The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung,
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes:
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums :
Flush'd with a purple grace
He shows his honest face.
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes! he comes!
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did first ordain:
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure;
Rich the treasure, sweet the pleasure,
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Smooth'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;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heaven and earth defied,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful muse soft pity to infuse;
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood:
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed :
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast look the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul
The various turns of fate below;
And now and then, a sigh he stole :
And tears began to flow.
The mighty master smil'd, to see
That love was in the next degree:
'Twas but a kindred sound 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, is 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 who caus'd his care,
And sigh'd and look'd, and 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 louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark, the horrid sound Has rais'd up his head: As awak'd from the dead, And amaz'd, he stares around. "Revenge, revenge"! Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise;
See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in the air,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a gastly band, each a torch in his hand!
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,
And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain :
Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew.
Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glittering temples of their hostile gods,
The princes applaud, with a furious joy;
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, fir'd 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. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds
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 rais'd a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.
2. CHRISTIAN FORBEARANCE.
If joys hereafter must be purchased here
With loss of all that mortals hold so dear,
Then welcome infamy and public shame;
And, last, a long farewell to public fame!
'Tis said with ease; but, oh, how hardly tried
By haughty souls to human honour tied!
O sharp convulsive pangs of agonizing pride!
Down then, thou rebel, never more to rise!
And what thou didst, and dost, so dearly prize,
That fame, that darling fame, make that thy sacrifice.
"Tis nothing thou hast given; then add thy tears
For a long race of unrepenting years;
'Tis nothing yet, yet all thou hast to give:
Then add those may-be years thou hast to live,
Yet nothing still: then poor and naked come,
Thy Father will receive his unthrift home,
And thy blest Saviour's blood discharge the mighty sum.
Two friends or brothers, with devout intent,
On some far pilgrimage together went,
It happen'd so, that when the sun was down,
They just arrived by twilight at a town;
That day had been the baiting of a bull,
'Twas at a feast, and every inn so full
That no void room in chamber, or on ground,
And but one sorry bed was to be found;
And that so little, it would hold but one,
Though till this hour they never lay alone.
So they were forced to part: one stay'd behind,
His fellow sought what lodging he could find.
At last he found a stall where oxen stood,
And that he rather chose than lie abroad.
'Twas in a farther yard without a door:
But for his ease, well litter'd was the floor.
His fellow, who the narrow bed had kept,
Was weary, and without a rocker slept :
Supine he snor'd; but in the dead of night
He dreamt his friend appear'd before his sight,
Who, with a ghastly look and doleful cry,
Said, "Help me, brother, or this night I die:
Arise and help, before all help be vain,
Or in an ox's stall I shall be slain."
Roused from his rest, he waken'd in a start,
Shivering with horror, and with aching heart;
At length to cure himself by reason tries;
'Tis but a dream, and what are dreams but lies ?
So thinking, changed his side, and closed his eyes.
His dream returns: his friend appears again:
"The murderers come; now help, or I am slain."
'Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vain.
He dreamt the third: but now his friend appear'd
Pale, naked, pierced with wounds, with blood besmear'd
"Thrice warn'd, awake," said he, "relief is late,
The deed is done: but thou revenge my
Tardy of aid, unseal thy heavy eyes,
Awake, and with the dawning day arise;
Take to the western gate thy ready way,
For by that passage they my corpse convey:
My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among
The filth and ordure, and enclosed with dung:
That cart arrest, and raise a common cry;
For sacred hunger of my gold I die;"
Then show'd his grisly wound: and last he drew
A pitcous sigh, and took a long adieu.
The frighted friend arose by break of day,
And found the stall where late his fellow lay.
Then of his impious host inquiring more,
Was answer'd that his guest was gone before:
Muttering, "He went," said he, "by morning light,
And much complain'd of his ill rest by night."
This raised suspicion in the pilgrim's mind,
Because all hosts are of an evil kind,
And oft to share the spoils with robbers join'd.
His dream confirm'd his thought; with troubled look,
Straight to the western gate his way he took:
There, as his dream foretold, a cart he found,
That carried compost forth to dung the ground.
This when the pilgrim saw, he stretch'd his throat,
And cried out " Murder!" with a yelling note.
"My murder'd fellow in this cart lies dead,
Vengeance and justice on the villain's head
Ye magistrates, who sacred law dispense,
On
you I call to punish this offence."
The word thus given, within a little space,
The mob came roaring out, and throng'd the place.
All in a trice they cast the cart to ground,
And in the dung the murder'd body found:
Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the wound.
Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find
Is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind,
Abhors the cruel: and the deeds of night
By wondrous ways reveals in open light;
Murder may pass unpunish'd for a time,
But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime.
And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels;
The hue and cry of heaven pursues him at the heels,
Fresh from the fact, as in the present case,
The criminals are seized upon the place;
Carter and host confronted face to face.
Stiff in denial, as the law appoints,
On engines they distend their tortured joints;
So was confession forced, the offence was known,
And public justice on the offenders done.
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