(So should desert in arms be crowned). Sate, 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: 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, 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. 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. His gleaming cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good. Fallen from his high estate, With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of chance below; The mighty master smiled to see Fighting still, and still destroying: 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, Who caus'd his care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, At length, with love and wine at once oppress'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; Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries; 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! Those are Grecian ghosts that in battle were, slain, 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. 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. SELECTION FROM ELEONORA. No single virtue we could most commend, Yet unemployed no minute slipped away; 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 But more will wonder at so short an age, As precious gums are not for lasting fire, She passed serenely with a single breath; This moment perfect health, the next was death : 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; We think ourselves awake, and are asleep: |