Pizarro, the Spanish invaders, thus express their delight at the beauty of this new country on whose shores they have landed : : [Enter Cortez and Pizarro, with their company.] Cortez. On what new happy climate are we thrown, So long kept secret and so lately known? As if our old world modestly withdrew, And here in private had brought forth a new. Pizarro. Corn, oil, and wine, are wanting to this ground, As if this infant world, yet unarrayed, Naked and bare in Nature's lap were laid. But all untaught and savage doth appear. Cortez. Wild and untaught are terms which we alone Pizarro. In Spain, our springs, like old men's children, be No kindly showers fall on our barren earth Our summer such a russet livery wears As in a garment often dyed appears. Cortez. Here Nature spreads her fruitful sweetness round, Breathes on the air, and broods upon the ground; Here nights and days the only seasons be. The sun no climate does so gladly see; When forced from hence to view our parts, he mourns, And thus the scene continues in praise of this new fairyland of America, which they are soon to stain with the blood of their conquered victims. I think, even from this little extract, you will decide that tragedy does not move well to alternate rhymes, and that all its grandeur departs when it is set to a see-saw measure. As a better specimen of his rhymes, I shall quote Alexander's Feast, which is thought one of the best things he ever wrote. Dryden said himself that it was "the best ode ever written in English." It was composed for a musical festival held in honor of Saint Cecilia. It is called ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 'T was at the royal feast for Persia won Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne: His valiant peers were placed around, The lovely Thaïs by his side Sate like a blooming Eastern bride, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, placed on high With flying fingers touched the lyre; 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, And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young. The jolly god in triumph comes; He shows his honest face. Now give the hautboys breath; he comes! he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain; 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. His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse; He sung Darius great and good, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, The various turns of chance below; The mighty master smiled to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Take the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the skies with loud applause; |