174
Poems on
Where o'er the Ankle swells the turgid Vein;
Soft to the Stroke, and sensible of Pain.
Soft to the Stroke, and sensible of Pain.
And now her Magic Spells[1] Medea tries,
Bids the red Fiends, the Dogs of Oreus rise,
That starting dreadful from th' infernal Shade,
Ride Heav'n in Storms, and all that breathes, invade;
Thrice she applies the Pow'r of Magic Pray'r,
Thrice, hellward bending, mutters Charms in Air;
Then turning tow'rd the Foe, bids Mischief fly,
And looks Destruction, as the points her Eye;
Then Spectres, rising from Tartarean Bow'rs,
Howl round in Air, or grin along the Shores;
While [2]tearing up whole Hills, the Giant throws
Outragious, Rocks on Rocks, to crush the Foes:
But frantic as he strides, a sudden Wound
Bursts the Life-Vein, and Blood o'erspreads the Ground,
Bids the red Fiends, the Dogs of Oreus rise,
That starting dreadful from th' infernal Shade,
Ride Heav'n in Storms, and all that breathes, invade;
Thrice she applies the Pow'r of Magic Pray'r,
Thrice, hellward bending, mutters Charms in Air;
Then turning tow'rd the Foe, bids Mischief fly,
And looks Destruction, as the points her Eye;
Then Spectres, rising from Tartarean Bow'rs,
Howl round in Air, or grin along the Shores;
While [2]tearing up whole Hills, the Giant throws
Outragious, Rocks on Rocks, to crush the Foes:
But frantic as he strides, a sudden Wound
Bursts the Life-Vein, and Blood o'erspreads the Ground,
As
