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 * o'er the fields the swain pursues his road,

Till stopt at length by some impervious flood, That from a mountain's brow, o'ercharg'd with rains, Bursts in a thund'ring tide, and foams along the plains; With horror chill'd, he traverses the shore, Sees the waves rise, and hears the torrent roar; Then griev'd returns; or waits with vain delay, 'Till the tumultuous deluge rolls away.


 * in no Iliad let the youth engage

His tender years, and unexperienc'd age; Let him by just degrees and steps proceed, Sing with the swains, and tune the tender reed; He with success an humbler theme may ply, And, Virgil-like, immortalize a fly: Or sing the mice, their battles and attacks, Against the croaking natives of the lakes; Or with what art her toils the spider sets, And spins her filmy entrails into nets.