Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/383

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STATIUS his THEBAIS.
347
Thy hand slew Python, and the dame who lostHer num'rous off-spring for a fatal boast.In Phlegias' doom thy just revenge appears,Condemn'd to furies and eternal fears;He views his food, but dreads, with lifted eye,The mouldring rock that trembles from on high.Propitious hear our pray'r, O Pow'r divine!And on thy hospitable Argos shine.Whether the style of Titan please thee more,Whose purple rays th' Achæmenes adore;Or great Osyris, who first taught the swainIn Pharian fields to sow the golden grain;Or Mitra, to whose beams the Persian bows,And pays, in hollow rocks, his awful vows,Mitra, whose head the blaze of light adorns,Who grasps the strugling Heifer's lunar horns.

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