Next', Anger rushed'; his eyes on fire',
In lightnings owned his secret stings';
In one rude clash he struck the lyre',
And swept, with hurried hand', the strings`.`
With woful measures wan Despair',
Low', sullen sounds his grief beguiled';
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 whispered promised 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 called on echo still', through all the song;
And', where her sweetest theme she chose',

A soft', responsive voice was heard at every close';
And Hope enchanted smiled', and waved her golden hair.
And longer had she sung';-but', with a frown',
Revenge impatient rose':

He threw his blood-stained 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 prophetick 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', unaltered mien',

While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head'.

Thy numbers', Jealousy', to naught were fixed`,

Sad proof of thy distressful state':

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed';

And now it courted Love', now', raving', called on Hate`. With eyes upraised', as one inspired',

Pale Melancholy sat retired`;

And from her wild', sequestered seat',
In notes by distance made more sweet',

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul';

And', dashing soft from rocks around',

Bubbling runnels joined 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', O'! how altered was its sprightlier tone',

When Cheerfulness', a nymph of healthiest hue',
Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew',

Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known.

The oak-crowned sisters', and their chaste-eyed queen',
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen',

Peeping from forth their alleys green':

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear;

And Sport leaped up', and seized his beechen spear'.
Last came Joy's ecstatick trial`:

He', with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed':
But soon he saw the brisk', awakening viol`,

Whose sweet', entrancing voice he loved 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 kissed the strings',
Love framed with Mirth', a gay', fantastick round':
Loose were her tresses seen', her zone unbound';
And he', amidst his frolick play',

As if he would the charming air repay',
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

SECTION XIV

Alexander's Feast; or, The Power of Musick.
AN ODE FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY.—DRyden.
'Twas'. . at the royal feast', for Persia'.. won'
By Philip's warlike son':-

Aloft.. in awful state',

The godlike hero sat'

On his imperial throne'.

His valiant peers' . . were placed around',

Their brows'.. with roses and with myrtles bound':

So should desert in arms be crowned'.

The lovely Thais'. . by his side'

Sat', like a blooming', eastern bride',

In flower of youth and beauty's pride-
Happy', happy, happy' . . pair` !
None but the brave',

None but the brave',

None but'.. the brave', deserve'. . the fair`.
Timo-theus'.. placed on high',

Amid the tuneful choir',

With flying fingers touched the lyre':

The trembling notes'. . ascend the sky',

And heavenly joys inspire'.

The song began from Jove',

Who left his blissful seats above';

(Such is the power of mighty love'!)

A dragon's fiery form'. . belied the god':

Sublime'.. on radiant spheres he rode',

When he to fair Olympia'. . pressed',

And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world' The list'ning crowd' . . admire the lofty sound';

A present deity', they shout around';

A present deity, the vaulted roofs.. rebound'.
With ravished ears' .. the monarch hears`;
Assumes the god'; affects to nod';

And seems to shake the spheres`.

The praise of Bacchus, then', the sweet musician sung`;
Of Bacchus', ever fair'. . and ever young'.

The jolly god in triumph comes'!
Sound the trumpet'; beat the drums";
Flushed with a purple grace',

He shows his honest face';

Now give the hautboys breath-he comes'! he comes!
Bacchus', ever fair and ever 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`.

Soothed 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 ríse`;

His glowing cheeks', his ardent eyes';

And', while he heaven and earth defied',

Changed his hand', and checked his pride'.

He chose a mournful muse',

Soft pity to infuse`:

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

Fallen', fallen, fallen', fallen',
Fallen'. . 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'. . exposed he lies',

With not a friend'. . to close his eyes'.

With downcast look'. . the joyless victor sar,

Revolving in his altered soul',

The various turns of fate below`;

And now and then', a sigh he stole',
And ears'. . 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 soothed his soul to pleasures';
War', he sung', is toil and trouble';
Honour', but an empty bubble'!

Never ending, still beginning';
Fighting still, and still destroying.
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think', O'! 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 crowned'; but musick'.. won the cause'. The prince', unable to conceal his pain',

Gazed on the fair'

Who caused his care';

And sighed', and looked'; sighed', and looked';
Sighed', and looked'; and sighed again':

At length', with love and wine at once oppressed',
The vanquished 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 raised up his head',

As awaked 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', unburied', 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 seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy`.
Thais.. led the way',

To light him to his prey;

And', like another Helen', fired another Troy'.

Thus', long ago',

Ere heaving bellows.. learned to blow',

While organs yet were mute',

Timotheus', with 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 enthusiasts', from her sacred store'

Enlarged 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':

He'.. raised a mortal to the skies';
She'.. drew an angel'. . down.

THE END.

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