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3-4 Fond, impious Man, think'st thou, yon fan.

guine cloud, * Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the Orb of

day? “ Tomorrow he repairs the golden flood, * And warms the nations with rodoubled ray, < Enough for me: With joy I see ." The different dõom our Fates aflign. & Be thine Despair, and scepter'd Care,

“ To triumph, and to die, are mine.” He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's

height Deep in the roaring tide he plung’d to endless

night,

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THE

FATAL SISTERS.

AN OD E.
[From the NORSE-TONGUE,]

IN THE

ORCADES of THORMODUS TORFÆUS; HarniÆ,

1697, Folio: and also in BARTHOLINUS.

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me

ADVERTISE MENT. The Author once had thoughts (in concert

with a Friend) of giving the History of English Poetry : In the Introduction to it, he meant to have produced fome specimens of the Style that reigned in ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or those who had subdued the greater part of this Island, and were our Progenitors : The following three Imitations made a part of them. He has long since dropped his design, especially after he had heard, that it was already in the hands of a Person well qualified to do it justice, both by his taste, and his researches into antiquity.

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