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Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,

Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,

Such as the melting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie

The hidden soul of harmony;

That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed

Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free

His half-regain'd Eurydice.

These delights if thou canst give, MIRTH, with thee I mean to live.

XV. ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son~~

Aloft, in awful state,

The god-like hero sat

On his imperial throne.

His valiant peers were plac'd around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtle 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 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 slain!

The master saw the madness rise;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heav'n and earth defied-
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,

Fall'n! fall'n! fall'n! fall'n!
Fall'n from his high estate,
And weltering 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 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, oh, think it worth enjoying!

The many rend the skies with loud applause: So love was crown'd; but music won the cause.

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 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 glitt'ring 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, fired another Troy!

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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!

XVI.-EXTRACTS FROM GRAY'S BARD.

"RUIN seize thee, ruthless' King!
Confusion on thy banners wait!

Though fann'd by conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state!
Helm nor hauberk's twisted mail,

Nor even thy virtues, tyrant! shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!"
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array.

Stout Gloucester stood aghast in speechless trance:
To arms! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance.
On a rock, whose haughty brow

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,

Robed in the sable garb of woe,

With haggard eyes the poet stood;

(Loose his beard and hoary hair

Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air;)

It was a common tradition in Wales, that Edward I. ordered all the Bards to be put to death. On that tradition this Ode is founded.

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