The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase. Джозеф Аддисон

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        A hundred Cyclops live among the hills,

        Gigantic brotherhood, that stalk along

        With horrid strides o'er the high mountains' tops,

        Enormous in their gait; I oft have heard

        Their voice and tread, oft seen them as they passed,

        Sculking and cowering down, half dead with fear.

        Thrice has the moon washed all her orb in light,

        Thrice travelled o'er, in her obscure sojourn,

        The realms of night inglorious, since I've lived

        Amidst these woods, gleaning from thorns and shrubs

        A wretched sustenance.' As thus he spoke,

        We saw descending from a neighbouring hill

        Blind Polypheme; by weary steps and slow

        The groping giant with a trunk of pine

        Explored his way; around, his woolly flocks

        Attended grazing; to the well-known shore

        He bent his course, and on the margin stood,

        A hideous monster, terrible, deformed;

        Full in the midst of his high front there gaped

        The spacious hollow where his eye-ball rolled,

        A ghastly orifice: he rinsed the wound,

        And washed away the strings and clotted blood

        That caked within; then, stalking through the deep,

        He fords the ocean, while the topmost wave

        Scarce reaches up his middle side; we stood

        Amazed, be sure; a sudden horror chill

        Ran through each nerve, and thrilled in every vein,

        Till, using all the force of winds and oars,

        We sped away; he heard us in our course,

        And with his outstretched arms around him groped,

        But finding nought within his reach, he raised

        Such hideous shouts that all the ocean shook.

        Even Italy, though many a league remote,

        In distant echoes answered; Ætna roared,

        Through all its inmost winding caverns roared.

           Roused with the sound, the mighty family

        Of one-eyed brothers hasten to the shore,

        And gather round the bellowing Polypheme,

        A dire assembly: we with eager haste

        Work every one, and from afar behold

        A host of giants covering all the shore.

           So stands a forest tall of mountain oaks

        Advanced to mighty growth: the traveller

        Hears from the humble valley where he rides

        The hollow murmurs of the winds that blow

        Amidst the boughs, and at the distance sees

        The shady tops of trees unnumbered rise,

        A stately prospect, waving in the clouds.

      THE CAMPAIGN, A POEM.

      TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH

                              Rhení pæator et Istri.

        Omnis in hoc uno variis discordia cessit

        Ordinibus; læctatur eques, plauditque senator,

        Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori.