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Yet even in death Eurydice he sung,
Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.
Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And make despair and madness please :
And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound,
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won
By Philip's warlike son:
Aloft in awful state
The god-like hero sate
On his imperial throne;
His valiant peers were plac'd around; Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound: So should desert in arms be crown'd.
The lovely Thais by his side.
Sat, like a blooming eastern bride,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the fair.
Timotheus plae'd on high
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre,
The song began from Jove;
When he to fair Olympia press'd,
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sov'reign of the world The list'ning crowd admire the lofty sound;
A present deity, they shout around,
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound :
With ravish'd ears
Assumes the ged,
And seems to shake the spheres.
The praise of Bacchus then, the sweet musician sung;
He shews 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.
Sooth'd 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
The master saw the madness rise ;
Soft pity to infuse:.
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
Deserted at his utmost need,
With downcast look the joyless victor fate,
The various turns of fate below;
The mighty master smil'd, to see
Softly sweet in Lydian measures,
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying:
Take the good the gods provide thee.
Who caus'd his care,
And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again; At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.
Now strike the golden lyre again;
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, Hark, the horrid sound
As awak'd from the dead,
And amaz'd, he stares around.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the snakes that they rear,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Each a torch in his hand,
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.
Behold how they toss their torches on high,
And the King seiz'd 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 learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute;
Timotheus to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire,
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.