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And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since,

He lurched all swords o' the garland. For this last,
Before and in Corioli, let me say,

I cannot speak him home: he stopped the fliers;
And, by his rare example, made the coward
Turn terror into sport. As weeds before
A vessel under sail, so men obeyed,

And fell below his stem. Alone he entered
The mortal gate of the city; aidless came off,
And with a sudden re-enforcement, struck
Corioli like a planet: and till we called
Both field and city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.

SHAKSPEARE.

14.-EVE'S ADDRESS TO ADAM AFTER DREAMING THAT SHE HAD TASTED OF THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE.

O SOLE in whom my thoughts find all repose,
My glory, my perfection! glad I see
Thy face, and morn returned; for I this night
(Such night till this I never passed) have dreamed,
If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee,
Works of day past, or morrow's next design;
But of offence and trouble, which my mind
Knew never till this irksome night. Methought
Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk
With gentle voice; I thought it thine: it said,
Why sleep'st thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time,
The cool, the silent, save where silence yields
To the night-warbling bird, that now awake
Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song: now reigns
Full-orbed the moon, and with more pleasing light
Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain,
If none regard: heaven wakes with all his eyes;
Whom to behold but thee, nature's desire?
In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment,
Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze.

I rose, as at thy call, but found thee not:
To find thee I directed then my walk;

And on, methought, alone I passed through ways
That brought me on a sudden to the tree
Of interdicted knowledge: fair it seemed,
Much fairer to my fancy than by day:

And, as I wondering looked, beside it stood

One shaped and winged like one of those from heaven
By us oft seen: his dewy locks distilled

Ambrosia on that tree he also gazed:

And, O fair plant, said he, with fruit surcharged,
Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet,
Nor God, nor man? Is knowledge so despised?
Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste?
Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold
Longer thy offered good: why else set here?
This said, he paused not, but with venturous arm
He plucked, he tasted: me damp horror chilled
At such bold words, vouched with a deed so bold:
But he thus, overjoyed: O fruit divine,
Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt!
Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve!

Partake thou also happy though thou art,
Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be:
So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held,
Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part
Which he had plucked: the pleasant savoury sme
So quickened appetite, that I, methought,
Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds
With him I flew, and underneath beheld
The earth outstretched immense, a prospect wide,
And various wondering at my flight and change
To this high exaltation; suddenly

My guide was gone; and I, methought, sunk down,
And fell asleep but O, how glad I waked

:

To find this but a dream!

MILTON.

15. THE PASSIONS, AN ODE.

WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thronged around her magic cell,

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once, 't is said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness ruled the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power.

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewildered laid:
And back recoiled, he knew not why,
Even at the sound himself had made.
Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire;
In lightnings owned his secret stings.
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hands the strings.

With woful measures, wan Despair

Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled';
A solemn, strange, and mingled air:
'Twas sad, by fits-by starts, 't was wild.

But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whispered promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail.
Still would her touch the strain prolong;

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She called on Echo still through all her song:
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair:

And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rose.

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down;
And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast, so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo:
And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat.

And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien ;

While each strained ball of sight-seemed bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed;

Sad proof of thy distressful state.

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed:

And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, called on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,

Pale Melancholy sat retired;

And, from her wild sequestered seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul:

And, dashing soft, from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels joined the sound.

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,
(Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing),

In hollow murmurs died away.

But, O, how altered was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known;

The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen

Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green :

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear,

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear.

Last, came Joy's ecstatic trial.

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amid the festal-sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing;

While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings,
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round,

(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound),
And he amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,

Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

COLLINS.

16.-ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. AN ODE FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY.

"TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won

By Philip's warlike son.—

Aloft, in awful state,

The godlike hero sat

On his imperial throne.

His valiant peers were placed around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound;
So should desert in arms be crowned.

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, placed on high

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touched 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.

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