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Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast!

For which he paid full dear;

For, while he spake, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,
And galloped off with all his might,
As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went Gilpin's hat and wig:

He lost them sooner than at first;
For why?-they were too big.

Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down
Into the country far away,

She pulled out half-a-crown;

And thus unto the youth she said,

That drove them to the Bell:

This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well.'

The youth did ride, and soon did meet

John coming back amain!

Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein;

But, not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away

Went post-boy at his heels,

The post-boy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With post-boy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry.
"Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman?
Not one of them was mute;

And all and each that passed that way

Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again

Flew open in short space;

The tollmen thinking as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town;

Nor stopped till where he had got up
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, long live the king,
And Gilpin, long live he;

And when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to see!

ALEXANDER'S FEAST;

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC.
JOHN DRYDEN.

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

Aloft in awful state
The God-like 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 crown'd.)

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 choir,

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 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 pressed:

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.

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thed with the sound, the king grew vain; ought all his battles o'er again;

rice he routed all his foes; and thrice he slew he slain.

master saw the madness rise; glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; , while he heaven and earth defied, nged his hand, and check'd his pride.

e chose a mournful muse

oft pity to infuse:

sung Darius, great and good;

y too severe a fate,

en, fallen, fallen, fallen,

en from his high estate,
nd welt'ring in his blood;
erted, at his utmost need,
hose his former bounty fed;
the bare earth exposed he lies,
n not a friend to close his eyes.

owncast looks the joyless victor sate,
evolving in his alter'd soul

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

mighty master smiled, to see love was in the next degree; is but a kindred-sound to move, pity melts the mind to love.

ftly sweet, in Lydian measures,

on he soothed his soul to pleasures,
he sung, is toil and trouble;
our, but an empty bubble;
ver ending, still beginning,

ting still, and still destroying:
the world be worth thy winning,
k, oh! think it worth enjoying:
vely Thais sits beside thee,
ke the good the gods provide thee.
y rend the skies with loud applause;
was crown'd, but music won the cause.

e prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,

d sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd ar look'd, h'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:

ngth, with love and wine at once oppress'd, 'anquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

strike the golden lyre again: der yet, and yet a louder strain, his bands of sleep asunder,

ouse 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 destroy; Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey,

And, like another Helen, fired another Trey:
And could not heave her head,

The tuneful voice was heard from high,
Arise, ye more than dead!

Then cold, and hot, and moist and dry,
In order to their stations leap,
And music's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
From harmony to harmony,
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in man.

What passion cannot music raise and quell!
When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial sound.

Less than a god they thought there could not dwel
Within the hollow of that shell,

That spoke so sweetly and so well.

What passion cannot music raise and quell!

The trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger,

And mortal alarms.

The double, double, double beat

Of the thundering drum

Cries, Hark! the foes come;

Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat.

The soft complaining flute

In dying notes discovers

The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute

Sharp violins proclaim

Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation,

"Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight,
"My welcome gift at the Gates of Light,
Though foul are the drops that oft distill
On the field of warfare, blood like this,
For liberty shed, so holy is,

It would not stain the purest rill,

That sparkles among the bowers of bliss!
Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere,
A boon, and offering Heaven holds dear,
'Tis the last libation Liberty draws

From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!"

"Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave
The gift into his radiant hand,
"Sweet is our welcome of the brave

Who die thus for their native land.

But see-alas!—the crystal bar
Of Eden moves not-holier far
Than e'en this drop the boon must be,
That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee!"

1 Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who conquered India in the beginning of the eleventh century.

2"It is reported that the hunting equipage of the Sultan Mah. mound was so magnificent, that he kept 400 greyhounds and bloodhounds each of which wore a collar set with jewels.

Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, Now among Afric's Lunar Mountains, Far to the south, the Peri lighted;

And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains Of that Egyptian tide, whose birth Is hidden from the sons of earth, Deep in those solitary woods, Where oft the Genii of the Floods Dance round the cradle of their Nile, And hail the new-born Giant's smile!

Thence, over Egypt's palmy groves,

Her grots, and sepulchres of kings, The exiled Spirit sighing roves; And now hangs listening to the doves In warm Rosetta's vale !2--now loves

To watch the moonlight on the wings Of the white pelicans that break The azure calm of Moris' Lake.3 'Twas a fair scene-a land more bright Never did mortal eye behold!

Who could have thought, that saw this night
Those valleys and their fruits of gold
Basking in heaven's serenest light;--
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending
Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads'
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending
Warns them to their silken beds;-
Those virgin lilies, all the night

Bathing their beauties in the lake,
That they may rise more fresh and bright,
When their beloved sun's awake;-

Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem The relics of a splendid dream;

Amid whose fairy loneliness Naught but the lapwing's cry is heard, Naught seen but (when the shadows, flitting Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam) Some purple-wing'd sultana1 sitting

Upon a column, motionless

And glittering, like an idol bird!—

Who could have thought, that there, e'en there,

Amid those scenes so still and fair,
The Demon of the Plague hath cast
From his hot wing a deadlier blast,
More mortal far than ever came
From the red desert's sands of flame!

So quick, that every living thing

Of human shape, touch'd by his wing,
Like plants, where the simoom hath past,
At once falls black and withering!

"The Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Lunæ of antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to rise." 2"The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtle-doves."

3 Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake Maris. A rare and beautiful bird.