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; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd: With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd, And, from her wild sequester'd seat, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Love of peace and lonely musing) In hollow murmurs died away. But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! 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; As if he would the charming air repay, 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: 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 choir, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, The song began from Jove, When he to fair Olympia press'd, And stamp'dan image of himself, a sovereign of the world. A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound.- The monarch hears; And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung: 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; 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, Soft pity to infuse. He sung Darius, great and good, By too severe a fate, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, [slain. On the bare earth expos'd he lies, With downcast look the joyless victor sat, The various turns of fate below; The mighty master smil❜d to see 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 snakes that they rear, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!- 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 Behold how they toss their torches on high, 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. Inventress of the vocal frame. With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Or both divide the crown: ་་་་་་་་་་་ 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 |