THE PYGMÆO-GERANO-MACHIA: THE BATTLE OF THE PYGMIES AND CRANES. From the Latin of Addison 1762. pygmy-people, and the feather'd train, Mingling in mortal combat on the plain, I sing. Ye Muses, favor my designs, Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines; 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? Eneas founder of the Roman line, And William glorious on the banks of Boyne? G Who has not learn'd to weep at Pompey's woes, And over Blackmore's Epic page to doze? 'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains, Where India reddens to the early dawn, 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, While reign'd, invincible through many an age, The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground, and dies; And often made the callow young his prey; With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board and smiled Oft, where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest, The eighteen-inch militia burst their way: All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell, Whence scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell. And Death's grim visage scares the pigmy-realms. Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire. 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: 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 unbend, 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; To right and left the lengthening lines they form, And rank'd in deep array await the storm. High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen, Of giant stature, and imperial mein. Full twenty inches tall, he strode along, And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng; |