And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, should praise. MILTON'S STYLE IMITATED, IN A TRANSLATION OF A STORY OUT OF THE THIRD ÆNEID. Lost in the gloomy horror of the night, We struck upon the coast where Ætna lies, Horrid and waste, its entrails fraught with fire, That now casts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds, Vast showers of ashes hovering in the smoke; Now belches molten stones and ruddy flame, Incensed, or tears up mountains by the roots, Or slings a broken rock aloft in air. The bottom works with smothered fire involved In pestilential vapours, stench, and smoke. _10 'Tis said, that thunder-struck Enceladus Groveling beneath the incumbent mountain's weight, Lies stretched supine, eternal prey of flames; And, when he heaves against the burning load, Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs, A sudden earthquake shoots through all the isle, And Ætna thunders dreadful under-ground, Then pours out smoke in wreathing curls convolved, And shades the sun's bright orb, and blots out day. Here in the shelter of the woods we lodged, _20 And frighted heard strange sounds and dismal yells, Nor saw from whence they came; for all the night A murky storm deep lowering o'er our heads Hung imminent, that with impervious gloom Opposed itself to Cynthia's silver ray, And shaded all beneath. But now the sun With orient beams had chased the dewy night From earth and heaven; all nature stood disclosed: When, looking on the neighbouring woods, we saw The ghastly visage of a man unknown, _30 An uncouth feature, meagre, pale, and wild; Affliction's foul and terrible dismay Sat in his looks, his face, impaired and worn With marks of famine, speaking sore distress; His locks were tangled, and his shaggy beard Matted with filth; in all things else a Greek. He first advanced in haste; but, when he saw Trojans and Trojan arms, in mid career Stopp'd short, he back recoiled as one surprised: But soon recovering speed he ran, he flew Precipitant, and thus with piteous cries _40 Our ears assailed: 'By heaven's eternal fires, By every god that sits enthroned on high, By this good light, relieve a wretch forlorn, And bear me hence to any distant shore, So I may shun this savage race accursed. 'Tis true I fought among the Greeks that late With sword and fire o'erturned Neptunian Troy And laid the labours of the gods in dust; For which, if so the sad offence deserves, _50 Plunged in the deep, for ever let me lie Whelmed under seas; if death must be my doom, Let man inflict it, and I die well-pleased.' He ended here, and now profuse to tears In suppliant mood fell prostrate at our feet: We bade him speak from whence and what he was, And how by stress of fortune sunk thus low; Anchises too, with friendly aspect mild, Gave him his hand, sure pledge of amity; When, thus encouraged, he began his tale. _60