Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive
All sadness but despair; now gentle gales
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole
Those balmy spoils: as when to them who sail
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
Mozambic, off at sea north-west winds blow
Sabean odours from the spicy shore

Of Araby the blest; with such delay

Well pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league,
Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles.

Paradise Lost.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

(John Dryden.)

The

[Born, 1631; died, 1700. Chief works: Absalom and Achitophel,' Hind and Panther,' Translations of Juvenal, Perseus and Virgil, Alexander's Feast,' and various dramatic works.]

'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:
So should dessert in arms be crown'd.

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, plac'd on high.

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove,

Who left his blissful seat above,

Such is the power of mighty Love!

A dragon's fiery form belied the god:
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd:
And while he sought her snowy breast,
Then round her slender waist he curl'd

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign 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,
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;
The mighty master smil'd to see
That love was in the next degree:
"Twas but a kindred sound to move;
For pity melts the mind to love.
Softly sweet in Lydian measures,
Soon he sooth'd 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 Thaïs sits beside thee,

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,
Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again.

At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd,
The vanquish'd victor sank 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 rais'd up his head,

As awak'd from the dead,
And, amaz'd, he stares around.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise;

Flush'd with a purple grace

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;
And, while he heav'n and earth defied,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful muse,
Soft pity to infuse :

He sung Darius, great and good,
By too severe a fate

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 expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast look the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of fate below;
And now and then a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.

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;
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 destroy;
Thaïs led the way,

To light him to his prey,

And like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.

Thus long ago,

Ere heaving billows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute,
Timotheus to his breathing flute

And 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 store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,

With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown:
He rais'd a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.

THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE AT

JERUSALEM.

(From Sinai and Palestine,' by Dean Stanley.)

Chris'-ten-dom, the nations professing | pre'-cinct, a neighbourhood

tran'-quil, quiet

re-min-is'-cence, remembrance
fren'-zy, madness

rit'-u-al, order of religious worship
cri'-sis, pl. crises (Gr.), the point in which
a disease kills or gets better

des'-e-crate, to profane, to treat irreve-
rently

sub'-si-dence, a settling down

bas-il'-i-ca, a public hall, church, palace, &c.

THERE is one more aspect in which the Church of the Holy Sepulchre must be regarded. It is not merely the centre of the worship of Christendom, it is also in an especial manner the cathedral church of Palestine and the East; and in it the local religion, which attaches to all the Holy Places, reaches its highest pitch, and, as is natural, receives its colour from the Eastern and barbarous nations, who necessarily contribute the chief elements to what may be called its natural congregation. It may be well, therefore, to conclude by a description of the Greek Easter, which will also sum up the general impressions of the whole building, in whose history it forms so remarkable a feature. The time is the morning of Easter Eve, which, by a strange anticipation, here, as in Spain, eclipses Easter Sunday. The place is the great Rotunda of the nave, the model of all the circular churches of Europe, especially that of Aix-la-Chapelle. Above is the great dome, with its rents and patches waiting to be repaired, and the sky seen through the opening in the centre, which here, as in the Pantheon, admits the light and air of day. Immediately beneath are the galleries, in one of which on the northern side that of the Latin convent-are assembled the Frank spectators. Below is the Chapel of the Sepulchre-a shapeless edifice of brown marble; on its shabby roof, a meagre cupola, tawdry vases with tawdry flowers, and a forest of slender tapers; whilst a blue curtain is drawn across its top to intercept the rain admitted through the dome. It is divided into two chapels that on the west containing the sepulchre, that on the east containing 'The Stone of the Angel.' Of these, the eastern chapel is occupied by the Greeks and Armenians. On its north side is a round hole, from which the holy fire is to issue for the Greeks. A corresponding aperture is on the south side for the Armenians, who communicate it to the Syrians,