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With down-cast looks the joyless vi&or sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul
The various turns of chance below;
And, now and then, a sigh he fole;
And tears began to flow.
The mighty master smild, to see
That love was in the next degree ;
'Twas but a kindred found 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, its toil and trouble ;
Honour but an empty bubble ;
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying :
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O 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,
That caus'd his care,
And ligh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and figh'd again;
At length with love and wine at once oppressid,
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 Deep afunder,
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thundet.
Hark, hark, the horrid found
Has rais'd up his head ;
As awak'd from the dead,
And amaz’d he ftares 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 ghaftly band,
Each a torch in his hand !
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were Nain,
And unbury'd remain
Inglorious on the plain :
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.
Behold how they tofs their torches on high,
How they point to their Persian abodes,
And glittering temples of their hoitile gods !
The Princes appland, with a furious joy :
And the King teiz'd a fanbcau, 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 vellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute;
Timotheus, to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre,
Coald (well the soul to rage, or kindle soft efire
At last divine Cecilia camé,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to folemn sounds,
Tith 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.
Ye Nymphs of Solyma! begin the song!
To heav'nly themes fublimer strains belong.
The mosfy fountains, and the sylvan fhades,
The dreams of Pindus, and th’ Aonian maids,
·Delight no more.- Thou, my voice inspire,
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!
Rapt into future times, the bard begun:
A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies ;
Th' Æthereal Spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic Dove.
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No figh, no murmur the wide world shall hear ;
From ev'ry face He wipes off ev'ry tear..
In adamantine chains shall Death be bound,
And Hell's grim Tyrant feel th' eternal wound,
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pafture, and the purest air,
Explores the loft, the wandring sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects;
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms;
Thus shall mankind His guardian care engage,
The promis’d Father of a future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er,
The brazen trumpet kindle rage no more ;
But useless lances into fithes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.
Then palaces shall rise; the joyful fon
Shall finish what his short-liv'd fire begun;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same hand that sow'd, hall reap the field,
The swain in barren deserts with surprise
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise ;
And starts, amidit the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murrnur in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragons' late abodes,
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods;
Walte sandy vallieś, once perplex'd with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn ;
To leafless shrubs the flow'ring palms succeed,
And od'rous myrtle to the noisome weed.