Thomson exclaimed when he heard of the work of Glover, 'He
write an epic, who never saw a mountain!' And there was justice in the
remark. The success of 'Leonidas' was probably one cause of the swarm of
epics which appeared in the close of the eighteenth and the beginning of
the nineteenth century.--Cottle himself being, according to De Quincey,
'the author of four epic poems, _and_ a new kind of blacking.' Their day
seems now for ever at an end.
FROM BOOK XII
Song of the Priestess of the Muses to the chosen band after their
return from the inroad into the Persian camp, on the night before
the Battle of Thermopylae.
Back to the pass in gentle march he leads
The embattled warriors. They, behind the shrubs,
Where Medon sent such numbers to the shades,
In ambush lie. The tempest is o'erblown.
Soft breezes only from the Malian wave
O'er each grim face, besmeared with smoke and gore,
Their cool refreshment breathe. The healing gale,
A crystal rill near Oeta's verdant feet,
Dispel the languor from their harassed nerves,
Fresh braced by strength returning. O'er their heads
Lo! in full blaze of majesty appears
Melissa, bearing in her hand divine
The eternal guardian of illustrious deeds,
The sweet Phoebean lyre. Her graceful train
Of white-robed virgins, seated on a range
Half down the cliff, o'ershadowing the Greeks,
All with concordant strings, and accents clear,
A torrent pour of melody, and swell
A high, triumphal, solemn dirge of praise,
Anticipating fame.
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