Sound the trumpet; beat the drums;
Flush'd with a purple grace,

He shows his honest face:

Now give the hautboys breath-He comes! he comes!
Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain;

Bacchus blessings are a treasure;

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
Rich the treasure;

Sweet the pleasure;

Sweet is pleasure, after pain.

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain

Fought all his battles o'er again;

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
The master saw the madness rise;

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And while he heaven and earth defy'd,
Chang'd his hand and check'd his pride
He cho-e a mournful muse,

Soft pity to infuse:

He sung Darius, great and good,
By too severe a fate,

Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood:
Deserted at his utmost need
By those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,

With not a friend to close his eyes

With downcast look the joyless victor sat, Revolving, in his alter'd soul,

The various turns of fate below;
And now and then, a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smiled to see,
That love was in the next degree:
'Twas but a kindred sound to move;

For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honor but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying.
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, oh, think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais sits beside thee:

Take the good the gods provide thee;
The many rend the skies with loud applause;
So love was crown'd, but music won the cause.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair,

Who caus'd his care;

And sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd and looked;
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again :

At length with love and wine at once oppress'd,
The vanquish'd victor-sunk upon her breast.
Now, strike the golden lyre again;

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain;
Break his bands of sleep asunder,

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark! hark!-the horrid sound

Has rais'd up his head,

As awaken'd from the dead;
And, amazed, he stares around.
Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries→→→
See the furies arise!

See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,
And unbury'd, remain
Inglorious on the plain.

Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.

Behold! how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes,

And glittering temples of their hostile gods!

The princes applaud, with a furious joy;

And the king seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to destroy:
Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey;

And, like another Helen-fir'd another Troy.

Thus, long ago,

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute;

Timotheus, to his breathing flute

And sounding lyre,

Could swell the soul to rage-or kindle soft desire.
At last, divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame.

The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,

With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown:

VIII.

Ah! few shall part where many meet,
The snow shall be their winding sheet
And every turf beneath their feet,
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

WHEN Music, heavenly maid! was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell;
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refined:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart,
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each, for madness rul'd the hour,
Would prove his own expressive power.
First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made.
Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own'd his secret stings,
With one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
With woful measures. wan Despair-
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguil'd:
A solemn, strange, and mingled air:
"Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.
But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail.
Still would her touch the strain prolong:

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Echo still through all her song:
And where her sweetest theme she chose,

CAMPBELL,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;
And Hope, enchanted, smil'd and waved her golder. hatr
And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose.

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo;
And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat:

And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,

[head.

While each strain'd ball of sight-seemed bursting from his

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;

Sad proof of thy distressful state;

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd:

And, now it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate.

With eyes uprais'd, as one inspired,

Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;

And, from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes, by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul,
And, dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling, runnels join'd the sound:

Through glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole,
Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay,
Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs died away.

But, Oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known;
The oak crown'd Sisters, and their chaste ey'd Queen,
Satyrs and sylvan Boys were seen,

Peeping forth from alleys green;

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;

And Sport leap'd up and seiz'd his beechen spear.
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial,

He with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd-
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol;
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing:
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,

Love fram❜d with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,