ALEXANDER'S FEAST. AN ODE TO ST. CECILIA'S DAY. BY JOHN DRYDEN. [JOHN DRYDEN, the son of Erasmus Dryden, of Tichmersh, was born at Aldwinkle, in Northamptonshire, in the year 1632. He was educated at Westminster School under the celebrated Dr. Busby, and was elected to one of the Cambridge scholarships. He entered Trinity College in 1650, and, in four years, took his B. A. degree. At the same time, upon the death of his father, he came into possession of property worth about 60l. a year. He soon afterwards began to write poetry and dramatic compositions, and, in 1665, married the Lady Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the first Earl of Berkshire. For many years he supported himself solely by his writings; these were principally for the stage, or satires of men of the day, or translations of the classic authors. His poems "Absalom and Achitophel" and "The Hind and the Panther" gained him great reputation, and he was made Poet Laureate. In his later days he wrote "Alexander's Feast: an Ode to St. Cecilia's Day," the finest lyric poem in the English language, and his "Fables." Dryden died in poverty on the 1st of May, 1700, at a small house in Gerrard Street, Soho. He had a public funeral, and was buried with great honour in Westminster Abbey.] "TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won, By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne : His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound; The lovely Thaïs by his side Sat, like a blooming Eastern bride, In flower 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, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above, Such is the power of mighty Love! When he to fair Olympia press'd; Then round her slender waist he curl'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 The monarch hears, Assumes the god, Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, The jolly god in triumph comes; Sound the trumpets, beat the drums; 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 slew the slain. The master saw the madness rise His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius, great and good, 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 exposed he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes. With downcast look the joyless victor sate, The various turns of fate below; And tears began to flow. The mighty master smiled to see For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet in Lydian measures, Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying ; If the world be worth thy winning, 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, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, Now strike the golden lyre again; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. K K |