Page:Vida's Art of Poetry.djvu/117

When on the groves and fields the deluge preys,
And wraps the crackling stubble in the blaze.
Nor less our pleasure; when the flame divides,
And climbs aspiring round the cauldron's sides;
From the dark bottom work the waters up,
Swell, boil, and hiss, and bubble to the top.
Thus in smooth lines, smooth subjects we rehearse,
But the ^[1] rough rock requires as rough a verse.
If gay the subject, gay must be the song;
And the brisk numbers quickly glide along:
When the fields flourish; or the skies unfold
Swift from the flying hinge their gates of gold.
If sad the theme, then each grave line moves slow,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
The mournful numbers languishingly flow,
And drag, and labour, with a weight of woe;
If e'er the boding bird of night, who mourns
O'er ruins, desolation, graves, and urns,
With piercing streams the darkness should invade,
And break the silence of the dismal shade.

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1. ————Sonat hæc de nare caninâ
   Littera.————Vid. Persium.
   
   

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