Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven. Nor less the alarm that shook the world below, Where march'd in pomp of war the embattled foe: Where manikins with haughty step advance, And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance: To right and left the lengthening lines they form, And rank'd in deep array await the storm. 100 High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen, Of giant stature and imperial mien: Full twenty inches tall, he strode along, And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng; And while with many a scar his visage frown'd, Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight The glorious meed of high heroic might. For with insatiate vengeance he pursued, And never-ending hate, the feathery brood. 110 Unhappy they, confiding in the length Of horny beak, or talon's crooked strength, Who durst abide his rage; the blade descends, And from the panting trunk the pinion rends: Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more, The trunk disfigured stiffens in its gore. What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force! What heaps of chicken carnage mark'd his course! How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along, Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song! 120 And now from far the mingling clamours rise, Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies. From skirt to skirt of Heaven, with stormy sway, A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day. Near and more near descends the dreadful shade, And now in battailous array display'd, On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire, The cranes rush onward, and the fight require. The pigmy warriors eye with fearless glare The host thick swarming o'er the burden'd air; 130 Thick swarming now, but to their native land Doom'd to return a scanty straggling band.-- When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven, Fierce on the expecting foe the cranes are driven, The kindling frenzy every bosom warms, The region echoes to the crash of arms; Loose feathers from the encountering armies fly, And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky. To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane, Then with fresh vigour downwards darts again. 140 Success in equal balance hovering hangs. Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs, The bird transfix'd in bloody vortex whirls, Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls; There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound, With little feet the pigmy beats the ground: Deep from his breast the short, short sob he draws, And, dying, curses the keen-pointed claws. Trembles the thundering field, thick cover'd o'er With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming gore; 150 And pigmy arms, and beaks of ample size, And here a claw, and there a finger, lies. Encompass'd round with heaps of slaughter'd foes, All grim in blood the pigmy champion glows;