Dryden. Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries, See the fnakes that they rear, How they hifs in their hair! And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! Thofe are Grecian ghofts, that in battle were flain, And unbury'd remain' Inglorious on the plain: Give the vengeance due 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 de And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy. CHORUS. ,,And the King feiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to de To light him to his prey, 3 „And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy Thus long ago, VII. Ere heaving bellow's learn'd to blow, bbt f Timotheus, to his breathing flute !! And founding lyre Could fwell the foul to rage, or kindle foft defire. Enlarg❜d " " " GRAND CHORUS At laft divine Cecilia came, Inventrefs of the vocal frame; The iweet enthufiaft, from her facred ftore, And added length to folemn founds, With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown be- Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown; „He rais'd a mortal to the skies, She drew an anget down." Dr. Warton bemerkt in seinem Essay on Pope, Vol. I. p. 51. Pope habe mehrmals erklärt, daß er die Iliade nicht wärde überscht haben, wenn Dryden seine Uebersehung voll endet håtte; aber, segt er hinzu, richtiger und wahrer håtte er sagen können: Ich mag, nach dem Alexanderssefte, keine Ode mehr für die Musik schreiben. Den zweiten Rang ges 'steht indeß dieser Kunstrichter der Ode von Pope zu; und fie übertrifft unstreitig die übrigen, auch die von 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 Versen schliefst, 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; Let the warbling lute complain; The fhrill echoes rebound: While in more lengthen'd notes and flow Gently steal upon the ear; Now louder, and yet louder, rife, And fill with spreading founds the skies; Exulting Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats; And melt away In a dying, dying fall. II. By Mufic, minds an equal temper know, Or, when the foul is prefs'd with cares, Warriors the fires with animating founds; Morpheus roufes from his bed, Inteftine III. But when our country's caufe provokes to arms, So when the firft bold veffel dar'd the feas, Each chief his fev'nfold fhield difplay'd, Pope, But when through all th' infernal bounds, Love, ftrong as death, the poet led O'er all the dreary coafts! Fires that glow, Shrieks of woe, Sullen moans, Hollow groans, And cries of tortur'd ghosts! And the pale fpe&tres dance! The furies fink upon their iron beds, And inakes uncurl'd hang lift'ning round their heads. V. By the ftreams that ever flow, By thofe happy fouls who dwell By the hero's armed fhades, Glitt'ring through the gloomy glades; He |