CXXXVII.

And when you hear historians talk of thrones, And those that sate upon them, let it be As we now gaze upon the mammoth's bones, And wonder what old world such things could see, Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian stones, The pleasant riddles of futurity-- Guessing at what shall happily be hid, As the real purpose of a pyramid.

CXXXVIII.

Reader! I have kept my word,--at least so far As the first Canto promised. You have now Had sketches of Love--Tempest--Travel--War,-- All very accurate, you must allow, And _Epic_, if plain truth should prove no bar; For I have drawn much less with a long bow Than my forerunners. Carelessly I sing, But Phoebus lends me now and then a string,