JOHN DRYDEN. ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. Timotheus placed on high, Amid the tuneful choir, With flying fingers touched the lyre: The song began from Jove, And while he sought her snowy breast: Then round her slender waist he curled, And stamped 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. The monarch hears, Affects to nod, CHORUS. With ravished ears And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, The jolly god in triumph comes; He shows his honest face; Now give the hautboys breath. He comes! he comes! Drinking joys did first ordain; Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. CHORUS. Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. 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; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And, while he heaven and earth defied, Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius, great and good; By too severe a fate, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, And weltering in his blood; With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, The various turns of chance below; CHORUS. Revolving in his altered soul The various turns of chance below; The mighty master smiled, to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Take the good the gods provide thee. Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, Behold how they toss their torches on high, And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fired another Troy! CHORUS, 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 Troy! Thus long ago, Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 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, 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 raised a mortal to the skies; GRAND CHORUS. At last divine Cecilia came, The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 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 raised a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down. |