So, when the sun in bed

Curtained with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,

The flocking shadows pale

Troop to the infernal jail,

Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave;
And the yellow-skirted fays

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved

maze.

But see, the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest;

Time is, our tedious song should here have ending:
Heaven's youngest-teemèd star

Hath fixed her polished car,

Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending:

And all about the courtly stable

Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable.

John Milton.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC

'T WAS 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 myrtles bound,

(So should desert in arms be crowned ;)

The lovely Thais by his side

Sate 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 deserves the fair!

Timotheus, placed on high

Amid the tuneful quire

With flying fingers touched the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky
And heavenly joys inspire.

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 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 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,
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 ;

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.

he

comes, he

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.

The mighty master smiled to see
That love was in the next degree;
"T was 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, 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 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 opprest,
The 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 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 de

And, like another Helen, fired another Troy !

Thus, long ago,

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow,