peculiarity, and we shall select our instances from the most finished portions of their works, where they evidently put out their entire strength :

But now the second morning from her bower
Began to glisten with its beams; and now
The roses of the day began to flower

In th' eastern garden! for heav'ns smiling brow
- Half insolent for joy began to show:
The early sun came lively dancing out,

And the brag lambs ran merrily about,

That heav'n and earth appear'd in triumph both to shout. (Giles.)

The bridegroom sun, who late the earth espous'd,
Leaves his star-chamber early in the east;
He shook his sparkling locks, head lively rous'd,

While morn his couch with blushing roses drest; His shines the earth soon catch'd to gild her flowers: Phosphor his gold-fleec'd drove folds in their bowers, Which all the night had graz'd about th' Olympic

towers.

(Phineas.)

So have I seen a rock's heroic breast,

Against proud Neptune, that his ruin threats, When all his waves he hath to battle prest,

And with a thousand swelling billows beats The stubborn stone, and foams, and chafes, and frets, To tear him from his root,-their force withstand; And though in heaps the threat'ning surges band, Yet broken they retire, and wash the yielding strand.

(Giles.)

But like a mighty rock whose unmov'd sides
The hostile sea assaults with furious wave,
And 'gainst his head the boist'rous north-wind rides ;
Both fight, and storm, and swell, and roar,
and rave;
Hoarse surges drum, loud blasts their trumpets strain ;
The heroic cliff laughs at their frustrate pain,

Waves scatter'd drop in tears, winds broken whining plain !

(Phineas.)

The gladden'd spring, forgetting now to weep,
Began to blazon from her leafy bed;

The waking swallow broke her half-year's sleep,
And ev'ry bush was deeply purpured
With violets;-the wood's late wintry head,
Wide flaming primroses set all on fire;
And the bald trees put on their green attire,

Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.

Soon at this sight the Knights revive again,

(Giles.)

As fresh as when the flowers from winter's tomb,When now the sun brings back his nearer wain,— Peep out again from their fresh mother's womb : The primrose lighted new, her flame displays, And frights the neighbour hedge with fiery rays; And all the world renew the mirth and sportive plays. (Phineas.)

So down the silver stream of Eridan,
On either side bank'd with a lily wall,
Whiter than both, rides the triumphant swan,
And sings his dirge, and prophecies his fall,
Diving into his watry funeral!

(Giles.)

So by fair Thames, or silver Medway's flood, The dying swan when years her temples pierce, In music's strains breathes out her life and verse, And chanting her own dirge rides on her wat❜ry hearse. (Phineas.)

As when the planets with unkind aspect,
Call from her caves the meagre pestilence;
The poisonous vapour, eager to infect,
Obeys the voice of the sad influence,

And spreads abroad a thousand noisome scents:
The fount of life, flaming his golden flood
With the sick air, fevers the boiling blood,
And poisons all the body with contagious food.

The bold physician, too incautious,

By those he cures, himself is murdered;
Kindness infects,-pity is dangerous:
And the poor infant yet not fully bred,
There, where he should be born, lies buried!

*

(Giles.)

As when blood-guilty earth for vengeance cries,—
If greatest things with less we may compare,-
The mighty thunderer through the air flies,

While rushing whirlwinds open ways prepare:
Dark clouds spread out their sable curtains o'er him;
And angels on their flaming wings upbore him;
Meantime the guilty heavens for fear fly fast before him.

There while he on the wind's proud pinions rides,
Down with his fire some lofty mount he throws,
And fills the low vale with its ruin'd sides;

Or on some fane his three-fork'd dart bestows, Down falls the spire, the body fearful quakes, Nor sure to fall or stand, with doubtful tremblings shakes.

(Phineas.)

So when the lark, poor bird! afar espi'th

Her yet unfeather'd children-whom to save
She strives in vain slain by the cruel scythe;
Which from the meadow its green locks doth shave,
That their warm nest is now become their grave:
The woful mother up to heaven springs,

And all about her plaintive notes she flings,
And their untimely fate most pitifully sings.

All so a lily press'd with heavy rain,

(Giles.)

Which fills her cup with showers up to the brinks;

The weary stalk no longer can sustain

The head, but low beneath the burthen sinks:
Or as a virgin rose her leaves displays,

Which too hot scorching beams quite disarrays;
Down falls her double ruff, and all her sweets decays.

(Phineas.)

See how the sun in day-time clouds his face;
And lagging Vesper loosing his late team,
Forgets in heaven to run his nightly race,
But, sleeping on bright Oeta's top, doth dream
The world a chaos is, no joyful beam

Looks from his starry bower; the heavens do moan;
And thus drop tears lest we should grieve alone;

The winds have learnt to sigh, and waters hoarsely (Giles.)

groan,

So oft the South with civil enmity

Musters his watry forces 'gainst the West,
The rolling clouds come tumbling up the sky,

In dark folds wrapping up their angry guest:
At length the flame breaks from the impris'ning cold,
With horrid noise tearing the limber mould,

While down in liquid tears the broken vapour's roll'd.
(Phineas.)

So may we oft a tender father see,

To please his wanton son, his only joy,
Coast all about to catch the roving bee;

And stung himself his busy hands employ
To save the honey for the gamesomne boy :
Or from the snake her ranc'rous fangs erase,
Making his child the toothless serpent chase,
Or with his little hands her swelling crest embrace.

(Giles.)

As when a youth bound for the Belgic war,
Takes leave of friends upon the Kentish shore;
Now are they parted, and he sails so far

They see not now,—and now are seen no more:
Yet far off viewing the white trembling sails,
The tender mother soon plucks off her veils,
And shaking them aloft, unto her son she hails.

Like to a ship in which no ballast lies,

(Phineas.)

Without a pilot on the sleeping waves,

Fairly along with wind and water flies,

With painted mast which silken sail embraves;