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 Thaïs sits beside thee.

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 vainquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

Chorus: The prince, etc.

Thimothée a monté sa lyre
Sur un ton plus voluptueux;
Rempli d'un amoureux délire

Il chante les amans heureux :
Qu'est-ce, disait-il, que la guerre?
Une brillante et cruelle chimère,
Du bruit, du trouble, du fracas;
Des combats, toujours des combats!
En vain la conquête du monde
Flatte ton cœur ambitieux;
Prince, dans une paix profonde,
Goûte un bien plus délicieux.
Thaïs, le plus parfait ouvrage
Des grâces et de la beauté,
Dans ses yeux porte le présage
De la plus douce volupté.

Il se tait; mille mains aussitôt applaudissent;
De mille cris les voûtes retentissent;
Mais si l'amour obtient le prix,

La gloire en est due au poëte;

Alexandre s'émeut,

dans ses yeux attendris

Son amante a lu sa défaite.

Il regarde, il soupire, et l'amour et le vin

Tout l'agite, sa voix s'altère,

il tombe à ses genoux, dans ses bras, sur son sein, Et Thaïs a vaincu le vainqueur de la terre.

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 awake from the dead,

And amaz'd he stares around.

Revenge, revenge! Thimotheus 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!

Those are grecian ghosts that in battle were slain,

And unbury'd 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. Thaïs led the way

To light him to his prey,

Mais sur un ton plus haut et qui s'élève encor,

Le luth prend un nouvel essor;

Il gronde à l'égal du tonnerre, Et, des liens d'un doux repos, La lyre foudroyante arrache le héros. Il semble, du sein de la terre, S'élancer furieux;

L'éclair sort de ses yeux.

Vengeance, s'écriait Thimothée, Euménides

Paraissez! sur leurs fronts livides,
Voyez-vous s'agiter ces horribles serpens?
Entendez-vous leurs sifflemens?

Voyez-vous ces mânes sanglans
Armés de flammes dévorantes
Brandir leurs torches flamboyantes?
Reconnaissez les Grecs qui suivirent vos pas,
Ils ont péri dans les combats,

Des vautours ils sont la pâture.

Courez, volez, ne leur devez-vous pas
La vengeance et la sépulture?

Leurs torches, dans les airs, signalent à vos yeux
La Perse, ses palais, ses temples et ses dieux.
Les guerriers ont frémi d'une barbare joie,
Alexandre croit voir sa proie,

Il saisit un flambeau; Thaïs, plus prompte encor,
Thaïs l'éclaire, et, dans son yain transport,

And like another Helen fir'd another Troy.

Chorus: And the king seiz'd, etc.

Thus, long ago,

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute,
Thimotheus 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 Thimotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown:

He rais'd a mortal to the skies

She drew an angel down.

Great chorus: At last, etc.

HUMAN LIFE.

WHEN I consider life, 'tis all a cheat,
Yet, fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit;