The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne: His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound; So should desert in arms be crowned. The lovely Thaïs by his side Sat, like a blooming Eastern bride, 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 song began from Jove, When he to fair Olympia pressed; And stamped an image of himself, a sov'reign of the world A present deity, they shout around; A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound: 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; He shows his honest face. Now, give the hautboys breath; he comes! he comes! Bacchus. ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain : 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 His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good, With not a friend to close his eyes. With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, The various turns of fate below; The mighty master smiled to see Softly sweet in Lydian measures, Never ending, still beginning, Take the good the gods provide thee. The many read the skies with loud applause; Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, Now strike the golden lyre again; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark! hark! the horrid sound Has raised up his head, As awaked from the dead, See the snakes that they rear! How they hiss in the air, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand! These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain; Behold how they toss their torches on high! And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods! And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy; Thaïs led the way, To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. Thus long ago, Ere heaving billows learned to blow, While organs yet were mute, EVENING HYMN. ALL praise to Thee, my God, this night, Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son, O let my soul on Thee repose, And with sweet sleep mine eyelids close; If in the night I sleepless lie, My soul with heavenly thoughts supply; Teach me to live, that I may dread Sir Charles Sedley. { Born 1639 Died 1701 ONE of the wits of the court of Charles II., with whom he was a great favourite. He wrote plays and poems greatly admired in his time. His songs are, however, his happiest compositions. TO A VERY YOUNG LADY. AH! Chloris, that I now could sit |