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« Ah Losell vile!” at once they roar; ~ And little skill'd of fairie lore,
Thy cause to come, we know: Now has thy kestrell courage fell; And fairies, since a lye you tell,
Are free to work thee woe."
Then Will, who bears the wispy fire
To trail the swains among the mire,
The captive upward flung;
There like a tortoise in a shop
He dangled from the chamber-top,
Where whilome Edwin hung.
The revel now proceeds apace,
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,
They sit, they drink, and eat;
The time with frolic mirth beguile,
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while
'Till all the rout retreat.
By this the stars began to wink,
They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,
And down ydrops the knight;
For never spell by fairie laid
With strong enchantment bound a glade
Beyond the length of night.
Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
'Till up the welkin rose the day,
Then deem'd the dole was o'er:
But wot ye well his harder lot?
His seely back the bunch had got
Which Edwin lost afore.
This tale a Sybil-nurse ared;
She softly stroak’d my youngling head,
And when the tale was done, “ Thus some are born, my son," she cries, With base impediments to rise,
And some are born with none.
“ But virtue can itself advance
To what the fav'rite fools of chance
By fortune seem'd design’d:
Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
And from itself shake off the weight
Upon th’ unworthy mind."
'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 Thaïs by his side
Sat, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride,
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserve the fair.
Timotheus plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heav'nly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove;
Who left his blissful seats above,
Such is the pow'r of mighty love!
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god :
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,
When he to fair Olympia pressid,
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the
The list’ning crowd admire the lofty sound;
A present deity, they shout around:
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravish'd cars
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,
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;
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.
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 slow
the slain. -
The master saw the madness rise;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And while lie heaven and earth defy'd,
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,
Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall’n 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.