Classic Poem

Feather'd battalions, squadrons on the wing
And the sad fate of Pygmie realms I sing.
Direct O Goddess, my advent'rous song;
In warring colours shew the warring throng;
Teach me to range my troopes in just array
Whilst beaks and swords engage in bloody fray
And paint the horrors of the dreadfull day.
In pompous numbers ancient heroes rise;
Their growing fame re'echoes to the skies.
Who hath not heard of Argo's valiant crew?
How great Achilles godlike Hector slew?
How Turnus by Aeneas sword expir'd?
Or how before Nassau the Gallick troops retir'd?
Who has not read the Theban brothers hate?
And wept unhappy Pompey's hapless fate?
I first attempt in never-dying lays
To propagate the Pygmie heroes praise.
While in my verse the shrilling trumpets sound,
I'll sing the chiefs dispensing fate around.
In vain from heaven's black concave, like a cloud,
Fresh foes descending glut their swords with blood.
Where radiant Phaebus rising from the sea
Dispells the darkness with his golden ray
In a low vale by rocks that pierce the skies
Guarded from all but winged enemies
In former ages while upheld by fate
Securely flourish'd the Pygmiean state,
The fruitful fields th'industrious people till'd
And with laborious crouds the plains were fill'd.
Now, wand'ring o'er the cliffs the traveller
Small bones and mangled bodies scatter'd there
Affrighted views; and looking o'er the plain
With horrour counts the number of the slain.
The victor Cranes the conquer'd realms possess,
Scream in the nests and brood their young in peace.
Not so while long th'undaunted race maintain'd
Against th'invading birds their native land:
Whatever Crane confiding in his might
Dar'd have provok'd a foe to single fight,
Soon forth in arms had some bold soldier stood,
Soon had the wrathfull faulchion drank his blood.
Oft from behind they wounded them with darts
Or fix'd the pointed arrows in their hearts.
Whene'er the lab'ring bird with anxious care
Had form'd her nest and plac'd her burthen there,
Some furious soldier would approach that bore
Death in his look, and hands imbru'd in gore
Who to the ground the shatter'd building flung
And crush'd the yet unanimated young.
From hence the seeds of discord first arose
The Pygmies thus exasperate their foes.
Hence men and birds promiscuous press the sand
And Death exulting stalk'd along the land.
Not the Maeonian Bard in lofty strain
Sung such a war when in a miry fen
Fiercely contending two vast armies stood
And dy'd their bulrush-spears in mutual blood.
Here with dead mice the marsh was strew'd around;
There frogs crept croaking o'er the swampy ground,
Wounded and spent, in vain they strive to rise
Or lift themselves into the wonted skies.
But now alass! the fatall hour drew nigh
In which the Pygmie wept his cruelty.
The injur'd Cranes their murther'd offspring mourn
And with fell rage and secret anguish burn.
When all conspiring leave Maeon's lake
And warm Cäyster's flowing banks forsake
To Mareotis fen the rumour flies
From Isther's flood unnumber'd flocks arise
Which whet their beaks, for flight their wings prepare,
Sharpen their claws, and meditate the war.
These when o'er winter's sway, prevail'd the spring
Together rise and shoot upon the wing.
Astonish'd nations view with wild affright
The dark horizon ravish'd from their sight.
Meantime the Pygmies with undaunted hearts
Temper their swords and point their missive darts.
The steely troops embodied closely stand
Their wings extend themselves across the land.
Then rises the brave leader of their hosts
Who matchless strength and bulk gygantick boasts,
Of aspect stern for in his face he wears
The prints of claws and honourable scars.
With rage implacable he still persue'd
The feather'd race and thirsted for their blood:
Soon as their young began to draw their breath
He tore them down and trampled them to death.
This forc'd the Cranes to utter dolefull moans,
And Strymon's hollow banks resounded with their groans.
But now their cruel enemies draw near
And first a sound invades th'astonish'd ear.
Quickly the Cranes appear before their eyes;
Thick clouds of hostile birds obscure the skies.
Above their heads th'embattled squadrons hung
And scarce the lab'ring air sustain the throng
The fearless Pygmies view them from afar
Rage with disdain, and hope th'approaching war;
Not long they stood, when stooping from their height
The Cranes with beaks and claws provoke the fight.
Thick from their wounded wings the feathers fly,
Beneath Pygmaean steel what numbers dye!
Breathless at length they leave th'unfinish'd war
And hang aloft suspended in the air.
But their lost strength and vigour soon return
They clap their wings, and with new fury burn;
Then, swift as thought, by headlong anger driv'n
Descend, impetuous, from the vault of Heav'n.
Their foes the shock sustain in Battle skill'd,
And victory hangs doubtfull o'er the field.
Here lies a fowl transfix'd with many a wound
That strugling pants, and rowls her eye-balls round.
There a stout warriour fainting gasps for breath
And grasps the bloody sand involv'd in death.
Swords, arms and wings are scatter'd o'er the plain
On ev'ry side rise mountains of the slain,
Whose mortal wounds pour forth a purple flood,
The plain contested flows with mingled blood.
The valiant Prince with unresisted force
Where'er the battle rages bends his course.
That day what legions by his faulchion bled!
His arm alone rais'd bulwarks of the dead.
Before his face the frighted Cranes gave way.
He turn'd awhile the fortune of the day
Till thither an huge bird the tumult drew
Who caught the chief, ev'n in his soldiers view
In his fell claws, then into th' air he springs.
The joyfull Cranes triumphant clap their wings:
While the sad Pygmies mourn with weeping eyes
Their godlike hero strugling in the skies.
Now bleeds the war afresh, the Crane from high
Forceful descending strikes his enemy,
Then flies aloft; th'astonish'd warriours feel
The wound, and, furious, wave the shining steel.
The birds elude the stroke with cautious care;
Its useless force the weapon spends in air.
Such was the horrour of the dreadfull fight
As when great Briareus with matchless might
Hurling vast mounts against the realms above
Shook headlong from his throne imperial Jove.
In rat'ling storms huge Promontories flie
And Bolts and rocks encounter in the Skie.
At length deform'd with many a grizly wound
Th'enormous Gyants smoke upon the Ground.
O'erpowr'd and faint the Pygmies, scarce sustain
Their foes attacks, and wield their arms with pain.
Part turn their Backs, part seiz'd with wild surprise
Utter sad groans and lamentable cries.
Impending death they strive to 'scape in vain
For fear retards their flight, the cruell Crane
Scatters their breathless bodies o'er the plain.
Thus fell the Pygmie state, which long had stood
Secure, and triumph'd oft in hostile blood.
To ev'ry empire bounds the Gods ordain
The limits fix'd they strive to pass in vain;
So by their great decree Assyria fell
And Persia felt the force of Grecian steel;
Not Rome itself that held the world in awe
Could cancell their irrevocable Law.
Now in the Realms below, the Pygmie shades
Mix'd with old Heroes trace the flow'ry meads,
And wander sportive o'er th'Elysian plain:
Or if old womens tales may credit gain,
When pale-fac'd Cynthia sheds her silver light
Dispelling the black horrors of the Night,
The Shepherds oft' see little ghosts glide by
And shades of Pygmies swim before their eye.
They call them Fairies; these now free from care
And giv'n to mirth, the Cranes no longer fear,
But move their num'rous arms to Musicks sound,
And tread in mystick rings the mossie ground.