Imatges de pÓgina
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But when through all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegethon furrounds,

Love, ftrong as Death, the poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What founds were heard,
What scenes appear'd

O'er all the dreary coafts?

Dreadful gleams,

Difmal screams,

Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts;
But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And fee! the tortur'd ghosts refpire,
See, fhady forms advance!
Thy ftone, O Sifyphus, ftands ftill,
Ixion refts upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!

The furies fink upon their Iron beds,

And fnakes uncurl'd hang lift'ning round their heads.
By the ftreams that ever flow,

By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er th' Elyfian flow'rs;
By thofe happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Asphodel,
Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
By the heroes' armed fhades,
Glitt'ring through the gloomy glades;
By the youths that died for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,

Reftore, reftore Eurydice to life:
O take the Hufband, or return the Wife!

He

He fung, and Hell confented

To hear the Poet's Prayer:
Stern Proferpine relented,

And gave

him back the fair:

Thus fong could prevail

O'er Death and o'er Hell,

A conqueft how hard, and how glorious!
Though fate had faft bound her,

With Styx nine times round her,

Yet Mufic and Love were victorious.

But foon, too foon, the lover turns his eyes:
Again fhe falls-again fhe dies-she dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal fifters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,

Befide the falls of fountains,

Or where Hebrus wanders,

Rolling in meanders,

All alone,
Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever loft!
Now with Furies furrounded,
Defpairing, confounded,

He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's fnows:

See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies;

Hark! Hamus refounds with the Bacchanal's cries

Yet even in death Eurydice he fung,

Eurydice ftill trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,

Ah fee, he dies!

Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.

S 2

Mufic

Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,

And fate's feverest rage difarm;

Mufic can foften pain to ease,

And make defpair and madnefs pleafe;
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the blifs above.

This the divine Cecilia found,

And to her Maker's praife confin'd the found,
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal powers incline their ear:
Borne on the fwelling notes our fouis afpire,
While folemn airs improve the facred fire;
And angels lean from Heav'n to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv❜n;
His numbers rais'd a fhade from Hell,
Her's lift the foul to Heav'n.

CHAP. XXXIII.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

'Twas at the royal feast, for Perfia won

By Philip's warlike fon:

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero fate

On his imperial Throne :

His valiant Peers were plac'd around;

Their brows with rofes and with myrtle bound:

So fhould defert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thäis by his fide

Sat, like a blooming eaftern bride,

In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair;

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deferves the fair.

Pore.

Timotheu

Timotheus, plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes afcend the sky,
And heav'nly joys inspire.

The fong began from Jove,

Who left his blissful feats above,
Such is the pow'r of mighty love!
A dragon's fiery form belied the god :
Sublime on radiant fpheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia prefs'd,

And ftamp'd an image of himself, a fov'reign of the worldThe lift'ning crowd admire the lofty found:

A prefent deity they fhout around,

A prefent deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears,
Affumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praife of Bacchus then the sweet musician fung,
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 fhows his honeft face.

Now give the hautboys breath; he comes! he comes!

Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did firft ordain:

Bacchus' bleffings are a treasure,
Drinking is the foldier's pleasure :

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure ;

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

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Sooth'd with the found, the king grew vain: Fought all his battles o'er again:

And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he flew the flain.
The mafter faw the madness rife;

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he Heav'n and earth defied,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chofe a mournful mufe

Soft pity to infufe:

He fung Darius great and good,
By too fevere a fate,

Fallin, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high eftate,
And welt'ring in his blood:
Deferted at his utmost need
By thofe his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcaft look the joyless victor fate,
Revolving in his alter'd foul

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

The mighty mafter fail'd to fee
That love was in the next degree:
'Twas but a kindred found to move;
For pity melts the mind to love,
Softly fweet in Lydian measures,
Soon he footh'd his foul to pleasures.
War he fung is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble;

Never ending, ftill beginning,.
Fighting ftill and ftill deftroying:
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying!

Lovely

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