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Sooth'd with the found the King grew vain,

Fought all his battles o'er again,

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he flew the flain.

The mafter faw the madnefa rife,

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes,
And while he heav'n and earth defyid,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chofe a mournful Mufe,

Soft pity to infufe:

He fung Darius, great and good!
By too fevere a fate

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high effate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
Deferted at his utmost need
By thofe, his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

With downcaft looks the joyless victor fate,

Revolving in his alter'd foul

The various turns of chance below;
And now and then a figh he ftole,
And tears began to flow.

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Dryden.

Softly fweet, in Lydian mesfures,
Soon he footh'd his foul to pleasures.
War, he fung, is toil and trouble,
Honour but an empty bubble;
Never ending, ftill beginning,
Fighting ftill, and still destroying:
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, o think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais fits befide thee;

Take the good the gods provide thee.

The many rend the fkies with loud applaufe:
So Love was crown'd, but Mufic won the cause.
The Prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gaz'd on the fair,

Who caus'd his care,

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

At length, with love and wine at once oppreft,
The vanquish'd victor funk upon her breast.

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"CHORUS.

The Prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his cares

And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look'd,

Sigh'd and look'd and figh'd again.

„At length, with love and wine at once oppreft The vanquifh'd victor funk upon her breast."

VL

Now ftrike the golden lyre again:

A louder yet, and yet a louder ftrain.

Break his bands of fleep afunder,

And rouze him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark, the horrid found

Has rais'd up his head,
As awak'd from the dead,
And amaz'd, he stares around.

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Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries,
See the furies arife!

See the fnakes that they rear,

How they hifs in their hair!

And the fparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghaftly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

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Those are Grecian ghofts, that in battle were flain,

And unbury'd remain

Inglorious on the plain:

Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.

Behold how they tofs their torches on high,

How they point to the Perfian abodes,

And glittring temples of their hoftile gods!

The princes applaud with a furious joy,

And the King feiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to deftroy:

Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey,

And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.

CHORUS.

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To light him to his prey,

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And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy."

Thus long ago,

VII,

Ere heaving bellow's learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute,

Timotheus, to his breathing flute

And founding lyre

Could fwell the foul to rage, or kindle foft defire.

At laft divine Cecilia came,

Inventrefs of the vocal frame;

The fweet enthufiaft, from her facred store,

Enlarg❜d

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Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to folemn founds,

Dryden.

With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown be

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GRAND CHORUS.

At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventrefs of the vocal frame';

The fweet enthufiaft, from her facred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to folemn founds,

With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown be

fore,

„Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

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Or both divide the crown;

He rais'd 'a mortal to the fkies,

She drew an angel down.".

Pope.

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Dr. Warton bemerkt in seinem Effay on Pope, Vol. I. p. 51. Pope habe mehrmals erklärt, daß er die Iliade nicht würde überscht haben, wenn Dryden seine Uebersehung volle endet håtte; aber, sest er hinzu, richtiger und wahrer hätte er sagen können: Ich mag, nach dem Alexandersfeste, keine Ode mehr für die Musik schreiben. Den zweiten Rang ges fteht indeß dieser Kunstrichter der Ode von Pope zu; und fie übertrifft unstreitig die übrigen, auch die vou Congreve, gar sehr. Vornehmlich ist die Hinabsteigung des Orpheus, in die Unterwelt sehr glücklich darin angebracht und geschils dert. Schade nur, daß die Stanze sich mit sechs Verfen schliefft, die ganz ins Burleske fallen. Man vergleiche die geschmackvolle Zergliederung des Ganzen in Warton's anges führtem Versuche.

ODE FOR MUSIC

ON ST. CECILIA's DAY.

I.

Defcend, ye Nine! defcend and fing;
The breathing inftruments infpire,
Wake into voice each filent ftring,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pensive strain

Let the warbling lute complain;
Let the loud trumpet found,
Till the roofs all around

The fhrill echoes rebound:

While in more lengthen'd notes and flow
The deep, majestic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear
Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder, rife,

And fill with fpreading founds the fkies;

Exulting

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