When her bonnetted chieftains to victory crowd, Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! Now in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight: But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; For never shall Albin a destiny meet, So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! CAMPBELL. XIX.-Alexander's Feast; or, the Power of Music. An Ode for St. Cecilia's Day. '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 myrtle bound; So should desert in arms be crown'd. The lovely Thais, by his side, Sat like a blooming eastern bride, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave-deserves the fair. Timotheus, plac'd on high Amid the tuneful choir, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The song began from Jove, When he to fair Olympia press'd, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. The listening 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, And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung; The jolly god in triumph comes ! He shows his honest face. Now give the hautboys breath-he comes! he comes! Bacchus' blessings are a 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, His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse. He sung Darius, great and good, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, On the bare earth expos'd he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes. With downcast look the joyless victor sat, The various turns of fate below; The mighty master smil'd to see For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Never ending, still beginning, Take the good the gods provide thee. POETRY. The many rend the skies with loud applause. Who caus'd his care; And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ; And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Has rais'd up his head, As awak'd from the dead. And amaz'd, he stares around. Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries.- See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain 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 seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy; To light him to his prey And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy. Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows 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. Inventress of the vocal frame. 259 The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 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; DRYDEN. XX.-On Slavery. OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Might never reach me more! My ear is pain'd, Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. It does not feel for man. That natural bond Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire. Not colour'd like his own, and, having pow'r |