But still as wilder blew the wind, "Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, But not an angry father !" The boat has left a stormy land, And still they row'd amidst the roar Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore- For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, One lovely arm she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover. "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!-Oh! my daughter !" 'Twas vain!-the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing: The waters wild went o'er his child And he was left lamenting. 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son, Aloft in awful state, Campbell. The god-like hero sat On his imperial throne. His valiant peers were plac'd around, 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 song began from Jove, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world! The listening crowd admire the lofty sound: "A present deity!" they shout around; "A present deity !" the vaulted roofs rebound- Assumes the god, 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! 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! I Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain ; 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 heaven and earth defiedChang'd his hand and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful muse, Soft pity to infuse: He sang Darius great and good! Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! With downcast look the joyless victor sat, The various turns of fate below; The mighty master smil'd, to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, If the world be worth thy winning, rễ mat! Take the good the gods provide thee! Gaz'd on the fair Who caus'd his care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Now strike the golden lyre again! And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder! Has rais'd up his head, As awak'd from the dead; See the furies arise! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! These are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain, 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; 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. The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 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! The Passions. When Music, heavenly maid, was young, First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, Dryden. |