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 When with the winds old Ocean he deforms, Or paints the rage, and horrors of the storms, Or drives on pointed rocks the bursting ships, Tost on the Euxine, or Sicilian deeps. Or sings the plagues that blast the livid sky, When beasts by herds, and men by nations dyedie [sic]; Or the fierce flames that out of Ætna rise, When from her mouth the bursting vapour flies, And charg'd with ruin thunders to the skies. While drifts of smoaksmoke [sic] in sooty whirlwinds play, And clouds of cinders stain the golden day. See! as the poet sounds the dire alarms, Calls on the war, and sets the hosts in arms; Squadrons on squadrons driven, confus'dly dyedie [sic]; Grim Mars in all his terrors strikes the eye; More than description rising to the sight, Presents the real horrors of the fight; A new creation seems our praise to claim; (Hence Greece derives the sacred poet's name;); [sic] The