When the blest seed of Terah's faithful Son,1 After long toil their liberty had won, And past from Pharian2 fields to Canaan Land, Led by the strength of the Almighty's hand, Jehovah's wonders were in Israel shown, His praise and glory was in Israel known. That saw the troubl'd Sea, and shivering fled, And sought to hide his froth-becurled head Low in the earth, Jordan's clear streams recoil, As a faint host that hath receiv'd the foil. 10 The high, huge-bellied Mountains skip like Rams Amongst their Ewes, the little Hills like Lambs. Why fled the Ocean? And why skip'd the Mountains? Why turned Jordan toward his Crystal Fountains? Shake earth, and at the presence be aghast Of him that ever was, and ay shall last, That glassy floods from rugged rocks can crush, And make soft rills from the fiery flint-stones gush. 1 Abraham. 2 Egyptian. The Philosopher and the King. A Philosopher, included in the same sentence of condemnation with several guilty persons among whom he had been apprehended, sent the following lines, composed suddenly in the moment when he was going to death, to a certain King whom had ignorantly condemned him. Know this, O King! that if thou shalt destroy Me, no man's enemy and who have liv'd Obedient to the Laws, thou may'st with ease Strike off a wise man's head, but, taught the truth Hereafter, shalt with vain regret deplore Thy city's loss of One, her chief support. On the Engraver of his Portrait.1 Survey my Features--you will own it clear That little skill has been exerted here. My Friends, who know me not here smile to see How ill the model and the work agree. 1 Greek lines placed by Milton beneath the engraved portrait of himself by William Marshall in the I645 edition of his poems. The handsome Milton disliked Marshall's picture and took revenge with this epigram, which Marshall, ignorant of Greek, engraved beneath the portrait. Another Translation of the Same.2 Look on myself--you will own at once This Copy of me, taken by a Dunce. My Friends, who gaze and guess not whom ye see, Laugh! Would ye think it? He intended me! To Giovanni Salzilli, a Roman Poet, in his Illness. Scazons.1