Alexander's Feast; Or, The Power Of Music
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Twas at the royal feast for Persia wonBy Philip's warlike son—Aloft in awful stateThe godlike hero sateOn his imperial throne;His valiant peers were placed around,Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound(So should desert in arms be crowned);The lovely Thais by his sideSate like a blooming eastern brideIn flower of youth and beauty's pride:—Happy, happy, happy pair!None but the braveNone but the braveNone but the brave deserves the fair! Timotheus placed on highAmid the tuneful quireWith flying fingers touched the lyre;The trembling notes ascend the skyAnd heavenly joys inspire.The song began from JoveWho left his blissful seats above—Such is the power of mighty love!A dragon's fiery form belied the godSublime on radiant spires he rodeWhen he to fair Olympia prest,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 earsThe 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!Flushed with a purple graceHe 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. 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 defiedChanged his hand and checked his pride.He chose a mournful MuseSoft pity to infuse:He sung Darius great and good,By too severe a fateFallen, 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 liesWith not a friend to close his eyes.- With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,Revolving in his altered soulThe various turns of Chance below;And now and then a sigh he stole,And tears began to flow. The mighty master smiled to seeThat love was in the next degree;'Twas but a kindred-sound to move,For pity melts the mind to love.Softly sweet, in Lydian measuresSoon he soothed 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 crowned, but Music won the cause.The prince, unable to conceal his pain,Gazed on the fairWho caused his care,And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,Sighed and looked, and sighed again:At length with love and wine at once opprestThe vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 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 soundHas raised up his head:As awaked from the deadAnd amazed he stares around.Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,See the Furies ariselSee the snakes that they rearHow 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 slainAnd unburied remainInglorious on the plain:Give the vengeance dueTo the valiant crew!Behold how they toss their torches on high,How they point to the Persian abodesAnd 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 wayTo light him to his prey,And like another Helen, fired another Troy! - Thus, long ago,Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,While organs yet were mute,Timotheus, to his breathing fluteAnd 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 storeEnlarged the former narrow bounds,And added length to solemn sounds,With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.- Let old Timotheus yield the prizeOr both divide the crown;He raised a mortal to the skies;She drew an angel down!
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