ht the Stygian shade!

The far-fam'd bards that grac'd _Britannia's_ isle,
Should next compose the venerable pile.
Great _Milton_ first, for tow'ring thought renown'd,
Parent of song, and fam'd the world around!
His glowing breast divine _Urania_ fir'd,
Or GOD himself th' immortal Bard inspir'd.
Borne on triumphant wings he take this flight,
Explores all heaven, and treads the realms of light:
In martial pomp he clothes th' angelic train,
While warring myriads shake th' etherial plain.
First _Michael_ stalks, high tow'ring o'er the rest;
With heav'nly plumage nodding on his crest:
Impenetrable arms his limbs unfold,
Eternal adamant, and burning gold!
Sparkling in fiery mail, with dire delight,
Rebellious _Satan_ animates the fight:
Armipotent they sink in rolling smoke,
All heav'n resounding, to its centre shook,
To crush his foes, and quell the dire alarms,
_Messiah_ sparkled in refulgent arms;
In radient panoply divinely bright,
His limbs incas'd, he slash'd devouring light,
On burning wheels, o'er heav'n's crystalline road
Thunder'd the chariot of thy _Filial_ God;
The burning wheels on golden axles turn'd,
With flaming gems the golden axles burn'd.
Lo! the apostate host, with terror struck,
Roll back by millions! Th' Empyrean shook!
Sceptres, and orbid shields, and crowns of gold,
Cherubs and Seraphs in confusion roll'd;
Till, from his hand, the triple thunder hurl'd,
Compell'd them headlong, to th' Infernal world.

Then tuneful _Pope_, whom all the nine inspire,
With _saphic_ sweetness, and _pindaric_ fire.
Father of verse! melodious and divine!
Next peerless _Milton_ should distinguish'd shine.
Smooth flow his numbers when he paints the grove,
Th' enraptur'd virgins list'ning into love.
But when the night and hoarse resounding storm,
Rush on the deep, and _Neptune's_ face deform,
Rough runs the verse, the son'rous numbers roar
Like the hoarse surge that thunders on the shore.
But when he sings th' exhilerated swains,
Th' embow'ring groves, and _Windsor's_ blissful plains,
Our eyes are ravish'd with the sylvan scene,
Embroider'd fields, and groves in living green:
His lays the verdure of the meads prolong,
And wither'd forests blossom in his song;
_Thames'_ silver streams his flowing verse admire,
And ce