Puslapio vaizdai
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But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men !-
Their trampling sounded nearer !

"Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather,
I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father !"

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,-
When-oh! too strong for human hand!-
The tempest gather'd o'er her-

And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing :

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore-
His wrath was chang'd to wailing!

For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover!-

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.

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'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son,

Aloft in awful state,

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The god-like hero sat

On his imperial throne.

His valiant peers were plac'd around,
Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound:
So should desert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thais, by his side,

Sat 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;
And trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.-

The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seat above-
Such is the power of mighty love!—
A dragon's fiery form belied the god :
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,
When he to fair Olympia press'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.

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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!

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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 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!
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 expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes!

With downcast look the joyless victor sat,
Revolving, in his alter'd soul,

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

The mighty master smil'd, 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, rễ mat!
Think, Oh 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, amaz'd, 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!

These are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain,
And unburied 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,

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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,
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!

The Passions.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each-for Madness rul'd the hour-
Would prove his own expressive power. ...

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;

Dryden.

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