Page:Vida's Art of Poetry.djvu/62

 And paint a wild unnecessary throng, Of things and objects foreign to the song. For new descriptions from the road depart, Devoid of order, discipline and art. So, many an anxious toil and danger past, Some wretch returns from banishment at last; With fond delay to range the shady wood, Now here, now there he wanders from the road; From field to field, from stream to stream he roves, And courts the cooling shelter of the groves. For why should Homer deck the gorgeous car, When our rais'd souls are eager for the war? Or dwell on ev'ry wheel, when loud alarms, And Mars in thunder calls the host to arms; When with his heroes we some dastard find, Of a vile aspect, and malignant mind; His awkward figure is not worth our care; His monstrous length of head, or want of hair. Tho' the wretch goes with mountain shoulders by, Short of a foot, or blinking in an eye.