I. · Section 4

I.

Again, Calliope, my song inspire, And sweep the numbers from my falt’ring lyre; Again the joys of war, and warriors, sing, And wake to life each wild-resounding string; Oh! give that verse which soars beyond control, Which fires the genius, and awakes the soul. E’en now, e’en now, impatient of delays, Across my mind thy beamy influence plays.

II.

Bright was the noon!--for Phœbus’ warmest ray Illum’d the slaughters of the dreadful day: 10 Hush’d was each ruder wind!--all nature seem’d to wait In mute attention on a world’s debate. Far as the eye could reach, the breeze could bear, The wand’ring sound, to rapt suspence’s ear; All was one mix’d, and one promiscuous train Of warring heroes, scattered o’er the plain. Thus through the glassy hive the bees we view, Industrious race, their various tasks pursue, Confus’d, dispers’d, to unaccustom’d eyes,-- Yet each a settled occupation plies. 20