By thought matured, and quicken’d by desire,[143] New arts, new arms, his wayward wants require. From the tough yew a slender branch he tears, With self-taught skill the twisted grass[144] prepares; Th’ unfashioned bow, with labouring efforts bends 80 In circling form, and joins th’ unwilling ends. Next some tall reed he seeks—with sharp-edg’d stone Shapes the fell dart, and points with whiten’d bone.[145] Then forth he fares. Around in careless play, Kids, pigs, and lambkins unsuspecting stray; 85 With grim delight he views the sportive band, Intent on blood, and lifts his murderous hand. Twangs the bent bow—resounds the fateful dart, Swift-wing’d, and trembles in a porker’s heart. Ah, hapless porker! what can now avail[146] 90 Thy back’s stiff bristles, or thy curly tail? Ah! what avail those eyes so small and round, Long pendent ears, and snout that loves the ground?[147] Not unreveng’d thou diest!—in after times[148] From thy spilt blood shall spring unnumber’d crimes. 95 Soon shall the slaught’rous arms that wrought thy woe, Improved by malice, deal a deadlier blow;[149] When _social_ man shall pant for nobler game, And ’gainst his fellow man the vengeful weapon aim. As love, as gold, as jealousy inspires,[150] 100 As wrathful hate, or wild ambition fires, Urged by the statesman’s craft, the tyrant’s rage, Embattled nations endless wars shall wage, Vast seas of blood the ravaged field shall stain, And millions perish—that a _king_ may reign! 105 For blood once shed, new wants and wishes rise;[151] Each rising want invention quick supplies. To roast his victuals is man’s next desire, So two dry sticks he rubs, and lights a fire. Hail fire, &c. &c. [Illustration] No. XVII. March 5, 1798. We are obliged to a learned correspondent for the following ingenious imitation of BION.—We will not shock the eyes of our fair readers with the original Greek, but the following _Argument_ will give them some idea of the nature of the Poem here imitated. ARGUMENT. Venus is represented as bringing to the Poet, while sleeping, her son Cupid, with a request that he would teach him Pastoral Poetry—Bion complies, and endeavours to teach him the rise and progress of that art:—Cupid laughs at his instructions, and in his turn teaches his master the Loves of Men and Gods, the Wiles of his Mother, &c.—“Pleased with his lessons,” says BION, “I forgot what I lately taught Cupid and recollect in its stead only what Cupid taught me.” IMITATION, &c.[152] WRITTEN AT ST. ANNE’S HILL.