(So should desert in arms be crowned).
The lovely Thais, by his side,

Sate, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!

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,
And heavenly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above
(Such is the power of mighty love).
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god;
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,
When he to fair Olympia press'd;
And while he sought her snowy breast;

Then round her slender waist he curl'd,

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:

With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

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;
Flush'd with a purple grace,

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.

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again;

And twice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain.
The master saw the madness rise;

His gleaming cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heaven and earth defy'd,
Chang'd his hand and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful muse

Soft pity to infuse:

He sung Darius great and good.
By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,

Fallen from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies
With not a friend to close his eyes.

With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,

Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of chance below;
And now and then a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smiled to see
That love was in the next degree:
"Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.
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 Thais 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 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 head :

As awak'd from the dead;
And, amazed, he stares around,

Revenge, revenge! Timotheus 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 seized 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,

While organs yet were mute;

Timotheus, 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 Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;

He rais'd a mortal to the skies,

She drew an angel down.

SELECTION FROM ELEONORA.

No single virtue we could most commend,
Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend;
For she was all, in that supreme degree,
What as no one prevailed, so all was she.
The several parts lay hidden in the piece;
The occasion but exerted that or this,
A wife as tender, and as true withal,
As the first woman was before her fall:
Made for the man, of whom she was a part:
Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart.
A second Eve, but by no crime accursed;
As beauteous, not as brittle as the first.
Had she been first, still Paradise had been,
And death had found no entrance by her sin.

Yet unemployed no minute slipped away;
Moments were precious in so short a stay.
The haste of Heaven to have her was so great
That some were single acts, though each complete;
But every act stood ready to repeat.

Her fellow-saints with busy care will look

For her blest name in fate's eternal book;

And, pleased to be outdone, with joy will see
Numberless virtues, endless charity:

But more will wonder at so short an age,
To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page:
And with a pious fear begin to doubt
The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out.
But 'twas her Saviour's time; and could there be
A copy near the original, 'twas she.

As precious gums are not for lasting fire,
They but perfume the temple and expire;
So was she soon exhaled, and vanished hence,
A short sweet odour of a vast expense.
She vanished, we can scarcely say she died;
For but a now did heaven and earth divide:

She passed serenely with a single breath;

This moment perfect health, the next was death :
One sigh did her eternal bliss assure;

So little penance needs, where souls are almost pure.

As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue;

Or, one dream passed, we slide into a new;
So close they follow, such wild order keep,

We think ourselves awake, and are asleep: