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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415294" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Pygmaeo-gerano-machia: The Battle Of The Pygmies and Cranes</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the Latin of Addison.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pygmy-people, and the feather'd train,<br>Mingling in mortal combat on the plain,<br>I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs,<br>Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines;<br>The flashing swords and fluttering wings display,<br>And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray;<br>Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes,<br>Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumber'd woes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wars and woes of heroes six feet long<br>Have oft resounded in Pierian song.<br>Who has not heard of Colcho's golden fleece,<br>And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece?<br>Of Thebes' fell brethren , Theseus stern of face,<br>And Peleus' son unrivall'd in the race,<br>Eneas founder of the Roman line,<br>And William glorious on the banks of Boyne?<br>Who has not learn'd to weep at Pompey's woes,<br>And over Blackmore's Epic page to doze?<br>'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains,<br>Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains;<br>The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size,<br>And armies rushing down the darken'd skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where India reddens to the early dawn,<br>Winds a deep vale from vulgar eyes withdrawn:<br>Bosom'd in groves the lowly region lies,<br>And rocky mountains round the border rise.<br>Here, till the doom of Fate its fall decreed,<br>The empire flourish'd of the pygmy-breed;<br>Here Industry perform'd, and Genius plann'd,<br>And busy multitudes o'erspread the land.<br>But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray,<br>Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way,<br>He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth,<br>Its godlings mouldering on th' abandon'd hearth;<br>And starts, where small white bones are spread around,<br>'Or little footsteps lightly print the ground;'<br>While the proud crane her nest securely builds,<br>Chattering amid the desolated fields.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But different fates befel her hostile rage,<br>While reign'd, invincible through many an age,<br>The dreaded Pygmy; roused by war's alarms<br>Forth rush'd the madding Mannikin to arms.<br>Fierce to the field of death the hero flies:<br>The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground, and dies;<br>And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!)<br>With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road. <br>And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay,<br>And often made the callow young his prey;<br>With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board, and smiled<br>T'avenge the parent's trespass on the child.<br>Oft where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest,<br>And laid her eggs and household gods to rest,<br>Burning for blood, in terrible array,<br>The eighteen-inch militia burst their way;<br>All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell,<br>When scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Loud uproar hence, and rage of arms arose,<br>And the fell rancour, of encountering foes;<br>Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havock whelms, <br>And Death's grim visage scares the pygmy-realms.<br>Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire<br>Of Mice, high theme of the Meonian lyre;<br>When bold to battle march'd th' accoutre'd frogs,<br>And the deep tumult thunder'd through the bogs.<br>Pierced by the javelin bulrush on the shore,<br>Here, agonizing, roll'd the mouse in gore;<br>And there the frog (a scene full sad to see!)<br>Shorn of one leg, slow sprawl'd along the three:<br>He vaults no more with vigorous hopes on high,<br>But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now the day of wo drew on apace,<br>A day of wo to all the pygmy race,<br>When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain)<br>To rue each broken egg and chicken slain.<br>For roused to vengeance by repeated wrong,<br>From distant climes the long-bill'd regions throng;<br>From Strymon's lake, Cayster's plashy meads,<br>And fens of Scythia green with rustling reeds;<br>From where the Danube winds through many a land,<br>And Mareotis laves th' Egyptian strand,<br>To rendezvous they waft on eager wing,<br>And wait assembled the returning spring.<br>Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight,<br>Whet their keen beaks, and twisting claws, for fight;<br>Each crane the pygmy power in thought o'erturns,<br>And every bosom for the battle burns. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When genial gales the frozen air unbind,<br>The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind.<br>Far in the sky they form their long array,<br>And land and ocean stretch'd immense survey<br>Deep deep beneath; and, triumphing in pride,<br>With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride;<br>'Tis wild obstreperous clanguor all, and heaven<br>Whirls in tempestuous undulation driven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor less th' alarm that shook the world below,<br>Where march'd in pomp of war th' embattled foe;<br>Where mannikins with haughty step advance,<br>And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance;<br>To right and left the lengthening lines they form,<br>And rank'd in deep array await the storm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen,<br>Of giant stature, and imperial mien.<br>Full twenty inches tall he strode along,<br>And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng;<br>And, while with many a scar his visage frown'd,<br>Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound<br>Of beaks, and claws, disclosing to their sight<br>The glorious meed of high heroic might.<br>For with insatiate vengeance, he pursued,<br>And never ending hate, the feathery brood;<br>Unhappy they, confiding in the length<br>Of horny beak, or talon's crooked strength,<br>Who durst abide his rage; the blade descends,<br>And from the panting trunk the pinion rends.<br>Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more,<br>The trunk disfigured stiffens in its gore.<br>What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force!<br>What heaps of chicken carnage mark'd his course!<br>How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along,<br>Did wailing echo waft the funeral song.<br>And now from far the mingling clamours rise,<br>Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies.<br>From skirt to skirt of heaven, with stormy sway,<br>A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day.<br>Near and more near descends the dreadful shade,<br>And now in battalions array display'd,<br>On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire,<br>The cranes rush onward, and the fight require.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The pygmy warrior's eye with fearless glare<br>The host thick swarming o'er the burthen'd air:<br>Thick swarming now, but to their native land<br>Doom'd to return a scanty straggling band. -<br>When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven,<br>Fierce on th' expecting foe the cranes are driven.<br>The kindling phrenzy every bosom warms,<br>The region echoes to the crash of arms:<br>Loose feathers from the encountering armies fly,<br>And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky.<br>To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane,<br>Then with fresh vigour downwards darts again.<br>Success in equal balance hovering hangs.<br>Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs,<br>The bird transfix'd in bloody vortex whirls,<br>Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls;<br>There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound,<br>With little feet the pygmy beats the ground;<br>Deep from his breast the short short sob he draws,<br>And dying curses the keen pointed claws.<br>Trembles the thundering field thick cover'd o'er<br>With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming gore,<br>And Pygmy arms, and beaks of ample size,<br>And here a claw, and there a finger lies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Encompass'd round with heaps of slaughter'd foes,<br>All grim in blood the pygmy champion glows,<br>And on th' assailing host impetuous springs,<br>Careless of nibbling bills, and flapping wings;<br>And midst the tumult whereso'er he turns,<br>The battle with redoubled fury burns;<br>From every side th' avenging cranes amain<br>Throng, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain.<br>When suddenly (for such the will of Jove)<br>A fowl enormous, sousing from above,<br>The gallant chieftain clutch'd, and, soaring high,<br>(Sad chance of battle!) bore him p the sky.<br>The cranes pursue, and clustering in a ring,<br>Chatter triumphant round the captive king.<br>But ah! what pangs each pygmy bosom wrung,<br>When, now to cranes a prey on talons hung,<br>High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord,<br>His wriggling form still lessening as he soar'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo yet again with unabated rage<br>In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage.<br>The crane, with darted bill assaults the foe,<br>Hovering; then wheels aloft to scape the blow:<br>The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound;<br>But whirls in empty air the falchion round.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such was the scene, when midst the loud alarms<br>Sublime th' eternal Thunderer rose in arms.<br>When Briareus, by mad ambition driven,<br>Heaved Pelion huge, and hurl'd it high at heaven.<br>Jove roll'd redoubling thunders from on high,<br>Mountains and bolts encounter'd in the sky;<br>Till one stupendous ruin whelm'd the crew,<br>Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now at length the pygmy legions yield,<br>And wing'd with terror fly the fatal field.<br>They raise a weak and melancholy wail, <br>All in distraction scattering o'er the vale.<br>Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend;<br>Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend:<br>With unrelenting ire they urge the chase,<br>Sworn to exterminate the hated race.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas thus the Pygmy Name, once great in war,<br>For spoils of conquer'd cranes renown'd afar,<br>Perish'd. For, by the dread decree of Heaven,<br>Short is the date earthly grandeur is given,<br>And vain are all attempts to roam beyond<br>Where Fate has fix'd the everlasting bound.<br>Fallen are the trophies of Assyrian power,<br>And Persia's proud dominion is no more;<br>Yea, though to both superior far in fame,<br>Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now with lofty chiefs of ancient time,<br>The pygmy heroes roam th' Elysian clime.<br>Or, if belief to matron-tales be due, <br>Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view,<br>Their frisking forms, in gentle green array'd,<br>Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade.<br>Secure, for no alarming cranes molest,<br>And all their woes in log oblivion rest;<br>Down the deep dale, and narrow winding way,<br>They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay:<br>'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove, <br>And Fairy-people is the name they love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Beattie">James Beattie</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415294" data-title="Pygmaeo-gerano-machia: The Battle Of The Pygmies and Cranes de James Beattie" data-description="From the Latin of Addison.

The pygmy-people, and the feather'd train,
Mingling in mortal combat on the plain,
I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs,
Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines;
The flashing swords and fluttering wings display,
And ..."></div>
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