« AnkstesnisTęsti »
In Argive looms our battles to design,
And woes of which fo large a part was thine!
To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia's fpring.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry, behold the mighty Hector's wife!
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to fee,
Embitters all thy woes, by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and prefent shame,
A thousand griefs thall waken at the name!
May I be cold before that dreadful day,
Press'd with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting Neep,
Shall neither hear thee figh, nor see thee weep.
Thus having fpoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy
Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,
Scar'd at the dazzling helm, and nodding creft.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smil’d,
And Hector hafted to relieve his child,
The glitt'ring terrours from his brows unbound,
And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground.
Then kiss'd the child, and lifting high in air,
Thus to the gods preferred a father's pray'r.
O thou! whose glory fills th' æthereal throne,
And all ye deathlels pow'rs! protect my son!
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
Against his country's foes the war to wage,
And rise the Hector of the future age !
So when triumphant from fuccessful toils.
Of heroes Alain he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hosts may hail him with deferv'd acclaim,
And say, this chief transcends his father's fame :
While pleas'd amidst the gen’ral fhouts of Troy,
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.
He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,
Restor'd the pleasing burthen to her arms;
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,
Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd.
The troubl'd pleasure foon chastis'd by fear,
She minglid with a smile a tender tear.
The foftn'd chief with kind compaflion view'd,
And dry'd the falling drops, and thus pursu'd.
Andromache! my soul's far better part, 1960
With what untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?
No hostile hand can antedate my doom.
Till fate condemns me to the silent tombo
Fix'd is the term of all the race of earth;.
And such the hard condition of our birth,
No force can then resist, no fight can save;
All fink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more - but hasten to thy talks at home,
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom ::
Me glory summons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere for men.
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger as the first in fame.
Thus having laid, the glorious chief resumes-.
His tow'ry helmer, black with thading plumes, in
His princess parts with a prophetic figh,
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye
That stream'd at ev'ry look : then moving flow, .
Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her woe.
There, while her tears deplor'd the godlike mang-
Thro' all her train the soft infection ran,
The pious maids their mingled forrows shed,
And mourn the living Hector, as the dead.
ODE for MUSIC on ST. CECILIA'S DAY
ESCEND, ye nine ! descend and fingi
The breathing instruments inspire,
Wake into voice each filent string,
And sweep, the sounding lyre !.
In a fadly pleasing strain,
Let the warbling lute complain :
Let the loud trumpet found,
'Till the roofs all around
The Thrill echoes rebound :
While in more lengthen'd notes and flowy
The deep, majestic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers, soft and clear,
Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rise,
And fill with spreading sounds the skies ;
Exulting in triumph now (well the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats;
'Till, by degrees, remote and small,
The strains decay,
And melt away,
In a dying, dying fall.
By Music, minds an equal temper know, IA
Nor swell too high, nor fink too low, to od SSS
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft, assuasive voice applies;
Or, when the soul is press'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors she fires with animated sounds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouzes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
Lift'ning envy drop's her snakes;
Intestine war no more our passions wage,
And giddy factions hear away their rage.
But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
How martial music every bofom warms!
So when the first bóld vessel dar'd. the seas, ila
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,
While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main. 1
Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Inflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his sev’nfold fhield display'd, Tot
And half unsheath'd the shining blade :
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound it
To arms, to arms, to arms!
དར་༩, ་ , ༡ But when thro' all th’'infernal bounds, AT Which flaming Phlegeton surrounds,
Love, strong as Death, the Poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What sounds were heard,
What scenes appearld,
O’er all the dreary coasts!
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
But hark! he strikes the golden lyre ; ;o.
And see! the tortur'd ghofts respire,
See, shady forms advance !
Thy stone, O Syfiphus, stands ftin,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,
And the pale spectres dance !
The furies Gink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurl'd hang list’ning round their heads.
By the streams that ever fow, ile
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th Elysian flow'rs;
By those happy souls who dwelli
In yellow meads of Afphodel,
Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
By the hero's armed shades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades ;
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life: 1
Oh take the husband, or return the wife!
He sung, and hell consented
To hear the Poet's prayer :
Stern Proserpine relented,
And gave him back the fair.
Thus sóng could prevailiste
O'er death, and o'er hell,
A conquest how hard, and how glorious !
Tho' fate had faft bound her
With Styx nine times round her, Yet music and love were victorious.
But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes:2019
Again the falls, again she dies, she dies !
How wilt thou now the fatal fisters move!
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains, : birini
Befide the falls of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in Mæanders,
He makes his moan ;
And calls her ghoft, For
15? ever, ever, ever lost?: Now with Furies surrounded, Despairing, confounded, He trembles, he glows,
Amidst Rhodope's snows :
See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he fies;
Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals cries.com
Ah fee, he dies !
Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he fung,
Eurydice still trembled on his tongue,
Eurydice the woods,
Eurydice the floods,
Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains
Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And fate's feverest rage disarm ;
Music can soften pain to ease,
And make despair and madness please :
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the bliss above,
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praise confin'd the found.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th’immortal pow'rs incline their ear :
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire;
And angels lean from heav'n to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater power is giv'n ;
His numbers rais'd a fhade from hell,
Hers lift the soul to heav'n.
ALEXANDER's FEAST; or the POWER of Music;
An Odeon St. Cecilia's Day. [DRYDEN.]
IT WAS at the royal feaft, for Perda won,
By Philips warlike son: