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But fee the War once more revives on high, Sounds thro' the Air, and ranges o'er the sky, The Pygmy's Sword around with Vengeance
drove', The Cranes disdain, and gore hith from above. Then skim aloft; the sprawling Chief with
Pain Shrinks from the Wound, and waves his Arm
in vain. Such was the War, when Mountains toss'
on high, Shook Jove's high Throne, and labour'd up
the Sky While Heav'n and Earth a doubtful Fight pre
pare, And 'Rocks and Thunders mingle in the Air, Till the wingd Bolt, all faining from above, Launch'd from the dreadful red Right Hand of
Jove, Confound the Wat. His falling Rivals Main, Gasp o'er the Fields - and smoakineleri
the Plain. And now their Vigour spent, their Martial Fire Glowing in vain the Pygmy-Troops retire. Pale with Despair they leave the Fatal Field, For Pity raise their shrill low Voice, and yield. But fierce behind the Cranes persue their way; Dart from above, and tare the flying Prey. Thro' Fields of Death the mangled Warriors
chace, And in one Battel end the faithless Race.
The Pygmy-Nation, thus so long renown'd, Oʻerspread with Lawrets, and with Trophies
crown'd, Resigns her Fame for Heaven and partial Fate To Earth's great Empires fix one certain Date;
Aflign the Period to each Nation's Fame.
Green. With Schemes of War no more their Bosoms
Written by Mr. ADDISON.
F Trivial Things I sing surprizing Scenes,
THERE, where facetious Andrew rises high, And draws the Peopled Street beneath his Eye; With witty, Jefts the gaping Crowd derides, Disterts their Muscles, and fatigues their Şides. All Sons of Mirth, the Gay, the Curious come; Enter the Booth, and fill the spacious Room. Not undiftinguish'd are the Honours there; But different Seats their different Prices bear. At length, when now the Curtain mounts on
high, The narrow Scenes are opened to the Eye;
Where Wire-Partitions twinkle to the Sight,
But one above the rest distinguish'd stalks
Nor so his Fellows of inferior Parts, They pleas'd the Theatre with various Arts,
Lascivious Sport, in circling Turns advance;
SOMETIMES the Wooden People you behold, - 'I
3 Their warlike Souls are foften'd by a Peace, And now secure in guiltless Sports they play, Laugh down the sun, and dance away the Day. I Thus, when the Stars obtain their Midnight
Sphere, A Race like there of Human Form appear; The Fairy Train, that dancing in the Dark, Return in Circles, and their Footsteps mark The merry Goblins, constant to the Round, In meafure trip, and beat the halow'd Ground The Morn Betrays the Print, the fruitful Earth From hence teams pregnant with a juicy Birth, Luxuriant Grawths of bolder Grafs are feen, 3 That rise in Circles of a deeper Green. YET O! Tome Clouds obscure their peacefál
Days, Wars, borrid Wars, difaftrous Tumults raise: 0% The Joys of Peace are broke hy rough Alarm.com Their Troops breach Slaughter, and prepare for
Arms. So infincere 4s mortat Blipstjo Juré la foule Care blends our Foys, and makes them all impure!