THE RESURRECTION.
141
As dispers'd soldiers, at the trumpet's call,
Haste to their colours all.
Unhappy most, like tortur'd men,
Their joints new set, to be new-rack'd again,
To mountains they for shelter pray,
The mountains shake, and run about no less confus'd than they.
Haste to their colours all.
Unhappy most, like tortur'd men,
Their joints new set, to be new-rack'd again,
To mountains they for shelter pray,
The mountains shake, and run about no less confus'd than they.
Stop, stop, my Muse! allay thy vigorous heat,
Kindled at a hint so great;
Hold thy Pindarick Pegasus closely in,
Which does to rage begin,
And this steep hill would gallop up with violent course;
’Tis an unruly and a hard-mouth'd horse,
Fierce and unbroken yet,
Impatient of the spur or bit;
Now prances stately, and anon flies o'er the place;
Disdains the servile law of any settled pace,
Conscious and proud of his own natural force.
'T will no unskilful touch endure,
But flings writer and reader too, that sits not sure.
Kindled at a hint so great;
Hold thy Pindarick Pegasus closely in,
Which does to rage begin,
And this steep hill would gallop up with violent course;
’Tis an unruly and a hard-mouth'd horse,
Fierce and unbroken yet,
Impatient of the spur or bit;
Now prances stately, and anon flies o'er the place;
Disdains the servile law of any settled pace,
Conscious and proud of his own natural force.
'T will no unskilful touch endure,
But flings writer and reader too, that sits not sure.
