His valiant Peers were plac'd around, Their Brows with Rofes and with Myrtles bound, (So fhould Defert in Arms be crown'd) The lovely Thais by his Side
Sate like a blooming eaftern Bride,
In Flow'r of Youth and Beauties Pride.
Happy, happy, happy Pair,
None but the Brave deferves the Fair.
Timotheus plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful Quire,
With flying Fingers touch'd the Lyre;
The trembling Notes afcend the Sky;
And heav'nly Joy inspire.
The Song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful Seats above,
(Such is the Pow'r of mighty Love;)
A Dragon's fiery Form bely'd the God:
Sublime on radiant Spires he rode,
When he to fair Olympia prefs'd,
And while he fought her fnowy Breaft;
Then round her flender Wafte he curl'd,
And ftamp'd an Image of himself, a Sov'raign of the World,
The lift'ning Crowd admire the lofty Sound,
A prefent Deity, they fhout around,
A prefent Deity the vaulted Roofs rebound.
With ravifh'd Ears
The Monarch hears,
Affumes the God,
Affects to nod,
And feems to fhake the Spheres.
The Praife of Bacchus then the sweet Musician fung,
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
The jolly God in Triumph comes;
Sound the Trumpets, beat the Drums.
Flufh'd with a purple Grace,
He fhews his honeft Face;
Now give the Hautboys Breath; he comes! he comes
Bacchus ever fair and young,
Drinking Joys did firft ordain:
Bacchus Bleffings are a Treafure,
Drinking is the Soldier's Pleafure
Rich the Treasure,
Sweet the Pleasure,
Sweet is Pleasure after Pain.
Sooth'd with the Sound, the King grew vain,
Fought all his Battels o'er again,
And thrice he routed all his Foes, and thrice he flew the Slain:
The Mafter faw the Madness rife,
His glowing Cheeks, his ardent Eyes;
And while he Heav'n and Earth defy'd,
Chang'd his Hand, and check'd bis Pride:
He chofe a mournful Muse
He fung Darius great and good,
By too fevere a Fate
Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high Eftate,
And welt'ring in his Blood
Deferted at his utmost Need
By those his former Bounty fed:
On the bare Earth expos'd he lies,
With not a Friend to close his Eyes.
With down-caft Looks the joyless Victor fate,
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 Mafter smil'd to fee
That Love was in the next Degree;
. 'Twas but a kindred Sound to move,
For Pity melts the Soul to Love.
Softly fweet, in Lydian Measures,
Soon he footh'd his Soul to Pleafures:
War, he fung, is Toil and Trouble,
Honour but an empty Bubble;
Never ending, ftill beginning;
Fighting ftill, and ftill 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 Skies with loud Applaufe,
So Love was crown'd, but Musick won the Caufe,
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 opprefs'd,
The vanquifh'd Victor funk upon her Breaft.
Now ftrike the golden Lyre again,
A louder yet, and yet a louder Strain;
Break his Bands of Sleep afunder,
And rouze him like a rattling Peal of Thunder.
Hark, hark, the horrid Sound
Has rais'd up his Head;
As awak'd from the Dead,
And amaz'd, he ftares round.
Revenge, Revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arife!
See the Snakes that they rear,
How they hifs in their Hair,
And the Sparkles that flash from their Eyes!
Behold a ghaftly Band,
Each a Torch in his Hand!
Thefe are Grecian Ghofts that in Battel 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 glitt'ring Temples of their hoftile Gods.
The Princes applaud with a furious Joy,
And the King fiez'd a Flambeau with Zeal to destroy
Thais led the Way,
To light him to his Prey;
And like another Hellen, fir'd another Troy.
Thus long ago,
E'er heaving Bellows learn d to blow,
While Organs yet were mute;
Timotheus to his breathing Flute,
And founding Lyre,
Could fwell the Soul to Rage, or kindle foft Defire.
Thus David's Lyre did Saul's wild Rage controul,
And tune the harth Disorders of his Soul.
His Sheep would fcorn their Food to hear his Lay,
And favage Beafts ftand by as tame as they.
Rivers whofe Waves roul'd down aloud before,
Mute as their Fish, would liften tow'rds the Shore.
The Groves rejoyc'd the Thracian Verfe to hear,
In vain did Nature bid them ftay:
When Orpheus had his Song begun,
They call'd their wond-ring Roots away,
And bade them filent to him run.
For Orpheus Lute could foften Steel and Stone,
Make Tigers tame, and huge Leviathans
Forfake unfounded Deeps, and dance on Sands.
Shak, the twe (Gens. of Verona
Th'unhappy Husband, Husband now no more,
Did on his tuneful Harp his Lofs deplore,
And fought his mournful Mind with Mufick to reftore.
On thee, dear Wife, in Defarts all alone,
He call'd, figh'd, fung: His Griefs with Day begun,
Nor were they finish'd with the fetting Sun.
Ev'n to the dark Dominions of the Night
He took his Way, thro' Forefts void of Light;
And dar'd amidst the trembling Ghofts to fing,
And ftood before th'inexorable King.
Th'infernal Manfions nodding feem to dance;
The gaping three-mouth'd Dog forgets to fnarl,
The Furies harken, and their Snakes uncurl:
Ixion feems no more his Pains to feel,
But leans attentive on his ftanding Wheel.
Mean while (*) the mif-begotten Infant grows,
And ripe for Birth, diftends with deadly Throws
The fwelling Rind, with unavailing Strife,
To leave the wooden Womb, and pufhes into Life.
The Mother-Tree, as if opprefs'd with Pain,
Writhes here and there to break the Bark in vain
And, like a lab'ring Woman, would have pray'd,
But wants a Voice to call Lucina's Aid.
The bending Bole fends out a hollow Sound,
And trickling Tears fall thick upon the Ground,
The mild Lucina came uncall'd, and stood
Befide the ftruggling Boughs, and heard the groaning Wood;
Then reach'd her Midwife-hand to fpeed the Throws,
And spoke the pow'rful Spells that Babes to Birth disclose.
The Bark divides, the living Load to free,
And fafe delivers the convulfive Tree.
NATURE and AR T: See Painting.
Let Art ufe Method and good Husbandry;
Art lives on Nature's Alms, is weak and poor;
Nature her felf has unexhaufted Store ;
Wallows in Wealth, and runs a turning Maze,
That no vulgar Eye can trace;
Art inftead of mounting high,
About her humble Food does hov'ring fly:
(*) The Poets feign that Myrrha was got with Child by her Father, and deliver'd after he was chang'd into a Tree.
Like the ignoble Crow, Rapine and Noife does love;
While Nature, like the facred Bird of Jove,
Now bears loud Thunder, and anon with filent Joy,
The beauteous Phrygian Boy :
Defeats the ftrong, o'ertakes the flying Prey;
And fometimes basks in th'open Flames of Day,
And fometimes too he fhrowds
His foaring Wings among the Clouds.
NECROMANCER.
Him have I feen (on Ifter's Banks he ftood,
Where laft we winter'd) bind the headlong Flood
In fudden Ice; and where moft fwift it flows,
In chrystal Nets the wondring Fishes clofe;
Then, with a Moment's Thaw, the Stream enlarge,
And from the Mesh the twinkling Guefts discharge.
In a deep Vale, or near some ruin'd Wall,
He would the Ghofts of flaughter'd Soldiers call;
Who flow to wounded Bodies did repair,
And loath to enter, fhiver'd in the Air:
Thefe his dread Wand did to fhort Life compell,
And forc'd the Fates of Battles to foretel.
In a lone Tent, all hung with black, I saw
Where in a Square he did a Circle draw:
Four Angels, made by that Circumference,
Bore holy Words infcrib'd of mystick Sense:
When first a hollow Wind began to blow,
The Sky grew black, and belly'd down more low;
Around the Field did nimble Lightning play,
Which offer'd us by Fits, and fnatch'd the Day.
'Midft this was heard the fhrill and tender Cry
Of well-pleas'd Ghosts, which in the Storm did fly;
Danc'd to and fro, and skim'd along the Ground,
Till to the magick Circle they were bound.
By my rough Magick I have oft bedim'd
The Noon-tide Sun, call'd forth the mutinous Winds
And 'twixt the green Sea and the azur'd Vault
Set roaring War: To the dread rattling Thunder
Have I giv'n Fire; and rifted Jove's ftout Oak
With his own Bolt. Graves at my Command
Have wak'd their Sleepers, op'd and let them forth
By my fo potent Art.
Let the dark Myfteries of Hell begin.
Chufe the darkest Part o'th' Grove,
Such as Ghofts at Noon-day love.
Dig a Trench, and dig it nigh
Where the Bones of Laius lie:
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