For thee a hundred fields produc'd their store,
And by thy name ten thousand vaffals swore;
So lov'd thy name, that, at their monarch's choice,
All Fairy fhouted with a gen'ral voice.

Oriel alone a fecret rage fupprefs'd,

That from his bofom heav'd the golden vest.
Along the banks of Thame his empire ran,
Wide was his range, and populous his clan.
When cleanly fervants, if we truft old tales,
Befides their wages had good fairy vails,
Whole heaps of filver tokens, nightly paid
The careful wife or the neat dairy-maid,

Sunk not his ftores. With fmiles and powerful bribes
He gain'd the leaders of his neighbour tribes,
And ere the night the face of heav'n had chang'd,
Beneath his banners half the fairies rang'd.

Mean-while driven back to earth, a lonely way
The chearless Albion wander'd half the day,

A long, long journey, choak'd with brakes and thorns,
Ill-meafur'd by ten thoufand barley-corns.

Tir'd out at length, a fpreading ftream he spy'd
Fed by old Thame, a daughter of the tide :

'Twas then a spreading fiream, tho' now, its fame
Obfcur'd, it bears the creek's inglorious name,
And creeps, as through contracted bounds it strays,
A leap for boys in thefe degenerate days.

On the clear crystal's verdant bank he stood,
And thrice look'd backward on the fatal wood,

I

And

And thrice he groan'd, and thrice he beat his breast,
And thus in tears his kindred gods address'd.

'If true, ye watery powers, my lineage came
From Neptune mingling with a mortal dame;
'Down to his court, with coral garlands crown'd,
Through all your grottoes waft my plaintive found,
• And urge the god, whose trident skakes the earth,
To grace his off-fpring, and affert my birth.'

He faid. A gentle Naiad heard his prayer,
And, touch'd with pity for a lover's care,
Shoots to the fea, where low beneath the tides
Old Neptune in th' unfathom'd depth refides.
Rous'd at the news the fea's ftern fultan fwore
Revenge, and scarce from present arms forbore;
But first the nymph his harbinger he fends,

And to her care his fav'rite boy commends.

As through the Thames her backward course she guides, Driven up his current by the refluent tides,

Along his banks the pygmy legions spread

She fpies, and haughty Oriel at their head.
Soon with wrong'd Albion's name the host she fires,

And counts the ocean's god among his fires;

The ocean's god, by whom shall be o'erthrown

' (Styx hear'd his oath) the tyrant Oberon.
See here beneath a toadstool's deadly gloom
Lies Albion: Him the Fates your leader doom.
Hear and obey; 'tis Neptune's powerful call
By him Azuriel and his king fhall fall.'
D 2

She

She faid. They bow'd: and on their fhield up-bore With fhouts their new-faluted emperor.

Even Oriel fmil'd: at least to smile he ftrove,
And hopes of vengeance triumph'd over love.
See now the mourner of the lonely shade
By gods protected, and by hofts obey'd,
A flave, a chief, by fickle Fortune's play,
In the fhort courfe of one revolving day.
What wonder if the youth, so ftrangely bleft,
Felt his heart flutter in his little breaft!
His thick embattel'd troops, with fecret pride,
He views extended half an acre wide;

More light he treads, more tall he seems to rife,
And ftruts a straw-breadth nearer to the skies.

*

O for thy Mufe, great Bard, whose lofty strains
In battle join'd the Pygmies and the Cranes!
Each gaudy knight, had I that warmth divine,
Each colour'd legion in my verse should shine.
But fimple I, and innocent of art,

The tale, that footh'd my infant years, impart,
The tale I heard whole winter eves, untir'd,
And fing the battles, that my nurfe inspir'd.

Now the fhrill corn-pipes, echoing loud to arms,
To rank and file reduce the ftraggling fwarms.
Thick rows of fpears at once, with fudden glare,
A grove of needles, glitter in the air;

* Mr. ADDISON.

Loofe

Loofe in the wind small ribbon ftreamers flow,
Dipt in all colours of the heavenly bow,

And the gay hoft, that now its march pursues,
Gleams o'er the meadows in a thousand hues.

On Buda's plains thus formidably bright,
Shone Afia's fons, a pleasing dreadful fight.
In various robes their filken troops were seen,
The blue, the red, and prophet's facred green:
When blooming BRUNSWICK near the Danube's flood,
First stained his maiden fword in Turkish blood.
Unfeen and filent march the flow brigades
Through pathlefs wilds, and unfrequented fhades.
In hopes already vanquifh'd by furprize,
In Albion's power the fairy empire lies;
Already has he feiz'd on Kenna's charms,
And the glad beauty trembles in his arms.

The march concludes; and now in profpect near,
But fenc'd with arms, the hostile towers appear,
For Oberon, or Druids falfely fing,

Wore his prime vifir in a magick ring.
A fubtle spright, that opening plots foretold
By fudden dimnefs on the beamy gold.
Hence in a crescent form'd, his legions bright
With beating bofoms waited for the fight;
To charge their foes they march, a glittering band,
And in their van doth bold Azuriel stand.

What rage that hour did Albion's foul poffefs,
Let chiefs imagine, and let lovers guess!

Forth iffuing from his ranks, that strove in vain
To check his courfe, athwart the dreadful plain
He ftrides indignant: and with haughty cries
To fingle fight the fairy prince defies.

Forbear, rafh youth, th' unequal war to try;
Nor, fprung from mortals, with immortals vie.
No god stands ready to avert thy doom,
Nor yet thy grandfire of the waves is come.
My words are vain-no words the wretch can move,
By beauty dazled, and bewitch'd by love:
He longs, he burns to win the glorious prize,
And fees no danger, while he fees her eyes.

Now from each hoft the eager warriors start,
And furious Albion flings his hafty dart :
'Twas feather'd from the bee's tranfparent wing,
And its fhaft ended in a hornet's fting;

But, tofs'd in rage, it flew without a wound,
High o'er the foe, and guiltlefs pierc'd the ground.
Not fo Azuriel's: with un-erring aim

Too near the needle-pointed javelin came,
Drove through the feven-fold fhield, and filken veft,
And lightly ras'd the lover's ivory breast.
Rous'd at the fmart, and rifing to the blow,
With his keen fword he cleaves his fairy foe,
Sheer from the fhoulder to the waift he cleaves,
And of one arm the tott'ring trunk bereaves.
His ufelefs fteel brave Albion wields no more,
But fternly fmiles, and thinks the combat o'er :

Sq