Now sapless, on the verge of death he stands, And, Milo-like, his slacken'd sinews sees, And wither'd arms, once fit to cope with Hercules, Unable now to shake, much less to tear, the trees. All changing species should my song recite, Thus Troy, for ten long years, her foes withstood, ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 1697. 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won, By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate 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, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, plac'd on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The song began from Jove, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sov'reign of the world. A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound: The monarch hears, Assumes the god, And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung; The jolly god in triumph comes; He shows his honest face! Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes. Drinking joys did first ordain; Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Р 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; Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good, And welt'ring in his blood; The various turns of chance below; The mighty master smil'd, to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Never ending, still beginning, Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the skies with loud applause; 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, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 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, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, Inglorious on the plain : Behold how they toss their torches on high, 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, Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. Inventress of the vocal frame; And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Or both divide the crown; EPISTLES. To Sir Robert Howard. As there is music, uninform'd by art, Their even calmness does suppose them deep; |