3 Here reign the blustering North, and blasting East,
No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing;
Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast,
Art he invokes new terrors still to bring.

4 Now mouldering fanes and battlements arise,
Turrets and arches nodding to their fall,
Unpeopled monasteries delude our eyes,
And mimic desolation covers all.

5 'Ah!' said the sighing peer, 'had Bute been true,
Nor C--'s, nor B--d's promises been vain,
Far other scenes than this had graced our view,
And realised the horrors which we feign.

6 'Purged by the sword, and purified by fire,
Then had we seen proud London's hated walls:
Owls should have hooted in St Peter's choir,
And foxes stunk and litter'd in St Paul's.'

* * * * *


TRANSLATION FROM STATIUS.

Third in the labours of the disc came on,
With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon;
Artful and strong he poised the well-known weight,
By Phlegyas warn'd, and fired by Mnestheus' fate,