AS the heroick poems of Blackmore are now little read, it is thought proper to insert, as a specimen from Prince Arthur, the song of Mopas mentioned by Molineux.
But that which Arthur with most pleasure heard,
Were noble strains, by Mopas sung the bard,
Who to his harp in lofty verse began,
And through the secret maze of Nature ran.
He the great Spirit sung, that all things fill’d,
That the tumultuous waves of Chaos still’d;
Whose nod dispos’d the jarring seeds to peace,
And made the wars of hostile Atoms cease.
All Beings, we in fruitful Nature find,
Proceeded from the great Eternal mind;
Streams of his unexhausted spring of power,
And, cherish’d with his influence, endure.
He spread the pure cerulean fields on high,
And arch’d the chambers of the vaulted sky,
Which he, to suit their glory with their height,
Adorn’d with globes, that reel, as drunk with light.
His hand directed all the tuneful spheres,
He turn’d their orbs, and polish’d all the stars.
He fill’d the Sun’s vast lamp with golden light,
And bid the silver Moon adorn the night.
He spread the airy Ocean without shores,
Where birds are wasted with their feather’d oars.
Then sung the bard how the light vapours rise
From the warm earth, and cloud the smiling skies.
