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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;

While each strain'd ball of sight-seem'd bursting from his head.

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 inspir'd,
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 streams, with fond delay,
(Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing)

In hollow murmurs died

away.

But, O, 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-eyed Satyrs and Sylvan boys were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green :

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear;

[Queen,

And Sport leapt 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 Amid 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,)
And he amidst his frolic play,

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

17.-Alexander's Feast; or, the Power of Music. An Ode for St Cecilia's Day.

'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 plac'd around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound:
So should desert in arms be crown'd.

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, deserves the fair.

Timotheus, plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touch'd 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 press'd,

And stamp'dan 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 ravish'd 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 trumpets; 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

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 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 weltering in his blood!
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed,

[slain.

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 smil❜d 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;
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:

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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,

Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care;

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 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 dead,

As awak'd from the dead;

And amaz'd 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 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 learned 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:
He rais'd a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.

་་་་་་་་་་་

18.-Speech of Rolla.

Dryden.

My brave associates-partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame! Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts ? No;-you have judged as I have, the foulness of the

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