Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast! For which he paid full dear; Whereat his horse did snort, as he Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig: He lost them sooner than at first; For why?-they were too big. Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away, She pulled out half-a-crown; And thus unto the youth she said, That drove them to the Bell: This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well.' The youth did ride, and soon did meet . John coming back amain! Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein; But, not performing what he meant, Away went Gilpin, and away Went post-boy at his heels, The post-boy's horse right glad to miss Six gentlemen upon the road With post-boy scampering in the rear, "Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman! And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space; The tollmen thinking as before, That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town; Nor stopped till where he had got up He did again get down. Now let us sing, long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he; And when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see! ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won Aloft in awful state On his imperial throne: His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound; (So should desert in arms be crown'd.) The lovely Thais, by his side, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful choir, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The song began from Jove, When he to fair Olympia pressed: 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. Soothed 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; He chose a mournful muse Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius, great and good; By too severe a fate, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, And welt'ring in his blood; With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, The various turns of chance below; The mighty master smiled, to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Never ending, still beginning, If the world be worth thy winning, Take the good the gods provide thee. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Who caused 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. Hark, hark! the horrid sound Has raised up his head: Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries, See the furies arise! See the snakes that they rear, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! Those 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, 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, fired another Trcy: The tuneful voice was heard from high, Then cold, and hot, and moist and dry, From harmony, from heavenly harmony, What passion cannot music raise and quell! Less than a god they thought there could not dwel That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot music raise and quell! The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger, And mortal alarms. The double, double, double beat Cries, Hark! the foes come; Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat. The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, "Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, It would not stain the purest rill, That sparkles among the bowers of bliss! From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!" "Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave Who die thus for their native land. But see-alas!-the crystal bar 1 Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who conquered India in the beginning of the eleventh century. "It is reported that the hunting equipage of the Sultan Mah. mound was so magnificent, that he kept 400 greyhounds and bloodhounds each of which wore a collar set with jewels. Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, Now among Afric's Lunar Mountains, Far to the south, the Peri lighted; And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains Of that Egyptian tide, whose birth Is hidden from the sons of earth, Deep in those solitary woods, Where oft the Genii of the Floods Dance round the cradle of their Nile, And hail the new-born Giant's smile! Thence, over Egypt's palmy groves, Her grots, and sepulchres of kings, The exiled Spirit sighing roves; And now hangs listening to the doves In warm Rosetta's vale!--now loves To watch the moonlight on the wings Of the white pelicans that break The azure calm of Moris' Lake.3 'Twas a fair scene-a land more bright Never did mortal eye behold! Who could have thought, that saw this night Bathing their beauties in the lake, Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem The relics of a splendid dream; Amid whose fairy loneliness Naught but the lapwing's cry is heard, Naught seen but (when the shadows, flitting Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam) Some purple-wing'd sultana sitting Upon a column, motionless And glittering, like an idol bird!— Who could have thought, that there, e'en there, Amid those scenes so still and fair, Of human shape, touch'd by his wing, "The Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Lunæ of antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to rise." 2"The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtle-doves." 3 Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake Maris. A rare and beautiful bird. |