befell
The finny tribes, that swim the deep,
Now sunk, perhaps, in endless sleep!
The hosts of heaven, when Neptune came,
With foaming horses, from the main,
Rejoiced to see the briny king,
The golden gates, wide open, fling;
And, anxiously, all beg to know
The tidings from the world below?
Great Neptune, their celestial guest,
With haste, thus answer'ed their request:
"O Jove, high heaven's majestic king,
To whom all gods due homage bring:"
(And now the monarch of the sea,
With awful reverence, bows the knee),
"I come in haste, and wish to tell
How an infernal fiend from hell,—
An Ixion spawn,—kick'd down from heaven,
And through the earth, a vagrant, driven,
A cast-off lyre, hath stol'n or begg'd,
Which he, with hempen strings, hath rigg'd;
And now, the ocean, creeks, and bays,
Makes, nightly, hideous, with his lays!
Last night, as I was going to bed,
The villain struck the fish all dead!
His dismal strain, they can't abide,
It smote their ears, and lo, they died!
My noble steeds, affrighted, too,
Like lightning, through the billows, flew;
Nor could, the hellish note, divine,
That creak'd, terrific, o'er the brine;
And, even, I, myself, was shock'd,
And from my chariot, nearly knock'd
Into the boisterous, boiling sea,
By that astounding minstrelsy.
And, now, by all the gods above,
By all that men or angels love,
I call for thunderbolts or fire,
To dash this scoundrel and his lyre!"
Great Jupiter, with horror struck,
In wrath, the heavenly mansion shook;
And order'd Vulcan, quick, to forge
A thunderbolt, tremendous large,
With which he smote the venal ghost,
And cast him into hell, to roast!
Now, aught —— —— ever wrote,
Let none but fiends incarnate, quote;
For, why should men or angels name
What only sprites infernal claim;
Or, why should men, to darkness, turn,
A hell-curs'd villain's verse, to learn;
Or, in poetic marshes, grope,
To save a scoundrel from the rope;—
To save from damn'd oblivion, Park,
The vilest hound of hell, to bark,
To howl, to scream, and vilify
The rich, the poor, the low, the high;
Who pours on virtue's hallow'd leaf
The vile pollutions of a thief;
Who age, nor youth, nor beauty spares;
But, vulture-like, voracious, tears
The