:
Then cuts the curling hair, that first oblation burns,
Invoking Hecate hither to repair;
(A powerful name in hell and upper air.)

PITT.

Deep, deep, a cavern lies, devoid of light,
All rough with rocks, and horrible to sight;
Its dreadful mouth is fenc'd with sable floods,
And the brown horrors of surrounding woods.
From its black jaws such baleful vapours rise,
Blot the bright day, and blast the golden skies,
That not a bird can stretch her pinions there,
Thro' the thick poisons, and incumber'd air,
But struck by death, her flagging pinions cease;
And hence Aornus was it call'd by Greece.
Hither the priestess, four black heifers led,
Between their horns the hallow'd wine she shed;
From their high front the topmost hairs she drew,
And in the flames the first oblations threw.
Then calls on potent Hecate, renown'd
In Heav'n above, and Erebus profound.

The next instance we shall produce, in which, as in the former, Mr. Pitt
has greatly exceeded Dryden, is taken from Virgil's description of
Elysium, which says Dr. Trap is so charming, that it is almost Elysium
to read it.

His demum exactis, perfecto munere divae,
Devenere locos laetos, & amoena vireta
Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas.
Largior hic campos aether & lumine vestit
Purpureo; solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.
Pars in gramineis exercent membra palaestris,
Contendunt ludo, & fulva luctanter arena:
Pars pedibus plaudunt choreas, & carmina dicunt.
Necnon Threicius longa cum veste sacerdos
Obloquitur numeris septem discrimina vocum:
Jamque eadem digitis, jam pectine pulsat eburno.

PITT.

These rites compleat, they reach the flow'ry plains,
The verdant groves, where endless pleasure reigns.
Here glowing AEther shoots a purple ray,
And o'er the region pours a double day.
From sky to sky th'unwearied splendour runs,
And nobler planets roll round brighter suns.
Some wrestle on the sands, and some in play
And games heroic pass the hours away.
Those raise the song divine, and these advance
In measur'd steps to form the solemn dance.
There Orpheus graceful in his long attire,
In seven divisions strikes the sounding lyre;
Across the chords the quivering quill he flings,
Or with his flying fingers sweeps the strings.

DRYDEN.

These holy rites perform'd, they took their way,
Where long extended plains of pleasure lay.
The verdant fields with th