When in the vaulted arch Lucina gleams, And gaily dances o'er the azure streams; 60 When in the wide cerulean space on high The vivid stars shoot lustre through the sky; On silent Ether when a trembling sound Reverberates, and wildly floats around, Breaking through trackless space upon the ear-- Conclude the Bacchanalian Rustic near; O'er Hills and vales the jovial Savage reels, Fire in his head and Frenzy at his heels; From paths direct the bending Hero swerves, And shapes his way in ill-proportion'd curves; 70 Now safe arriv'd, his sleeping Rib he calls, And madly thunders on the muddy walls; The well-known sounds an equal fury move, For rage meets rage, as love enkindles love; The buxom Quean from bed of flocks descends } With vengeful ire, a civil war portends, } An oaken plant the Hero's breast defends. } In vain the 'waken'd infant's accents shrill The humble regions of the cottage fill; In vain the Cricket chirps the mansion through, 80 'Tis war, and Blood and Battle must ensue. As when, on humble stage, him Satan hight Defies the brazen Hero to the fight; From twanging strokes what dire misfortunes rise, What fate to maple arms, and glassen eyes; Here lies a leg of elm, and there a stroke From ashen neck has whirl'd a Head of oak. So drops from either power, with vengeance big, A remnant night-cap, and an old cut wig; Titles unmusical, retorted round, 90 On either ear with leaden vengeance sound; 'Till equal Valour equal Wounds create, And drowsy peace concludes the fell debate; Sleep in her woolen mantle wraps the pair, And sheds her poppies on the ambient air; Intoxication flies, as fury fled, On rocky pinions quits the aching head; Returning Reason cools the fiery blood, And drives from memory's seat the rosy God. Yet still he holds o'er some his madd'ning rule, 100 Still sways his Sceptre, and still knows his Fool; Witness the livid lip and fiery front, With many a smarting trophy plac'd upon't; The hollow Eye, which plays in misty springs, And the hoarse Voice, which rough and broken rings. These are his triumphs, and o'er these he reigns, The blinking Deity of reeling brains. See Inebriety! her wand she waves, And lo! her pale, and lo! her purple slaves; Sots in embroidery, and sots in crape, 110 Of every order, station, rank, and shape; The King, who nods upon his rattle-throne; The staggering Peer, to midnight revel prone; The slow-tongu'd Bishop, and the Deacon sly, The humble Pensioner, and Gownsman dry; The proud, the mean, the selfish, and the great, Swell the dull throng, and stagger into state.