In a sadly pleasing strain The shrill echoes rebound:. While in more lengthen'd notes and slow Now louder, and yet louder rise, And fill with spreading sounds the skies; Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats; Till, by degrees, remote and small, The strains decay, And melt away In a dying, dying fall. By Music, minds an equal temper know, Or, when the soul is press'd with cares, Warriors she fires with animated sounds, Morpheus rouses from his bed, Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes, But when our country's cause provokes to arms, Each chief his sev'nfold shield display'd, But when through all the infernal bounds, What scenes appear'd, O'er all the dreary coasts? Dismal screams, Fires that glow, : Hollow groans, And cries of tortur'd ghosts; But hark! he strikes the golden lyre; Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still, And the pale spectres dance! And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their heads. Ör amaranthine bow'rs; Restore, restore Eurydice to life: Stern Proserpine relented, A conquest how hard, and how glorious! But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes: Beside the falls of fountains, Or where Hebrus wanders, Unheard, unknown, He trembles, he glows, Amidst Rhodope's snows: See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies; Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals' cries Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung, Eurydice still trembled on his tongue, Eurydice the woods, Eurydice the floods, Ali see, he dies! Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung. And fate's severest rage disarm'; Music can soften pain to ease, And make despair and madness please; And antedate the bliss above. This the divine Cecília found, And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound. POPE CHAP. XXVII. ALEXANDER'S FEAST. '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 plac'd around Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound: The lovely Thäis by his side Sat, like a blooming eastern bride, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, plac'd on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above, Such is the pow'r of mighty love! A dragon's fiery form belied the god: When he to fair Olympia press'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: The monarch hears, Assumes the god, 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! Drinking joys did first ordain: 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. His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate, Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, |