The master saw the madness rise, He sung Darius great and good, With not a friend to close his eyes. -With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his altered soul The various turns of Chance below; And now and then a sigh he stole, The mighty master smiled to see Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying, If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think, it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, ake the good the gods provide thee! The many rend the skies with loud applause; Love was crowned, but Music won the cause. he prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, nd sighed and looked, sighed and looked, ghed and looked, and sighed again: length, with love and wine at once opprest, he vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. Now strike the golden lyre again: louder yet, and yet a louder strain! eak his bands of sleep asunder d rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. ark, hark! the horrid sound As awaked from the dead See the snakes that they rear, d the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand! ose are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain: Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew! old how they toss their torches on high, w they point to the Persian abodes glittering temples of their hostile gods. -The princes applaud with a furious joy: And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way To light him to his prey, And like another Helen, fired another Troy! -Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, While organs yet were mute, And sounding lyre, Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down! John Dryden 177 I PERSONAL TALK AM not One who much or oft delight To season my fireside with personal talk— Better than such discourse doth silence long, life," you say, "YET life," "is life; we have seen and see, And with a living pleasure we describe; Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me! W INGS have we,-and as far as we can go, Dreams, books, are each world; and books, we know, To which I listen with a ready ear; OR can I not believe but that hereby Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought: 178 William Wordsworth OST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes MOST To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveler lies Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of Fancy, or some happy tone |