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TRANSLATIONS.
Let me then refrain, and dread:A curse hangs over the blasphemer's head.If they, who supervise and wardThe heavens, did ever shew regardTo mortal man this Tantalus might boast, 95Of mortal men that he was honoured most:But he not able to digestThe glut, the surfeit, of immortal joys,One heinous forfeit all his bliss destroys:For over him the godhead hung, in air, 100A ponderous stone, a dreadful poise of care!From his head to remove it, with terrour oppress'd,In vain he tries, and seeks in vainOne cheerful moment to regain:
STROPHE III.Measures 18.
A life of woe, beyond relief, 105His portion' now; ordain'd beforeTo torments of a three-fold grief,This fourth was added to compleat his store,Since, high, presuming in his soul,He nectar and ambrosia stole, 110To give to men; by which he knewThat, tasting, he immortal grew:

But

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