| 'TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won | |
| By Philip's warlike son— | |
| Aloft in awful state | |
| The godlike hero sate | |
| On his imperial throne; | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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! | 15 |
| |
| Timotheus placed on high | |
| Amid the tuneful quire | |
| With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: | |
| The trembling notes ascend the sky | |
| And heavenly joys inspire. | 20 |
| 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 | 25 |
| When he to fair Olympia prest, | |
| 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. | |
| —The listening crowd admire the lofty sound; | 30 |
| A present deity! they shout around: | |
| A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound: | |
| With ravish'd ears | |
| The monarch hears, | |
| Assumes the god; | 35 |
| Affects to nod | |
| And seems to shake the spheres. | |
| |
| The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, | |
| Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: | |
| The jolly god in triumph comes; | 40 |
| 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, | 45 |
| Drinking joys did first ordain; | |
| Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, | |
| Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: | |
| Rich the treasure, | |
| Sweet the pleasure, | 50 |
| Sweet is pleasure after pain. | |
| |
| Soothed 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! | |
| The master saw the madness rise, | 55 |
| His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; | |
| And while he Heaven and Earth defied | |
| Changed his hand and check'd his pride. | |
| He chose a mournful Muse | |
| Soft pity to infuse: | 60 |
| He sung Darius great and good, | |
| By too severe a fate | |
| Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, | |
| Fallen from his high estate. | |
| And weltering in his blood; | 65 |
| Deserted at his utmost need | |
| By those his former bounty fed; | |
| On the bare earth exposed he lies | |
| With not a friend to close his eyes. | |
| —With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, | 70 |
| 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. | |
| |
| The mighty master smiled to see | 75 |
| That love was in the next degree; | |
| 'Twas but a kindred sound to move, | |
| For pity melts the mind to love. | |
| Softly sweet, in Lydian measures | |
| Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. | 80 |
| War, he sung, is toil and trouble, | |
| Honour but an empty bubble; | |
| Never ending, still beginning, | |
| Fighting still, and still destroying; | |
| If the world be worth thy winning, | 85 |
| Think, O think, it worth enjoying: | |
| Lovely Thais sits beside thee, | |
| Take the good the gods provide thee! | |
| —The many rend the skies with loud applause; | |
| So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. | 90 |
| The prince, unable to conceal his pain, | |
| Gazed on the fair | |
| Who caused his care, | |
| And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, | |
| Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again: | 95 |
| At length with love and wine at once opprest | |
| The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. | |
| |
| Now strike the golden lyre again: | |
| A louder yet, and yet a louder strain! | |
| Break his bands of sleep asunder | 100 |
| And rouse 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. | 105 |
| 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! | 110 |
| 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: | 115 |
| 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. | 120 |
| —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 Troy! | 125 |
| |
| Thus, long ago, | |
| Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, | |
| While organs yet were mute, | |
| Timotheus, to his breathing flute | |
| And sounding lyre | 130 |
| Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. | |
| At last divine Cecilia came. | |
| Inventress of the vocal frame; | |
| The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store | |
| Enlarged the former narrow bounds, | 135 |
| 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 raised a mortal to the skies, | 140 |
| She drew an angel down! | |
| |
