My morn of life here haply past,
With youths of genius, science, taste:
But 'mid the roar of drums and guns,
Where meet again the muse's sons?
The mental banquet must they quit,
The feast of reason and of wit;
For ever lost, in civil strife,
That solace sweet of human life!

The cannon's distant thunders ring,
And wake to deeds of death the spring:
Far other sounds once touch'd my ear,
And usher'd in the flow'ry year:
But, now, adieu the tuneful train,

The warblings of my native plain;
Adieu the scenes that charm'd my view;
And thou, fair maid, again adieu!

Farewell the bow'rs and conscious shades!-
My country's cause my soul invades-
Yes, rous'd by sense of country's wrongs,
I give the wind my idle songs:

No vacant hour for rhyme succeeds,
I go where'er the battle bleeds:

To-morrow (brief then be my story)→

AN

EPITHALAMIUM.

I.

'TWAS at the wedding-feast, for Celia won,

By Cymon's coxcomb son!

Aloft in dwarfish state

The foplike bridegroom sat,

And made a deal of fun!

His gallant peers around were plac'd,

Their hair all curl'd and dress'd in newest taste:

(Of powder what prodigious waste!)

The simp'ring Celia by his side,

His lace and gewgaws fondly ey'd,

And swell'd her little heart with pride.
Proper, proper, proper pair!

None but a rake,

None but a rake

Such pains would take to gain a fickle fair.

II.

Mungo was there, and did well,

And led the cap'ring choir;

With fumbling fingers twang'd the fiddle:

The notes awake the am'rous fire,

And drinking joys inspire.

The song began of beaux,

And whence the order rose;

(Such wond'rous things a fiddler knows)
A monkey's grinning form in utmost vigour,
Bely'd a macaroni's noble figure;

When he to fair Coquetta prest,

A while he sought her snowy breast;

Then round her slender waist he curl'd,

And stamp'd an image of himself, a coxcomb of the world.

A present fop! they shout around;

A present fop! the vaulted roofs rebound:

With ravish'd ears,

The fopling hears;
Assumes the shape,

Looks like an ape,

And grins, and laughs, and sneers.

ALEXANDER's FEAST,

OR THE

POWER OF MUSIC:

An Ode in honour of St. Cecilia's Day.
By Mr. Dryden. 1

I.

'TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won, By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sat

On his imperial throne.

His valiant peers were plac'd around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound; (So should desert in arms be crown'd,)

The lovely Thais by his side,

Sat like a blooming eastern bride,

In flow'r 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 plac'd on high,

Amid the tuneful choir,

II.

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre; The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heav'nly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove,

Who left his blissful seat above;
(Such is the pow'r of mighty love)
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god;
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,
When he to fair Olympia prest,
A while he sought her snowy breast;

Then round her slender waist he curl'd,

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sov'reign of the world,

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,

III.

The praise of Bacchus then the thirsty fiddler sung;
Of Bacchus, ever plump and ever young:

The jolly god to wedding comes;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums:
Flush'd with a purple nose,

His pimpled face he shows,

Now give the boy a dram. He comes, he comes!
Bacchus! plump and merry younker,
Makes the wedding-folks get drunker;
Bacchus taught to toast the lasses;
Tippling ev'ry joy surpasses,

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure,

After drinking to break glasses,

IV.

Sooth'd with the sound, the fop grew vain,

Talk'd all his courtship o'er again,

And thrice he kiss'd the girls all round, and thrice they fled amain. The fiddler saw the mischief rise,

T

His yawning mouth, his maudlin eyes;
And while he sense and song defied,
Chang'd his hand, and strok'd the bride,
He chose a doleful ditty,

To work him up to pity:

He sung poor Damon's cruel wrongs,
By too severe a fate,

Banish'd, banish'd, banish'd, banish'd,
Banish'd for his small estate,

And writing mournful songs:

Deserted, at his utmost need,
By all Apollo's tuneful breed;

On an old feather-bed he lies,
Nor dullness self will close his eyes:
With stupid stare the joyless fopling sat,
Revolving in his alter'd soul,

The various turns of fate and fun;
And now and then a drink he stole,

And streams began to run.
V.

The mighty fiddler smil'd to see
That love was in the next degree:
To touch that string was little labour,
For love to pity is next neighbour.

III.

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:
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.

IV.

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain,

Fought all his battles o'er again,

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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 defy'd,

Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful muse,

With downcast looks the joyless victor sat,
Revolving in his alter'd soul,

The various turns of chance below;
And now and then a sigh he stole,

And tears began to flow.
V.

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, s.

T