Shame, (perverted). AND sure, the deadliest Foe to Virtue's flame, We seek our Virtues in each other's breast; POPE. A Storm. Now bursts the wave that from the cloud impends, And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends; White White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud Howl o'er the masts and sing through every shroud; Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with fears, And instant death on ev'ry wave appears. DRYDEN'S VIRGIL, Approach of Winter. Then is the time, For those whom wisdom, and whom nature charm, THOMSON. Thames. IN that blest moment, from his oozy bed i The The figur'd streams in waves of silver roll'd, And on her banks Augusta rose in gold; Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood, Who swell with tributary urns his flood: First the fam'd authors of his ancient name, The winding Isis, and the fruitful Thame : The Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd; The Loddon slow, with verdant alders crown'd; Cole, whose dark streams his flow'ry islands lave; And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave : The blue transparent Vandalis appears; The gulphy Lee his sedgy tresses rears; And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood; And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood. High in the midst, upon his urn reclin❜d, (His sea-green mantle waving with the wind) The god appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes Where Windsor-domes and pompous turrets rise. Then bow'd and spoke; the winds forgot to roar, And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore. POPE. Thersites. THERSITES only clamour'd in the throng, Aw'd by no shame, by no respect control'd, But royal scandal his delight supreme. Long had he liv'd the scorn of ev'ry Greek, Vex'd when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak. Sharp was his voice; which in the shrillest tone, Thus with injurious taunts attack'd the throne. POPE. Description of a Battle. Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet clos'd, To armour armour, lance to lance oppos'd, Host Host against host, with shadowy squadrons drew, Night. As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night! Windsor Forest. POPE'S HOMER. THE Groves of Eden, vanish'd now so long, |