumper and his lass;
Still urging on, what boots it that you swear
You dread the vapours and nocturnal air;
Yet grant a little to the social vine,
Full on the friend with cloudless visage shine,
Oft sullen silence speaks a want of sense,
Or folly lurks beneath the wise pretence.
Is there severe, who balks the genial hour?
He's not so sober, were he not so sour.

But, above all, I charge thee o'er and o'er,
Fair Peace through all her secret haunts explore;
Consult the learn'd in life (these best advise),
The good in this, more knowing than the wise;
Their sacred science learn, and what the art
To guard the sallies of th' impetuous heart;
With temper due th' internal poise to keep,
Not soaring impudent, nor servile creep;
How sure thyself, thy friends, thy God to please,
Firm health without, within unshaken peace;
Lest keen desire, still making new demands,
Should raise new foes unnumber'd on thy hands:
Or hope, or fear inspire th' unmanly groan,
For things of little use, perhaps of none:
Who best can purchase virtue's righteous dow'r,
The sage with wisdom, or the king with pow'r:
Or if the mighty blessing stands confin'd,

To the chaste, nature and the heav'n-taught mind:

And chief th' important lesson wise attend,
What makes thee to thyseif thyself's best friend:
If gold a pure tranquillity bestows,
Or greatness can ensure a night's repose;
Or must we seek it in the secret road
That leads through virtue to the peaceful God;
A shaded walk, where, separate from the throng,
We steal through life all unperceiv'd along.
For me, afraid of life's tempestuous gale,

I make to port, and crowd on all my sail.
Soon may the peaceful grove and shelter'd seat
Receive me weary in the kind retreat;

Blest if my **** be the destin'd shade,

Where childhood sported, of no ills afraid,

Ere youth full grown its daring wing display'd.
That often crost by life's intestine war,
Foresaw that day of triumph from afar,
When warring passions mingling in the fray,
Had drawn the youthful wanderer from his way:
But recollecting the short errour, mourn'd,
And duteous to the warning voice return'd.
No more the passions' hurrying into strife,
My soul enjoys the gentler calms of life.

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My daily studies, and my nightly prayers?
Of the propitious Pow'r this boon I crave,
Still to preserve the little that I have;
Nor yet repugnance at the lot express,
Should fate decree that little to be less,
That what remains of life to Heav'n I live,
If life indeed has any time to give:
Or if the fugitive will no longer stay,
To part as friends should do, and slip away:
Thankful to Heav'n, or for the good supply'd,
To Heav'n submissive for the good deny'd,
Renounce the household charm, a bliss divine!
Heav'n never meant for me, and I resign:
In other joys th' allotted hours improve,
And gain in friendship what was lost in love:
Some comfort snatch'd, as each vain year return'd,
When nature suffer'd, or when friendship mourn'd,
Of all that stock so fatally bereft,

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Once youth's proud boast, alas! the little left;
These friends, in youth belov'd, in manhood tried,'
Age must not change through avarice or pride:
For me let wisdom's sacred fountain flow,
The cordial draught that sweetens every woe;
Let fortune kind, the just enough provide,
Nor dubious float on hope's uncertain tide;
Add thoughts compos'd, affections ever even.➡
Thus far suffices to have ask'd of Heaven,
Who in the dispensations of a day,
Grants life, grants death; now gives, now takes
To scaffolds oft the ribbon'd spoiler brings;
Takes power from statesmeu, and their thrones
from kings:

"

[away;

From the unthankful heart the bliss decreed-
But leaves the man of worth still bless'd indeed:
Be life Heaven's gilt, be mine the care to find
Still equal to itself the balanc'd mind;
Fame, beauty, wealth forgot, each human toy.
With thoughtful quiet pleas'd, and virtuous joy;
In these, and these alone, supremely blest,bi
When fools and madmen scramble for the rest.

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Thee bore aloft to Jove on high;

But if thee, O my soul, a fond desire
To sing the contests of the great,
"Calls forth t' awake th' ethereal fire:
What subject worthier of the lyre,
Olympia's glories to relate!

Full in the forehead of the sky,
The Sun, the world's bright radiant eye,
Shines o'er each lesser flame;

On Earth what theme suffices more
To make the Muses' offspring soar,
Than the Olympian victor's fame?
But from the swelling column, where on high
It peaceful hangs, take down the Doric lyre,
If with sweet love of sacred melody

The steeds of Hiero thy breast inspire.
When borne along the flowery side,
Where smooth Alpheus' waters glide,
Their voluntary virtue flies,
Nor needs the drivers rousing cries,
But rapid seize the dusty space,
To reap the honours of the race,
The merit of their speed;

And bind with laurel-wreath the manly brows
Of him the mighty king of Syracuse,

Delighting in the victor steed.

Far sounds his glory through the winding coast
Of Lydia, where his wandering host
From Elis, Pelops led to new abodes;

There prosper'd in his late-found reign,
Lov'd by the ruler of the main;

When at the banquet of the gods,
In the pure laver of the fates again, ́

Clotho, the youth to life renew'd,
With potent charm and mystic strain,
When by his cruel father slain,

With ivory shoulder bright endow'd,
Oft fables with a fond surprise,
When shaded o'er with fair disguise,

The wandering mind detaiu;

Deluded by the kind deceit,
We joy more in the skilful cheat,
Than in truth's faithful strain.

But chief to verse these wonderous pow'rs belong,

Such grace has Heaven bestow'd on song;
Blest parent! from whose loins immortal joys,
To mitigate our pain below,
Softening the anguish of our woe,

Are sprung, the children of its voice:
Song can o'er unbelief itself prevail;
The virtue of its magic art,
Can make the most amazing tale
With shafts of eloquence assail,

Victorious, the yielding heart:

But Time on never-ceasing wings
Experienc'd wisdom slowly brings,
And teaches mortal race
Not to blaspheme the Holy One,
That deathless fills the heavenly throne,
Inhabiting eternal space.
Therefore, O son of Tantalus! will I
In other guise thy wond'rous tale unfold,
And juster to the rulers of the sky,

With lips more hallow'd than the bards of old.
For when thy sire the gods above,
To share the kind return of love,
Invited from their native bow'rs,
To his own lov'd Sipylian tow'rs,
The trident pow'r, by fierce desire
Subdued, on golden steeds of fire,

Where since young Ganymede, sweet Phrygian Succeeded to the ministry of joy,

And nectar banquet of the sky.

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But when no more on Earth thy form was seen,
Conspicuous in the walks of men,
Nor yet to sooth thy mother's longing sight,
Thy searching train sent to explore
Thy lurking-place, could thee restore,
The weeping fair's supreme delight:
Then Envy's forked tongue began t' infest
And wound thy sire's untainted fanie,
That he to each ethereal guest

Had serv'd thee up a horrid feast,
Subdued by force of all-devouring flame;

But, the blest pow'rs of Heav'n t' accuse,
Far be it from the holy Muse,

Of such a feast impure;
Vengeance protracted for a time,
Still overtakes the slanderer's crime,
At Heaven's slow appointed hour.
Yet certain, if the pow'r who wide surveys,
From his watch-tow'r, the earth and seas,
E'er dignify'd the perishable race;

Him, Tantalus they rais'd on high,
Him, the chief favourite of the sky,
Exalted to sublimest grace.
But his proud heart was lifted up and vain,
Swell'd with his envy'd happiness,
Weak and frail his mortal bram,
The lot superior to sustain;
He fell degraded from his bliss.

ד

For on his head th' Almighty Sire,
Potent in his kindled ire,

Hung a rock's monstrous weight:
Too feeble to remove the load,
Fix'd by the sauction of the god,

He wander'd erring from delight.
The watchful synod of the skies decreed
His wasted heart a prey to endless woes,
Condemn'd a weary pilgrimage to lead,
On Earth secure, a stranger to repose.

Because, by mad ambition driv'n,
He robb'd the sacred stores of Hear'n:
Th' ambrosial vintage of the skies
Became the daring spoiler's prize,
And brought to sons of mortal earth
The banquet of celestial birth,

With endless blessings fraught,
And to his impious rev❜lers pour'd the wine,
Whose precious sweets make blest the pow'rs
divine,

Gift of the rich immortal draught.
Foolish the man who hopes his crimes may lie
Unseen by the supreme all-piercing eve;
He, high enthron'd above all Heaven's height,"
The works of men with broad survey,
As in the blazing flame of day,
Beholds the secret deeds of night.
Therefore his son th' immortals back again
Sent to these death-obnoxious abodes,
To taste his share of human pain,
Exil'd from the celestial reign,
And sweet communion of the gods.

But when the fleecy down began
To clothe his chin, and promise man;
The shafts of young desire,
And love of the fair female kind,
Inflam'd the youthful hero's mind,

And set his amorous soul on fire.

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To whom the youth: "If e'er with fond delight,
The gifts of Venus could thy soul inspire,
Restrain fell Enemaus' spear in fight;

And me, who dare adventurous to aspire,
Me grant, propitious, to succeed,
Enduing with unrival'd speed
The flying car, decreed to gain
The laurel-wreath, on Elis' plain,

Victorious o'er the father's pow'r;
Who dire, so many hapless lovers stain,
Does still a maid the wond'rous fair detain,
Protractive of the sweet connubial hour.
Danger demands a soul secure of dread,
Equal to the daring deed!

Since then, th' immutable decrees of fate,
Have fix'd, by their vicegerent Death,
The limits of each mortal breath,

Doom'd to the urn, or soon or late:
What mind resolv'd and brave would sleep away
His life, when glory warms the blood,
Only t' enjoy some dull delay,
Inactive to his dying day,
Not aiming at the smallest good?
But the blooming maid inspires
My breast to far sublimer fires,
To raise my glory to the skies;
Gracious, O! favouring pow'r, give ear,
Indulgent to my vow sincere,

Prosp'ring the mighty enterprize.”
So pray'd the boy: nor fell his words in vain,
Unheeded by the ruler of the main;
A golden ear, earth's shaking pow'r bestow'd,
And to the glittering axle join'd
Unrivall'd steeds, fleet as the wind:
Glad of the present of the god,

The ardent youth demands the promis'd fight;
In dust the haughty parent laid,

Neptune fulls the youth's delight,
And wings his chariot's rapid flight,
To win the sweet celestial maid,

She with six sons, a fair increase,
Crown'd the hero's warm embrace,
Whom virtue's love inspir'd;
Upright to walk in virtue's ways,
The surest path to noblest praise,

The noblest praise the youth acquir'd.
Now by Alpheus' stream, meandering fair,

Whose bumid train wide spreads the Pisan A sepulchre, sublimely rear'd in air, [plains, All, of the mighty man that was, contains. There frequent in the holy shade, The vows of stranger-chiefs are paid,

And on the sacred altar lies
The victim, smoking to the skies,
When heroes, at the solemn shrine,
Invoke the pow'rs with rites divine.
From every distant soil,

And drive about the consecrated mound
The sounding car, or on the listed ground
Urge the fleet racers, or the wrestlers'
toil.

Happy the man whom favouring fate allows
The wreaths of Pisa to surround his brows;.
All wedded to delight, his after-days

In calm and even tenour run,
The noble dow'r of conquest won,
Such conscious pleasure flows from praise.
Thee, Muse, great Hiero's virtue to prolong,
It fits, and to resound his name:
Exalting o'er the vulgar throng,
In thy sweet Eolian song,

His garland of Olympian fame.

Nor shalt thou, O! my Muse, e'er find

A more sublime or worthier mind,

To better fortunes born:

On whom the gracious love of God,

The regal pow'r has kind bestow'd,
And arts of sway, that power to adorn.
Still may thy God, O potent king! employ
His sacred ministry of joy,
Solicitous with tutelary care,

To guard from the attacks of fate
Thy blessings lasting as they're great,
The pious poet's constant pray'r.
Then to the mighty bounty of the sky,
The Muse shall add a sweeter lay,

With wing sublime when she shall fly,
Where Cronius rears his cliffs on high,
Smote with the burning shafts of day;
If the Muses' quiver'd god
Pave for song the even road

With sacred rapture warm,
A further flight aloft in air

Elanc'd, shall wing my tuneful spear,

More vigorous from the Muse's arm.
To many heights the daring climber springs,
Ere he the highest top of pow'r shall gain;
Chief seated there the majesty of kings;
The rest at different steps below remain:
Exalted to that wondrous height,
T' extend the prospect of delight,
May'st thou, O Hiero! live content,
On the top of all ascent:

To thee, by bounteous fates, be giv'n
T'inhabit still thy lofty Heav'n:

To me, in arts of peace,
Still to converse with the fair victor host,
For graceful song, an honourable boast,
Conspicuous through the realms of Greece,

PINDAR'S OLYMPIA.

ODE II.

O SOVEREIGN hymns! that powerful reign
In the harp, your sweet domain,
Whom will ye choose to raise;
What god shall now the verse resound;
What chief, for godlike deed renown'd,
Exalt to loftiest praise?

Pisa is Jove's: Jove's conquering son
First the Olympic race ordain'd;
The first fair fruits of glory won

The haughty tyrant's rage restrain'd.
He first the wondrous game bestow'd
When breathing from Augean toils,
He consecrates the dreadful spoils,
An offering to his father-god.
Theron, bis virtues to approve,"
And imitate the seed of Jove,

Th' Olympic laurel claims,
Whose swift-wheel'd car has borne away
The rapid honours of the day,

Foremost among the victor-names.
Therefore for Theron praise awaits,

For him the lyre awakes the strain,
The stranger welcom'd at his gates

With hospitable love humane.
Fix'd on the councils of his breast,

As on the column's lofty height
Remains secure the building's weight,
The structure of his realm may rest.
Of a fair stem, himself a fairer flow'r,
Who, soon transplanted from their native soil,
Wander'd many climates o'er,

Till after long and various toil,
On the fair river's destin'd bauk they found

Their sacred seat, and heav'n-chose ground:
Where stood delightful to the eye

The fruitful, beauteous Sicily,

And could a numerous issue boast, [the coast. That spread their lustre round, and flourish'd o'er The following years all, took their silver flight, With pleasure wing'd and soft delight, And every year that flew in peace,

Brought to their native virtues, store
Of wealth and pow'r, a new increase, [more.
Fate still confirm'd the sum, and bounteous added
Put sen of Rhe' and Saturn old,
Who dost thy sacred throne uphold
On high Olympus' hill;"

Whose rule th' Olympic race obeys,
Who guid'st Alpheus' winding maze,

In hymns delighting still;

Grant, gracious to the godlike race,
Their children's children to sustain,

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Peaceful through time's ne'er-ending space,

The sceptre and pateral reign.,,lol

For Time, the aged sire of all,

The deed impatient of delay,

Which the swift hour has wing'd away,
Just or unjust, can ne'er recall,
But when calmer days succeed,
Of fair event, and lovely deed,

Our lot serene at last;
The memory of darker hours,
When Heav'n severe and angry lours,
Forgotten lies and past.

Thus mild, and lenient of his frown,
When Jove regards our adverse fate,
And sends his chosen blessings down

To cheer below our mortal state:

Then former evils, odious brood,

Before the heav'n-born blessings fly,
Or trodden down subjected lie,
Soon vanquish'd by the victor-good,

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With thy fair daughters, Cadmus! best agrees The Muse's song, who, after many woes, At last on golden thrones of ease

Enjoy an undisturb'd repose.

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No more, they think of Cadmus, mournf swain!

Succeeding joys dispel his former pain.
And Semele, of rosy hue,

Whom the embracing Thunderer slew,
Exalted now to Heav'n's abodes,
Herself a goddess blithe, dwells with immortal
gods.

Bathed in th' ambrosial odburs of the sky,
Her long dishevel'd tresses fly:

Her, Minerva still approves;

She is her prime and darling joy:

Her, Heav'n's lord supremely loves;
As does his rosy son, the ivy-crowned boy.
Thou Ino too! in pearly cells,
Where Nereus' sea-green daughter dwells,
Enjoy'st a lot divine:

No more of suffering mortal strain,
An azure goddess of the main,

Eternal rest is thine.

Lost in a maze, blind feeble man
Knows not the hour he sure foresees,
Nor with the eyes of nature can
Pierce through the hidden deep decrees.
Nor sees he if his radiant day,
That in meridian splendour glows,
Shall gild his evening's quiet close,
Soft smiling with a farewel ray.
As when the ocean's refluent tides,
Within his hollow womb subsides,
Is heard to sound no more;
Till rousing all its rage again,
Flood roll'd on flood it pours amain,
And sweeps the sandy shore:
So Fortune, mighty queen of life,
Works up proud man, her destin'd slave,
Of good and ill the stormy strife,
The sport of her alternate wave';
Now mounted to the height of bliss,
He seems to mingle with the sky;
Now looking down with gildy eye,
Sees the retreating waters fly,

And trembles at the deep abyss. As, by experience led, the searching mind Revolves the records of still-changing fate, Such dire reverses shall he find

Oft mark the fortunes of the great! Now bounteous gods, with blessings all divine, Exalt on high the sceptred line,

Now the bright scene of laurel'd years,
At once quick-shifting, disappears:
And in their radiant room succeeds

A dismal train of ills, and tyrannous misdeeds.
Since the curst hour the fateful son
Plung'd in the guilt he sought to shun,
And saw beneath his hasty rage

J

The hoary king, Heaven's victim, bleed; Deaf to a father's pleading age,

His erring hands fulfill'd, what guilty fate

decreed.

Erynnis, dreadful fury! saw

The breach of nature's holiest law,
She mounts ber hooked car;
Through Phocis' death-devoted ground
She flew, and gave the nations round
To the wide waste of war:
By mutual hands the brothers died,
Furious on mutual wounds they run
Sons, fathers, swell the sanguine tide;
Fate drove the purple deluge ou.

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