As the heroick poems of Blackmore are now little read, it is thought proper to insert, as a specimen from Prince Arthur, the song of Mopas, mentioned by Molineux. But that which Arthur with most pleasure heard, Were noble strains, by Mopas sung, the bard Who to his harp in lofty verse began, And through the secret maze of nature ran. He the great spirit sung, that all things fill'd, That the tumultuous waves of chaos still'd: Whose nod dispos'd the jarring seeds to peace, And made the wars of hostile atoms cease. All beings we in fruitful nature find, Proceeded from the great eternal mind; Streams of his unexhausted spring of power, And cherish'd with his influence, endure. He spread the pure cerulean fields on high, And arch'd the chambers of the vaulted sky, Which he, to suit their glory with their height, Adorn'd with globes, that reel, as drunk with light. His hand directed all the tuneful spheres, He turn'd their orbs, and polish'd all the stars. He fill'd the sun's vast lamp with golden light, And bid the silver moon adorn the night. He spread the airy ocean without shores, Where birds are wafted with their feather'd oars. Then sung the bard how the light vapours rise From the warm earth, and cloud the smiling skies: He sung how some, chill'd in their airy flight, Fall scatter'd down in pearly dew by night; How some, rais'd higher, sit in secret steams On the reflected points of bounding beams, Till, chill'd with cold, they shade th' ethereal plain, Then on the thirsty earth descend in rain; How some, whose parts a slight contexture show, Sink hov'ring through the air, in fleecy snow; How part is spun in silken threads, and clings Entangled in the grass in gluey strings; How others stamp to stones, with rushing sound Fall from their crystal quarries to the ground; How some are laid in trains, that kindled fly In harmless fires by night, about the sky; How some in winds blow with impetuous force, And carry ruin where they bend their course, While some conspire to form a gentle breeze, To fan the air, and play among the trees; How some, enrag'd, grow turbulent and loud, Pent in the bowels of a frowning cloud, That cracks, as if the axis of the world Was broke, and heav'n's bright tow'rs were downwards hurl'd. He sung how earth's wide ball, at Jove's command, Did in the midst on airy columns stand; And how the soul of plants, in prison held, And bound with sluggish fetters, lies conceal'd, Till with the spring's warm beams, almost releas'd From the dull weight, with which it lay opprest, Its vigour spreads, and makes the teeming earth Heave up, and labour with the sprouting birth: The active spirit freedom seeks in vain, It only works and twists a stronger chain; Urging its prison's sides to break away,