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ALEXANDER’S FEAST.

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The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above,
(Such is the power of mighty Love).
A dragon's fiery form belied the god;
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,

When he to fair Olympia pressed,

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.

With ravished ears
The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the spheres.

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,
Changed his hand, and checked 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 weltering in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed ;
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his altered soul

The various turns of chance below;
And, now and then, a sigh he stole;

And tears began to flow.

CHORUS.

With ravished ears
The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres.

CHORUS

Revolving in his altered soul

The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole ;

And tears began to flow.

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!

Flushed 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.

The mighty master smiled, 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 soothed his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; Honor but an empty bubble —

Never ending, still beginning – Fighting still, and still destroying;

If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying !

Lovely Thais sits beside thee

Take the goods the gods provide thee. The many rend the sky with loud applause ; So love was crowned, but music won the

CHORUS

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; Drinking is the soldier's pleasure :

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure ;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

cause.

CHORUS

The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,

Sighed and looked, and sighed again.
At length, with love and wine at once op-

pressed, The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

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.

CHORUS.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,

Sighed and looked, and sighed again.
At length, with love and wine at once oppressed,
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

Thus, long ago
Ere heaving bellows learned 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,

Enlarged the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown be-

fore.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;
He raised a mortal to the skies,

She drew an angel down.

GRAND CHORUS.

Now strike the golden lyre again –
A 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 raised up his head !

As awaked from the dead,

And amazed, he stares around.
Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries;

See the Furies arise !
See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in their hair,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes !

Behold a ghastly 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 seized a flambeau with zeal to
destroy :

Thais led the way

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.

At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame ;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarged 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 raised a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.

JOHN DRYDEN.

Those Evening Bells.

Those evening bells! those evening bells !
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are passed away; And many a heart that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells.

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Come nearer, bodiless one; haply, in thee resounds
Some dead composer, haply thy pensive life
Was filled with aspirations high, unformed ideals,
Waves, oceans musical, chastically surging,
That now, ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy

cornet echoing, pealing, Gives out to no one's ears but mine, but freely

gives to mine, That I may thee translate.

WHEN whispering strains with creeping wind

Distil soft passions through the heart ;
And when at every touch we find
Our pulses beat and bear a part;

When threads can make
A heartstring ache,
Philosophy

Can scarce deny
Our souls are made of harmony.
When unto heavenly joys we faine

Whate'er the soul affecteth most,
Which only thus we can explain
By music of the heavenly host,

Whose lays, we think,
Make stars to wink;
Philosophy

Can scarce deny
Our souls consist of harmony.
Oh, lull me, lull me, charming air!

My senses rock with wonder sweet!
Like snow on wool thy fallings are;

Soft like a spirit's are thy feet !

Blow, trumpeter, free and clear; I follow thee,
While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene,
The fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of

day, withdraw; A holy calm descends, like dew, upon me, I walk in cool refreshing night, the walks of Para

dise, I scent the grass, the moist air, and the roses; Thy song expands my numbed, imbonded spirit;

thou freest, launchest me, Floating and basking upon heaven's lake.

Blow again, trumpeter! and, for my sensuous eyes, Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world.

What charm thy music works! thou makest pass

before me Ladies and cavaliers long dead; barons are in their

castle halls; the troubadours are singing ;

me!

Armed knights go forth to redress wrongs, some in The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder; I quest of the Holy Graal :

hear the cries for help! I see the tournament, I see the contestants, encased I see ships foundering at sea; I behold on deck,

in heavy armor, seated on stately, champing and below deck, the terrible tableaux.

horses; I hear the shouts, the sounds of blows and smiting o trumpeter! methinks I am myself the instrusteel :

ment thou playest ! I see the crusaders' tumultuous armies. Hark! Thou melt'st my heart, my brain; thou movest, how the cymbals clang!

drawest, changest them, at will : Lo! where the monks walk in advance, bearing the And now thy sullen notes send darknessthrough me; cross on high!

Thou takest away all cheering light, all hope:

I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the Blow again, trumpeter! and for thy theme

opprest of the whole earth; Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my and the setting;

race, it becomes all mine; Love, that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the Mine too the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of pang;

ages, baffled feuds and hatreds; The heart of man and woman all for love;

Utter defeat upon me weighs: all lost! the foe vicNo other theme but love, knitting, enclosing, all

torious ! diffusing love!

Yet ʼmid the ruins Pride colossal stands, unshaken

to the last ;
Oh, how the immortal phantoms crowd around Endurance, resolution, to the last.
I see the vast alembic ever working, I see and
know the flames that heat the world ;

Now, trumpeter, for thy close,
The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lov- Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet;

Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and ers, So blissful happy some, and some so silent, dark,

hope : and nigh to death;

Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of Love, that is all the earth to lovers; Love that

the future; mocks time and space;

Give me, for once, its prophecy and joy. Love, that is day and night; Love, that is sun and moon and stars;

O glad, exulting, culminating song! Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with per- A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes ! fume;

Marches of victory, man disenthralled, the conNo other words, but words of love; no other thought but Love.

Hymns to the universal God, from universal Man,

all joy! Blow again, trumpeter! conjure war's wild alar- A re-born race appears, a perfect world, all joy!

Women and men in wisdom, innocence, and health, Swift to thy spell , a shuddering hum like distant

all joy! thunder rolls;

Riotous, laughing Bacchanals, filled with joy! Lo! where the armed men hasten. Lo! mid the War, sorrow, suffering gone; the rank earth clouds of dust, the glint of bayonets;

purged: nothing but joy left! I see the grime-faced cannoniers; I mark the rosy The ocean filled with joy, the atmosphere all joy! flash amid the smoke; I hear the cracking of Joy! joy! in freedom, worship, love! Joy in the

ecstasy of life! Nor war alone: thy fearful music-song, wild player, Enough to merely be! Enough to breathe ! brings every sight of fear,

Joy! joy! all over joy!

WALT WHITYAN.

queror at last!

ums,

the guns:

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And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, The Passions.

Revenge impatient rose;

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder AN ODE FOR MUSIC.

down;

And, with a withering look, WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,

The war-denouncing trumpet took, While yet in early Greece she sung,

And blew a blast so loud and dread, The Passions oft, to hear her shell,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! Thronged around her magic cell

And, ever and anon, he beat Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting

The doubling drum, with furious heat; Possest beyond the muse's painting;

And though sometimes, each dreary pause beBy turns they felt the glowing mind

tween, Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined;

Dejected Pity, at his side, Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,

Her soul-subduing voice applied, Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,

Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien, From the supporting myrtles round

While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting They snatched her instruments of sound;

from his head.
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness ruled the hour)

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed Would prove his own expressive power.

Sad proof of thy distressful state;

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ; First Fear his hand, its skill to try,

And now it courted Love - now, raving, called

on Hate. Amid the chords bewildered laid, And back recoiled, he knew not why,

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, E'en at the sound himself had made.

Pale Melancholy sate retired ;

And, from her wild sequestered seat, Next Anger rushed; his eyes, on fire,

In notes by distance made more sweet, In lightnings owned his secret stings: Poured through the mellow horn her pensive In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

• soul; And swept with hurried hand the strings.

And, dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels joined the sound; With woeful measures wan Despair,

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiled —

stole; A solemn, strange, and mingled air;

Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,
But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair-

In hollow murmurs died away.
What was thy delightful measure !
Still it whispered promised pleasure,

But oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail !

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest Still would her touch the strain prolong;

hue, And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,
She called on Echo still, through all the song; Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket A soft responsive voice was heard at every

rungclose;

The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known! And Hope enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed hair.

queen,

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