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النشر الإلكتروني



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,

When he to fair Olympia pressed,

And while he sought her snowy breast; Then, round her slender waist he curled,

And stamped 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 ravished ears

The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.


With ravished ears

The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician


Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young;

The jolly god in triumph comes:

Sound the trumpets; beat the drums!

Flushed with a purple grace,

He shows his honest face;

Now give the hautboys breath - he comes, he comes !

Bacchus, ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain ;
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure;
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure :

Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.


Bacchus' blessings are a treasure;
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure :

Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

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The mighty master smiled, to see
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.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honor but an empty bubble-

Never ending, still beginning -
Fighting still, and still destroying;
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, oh think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais sits beside thee

Take the goods the gods provide thee.
The many rend the sky with loud applause ;
So love was crowned, but music won the


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Armed knights go forth to redress wrongs, some in The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder; I quest of the Holy Graal: hear the cries for help!

I see the tournament, I see the contestants, encased I see ships foundering at sea; I behold on deck, in heavy armor, seated on stately, champing and below deck, the terrible tableaux. horses;

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I see the crusaders' tumultuous armies. Hark! how the cymbals clang!

O trumpeter! methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest!

Thou melt'st my heart, my brain; thou movest, drawest, changest them, at will:

Lo! where the monks walk in advance, bearing the And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me; cross on high!

Blow again, trumpeter! and for thy theme

Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent and the setting;

Love, that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the


The heart of man and woman all for love;

No other theme but love, knitting, enclosing, alldiffusing love!

Thou takest away all cheering light, all hope:

I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of the whole earth;

I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race, it becomes all mine;

Mine too the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of

ages, baffled feuds and hatreds;

Utter defeat upon me weighs: all lost! the foe victorious!

Yet 'mid the ruins Pride colossal stands, unshaken to the last;

Oh, how the immortal phantoms crowd around Endurance, resolution, to the last.


I see the vast alembic ever working, I see and know the flames that heat the world;

The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lov


So blissful happy some, and some so silent, dark, and nigh to death;

Love, that is all the earth to lovers; Love that mocks time and space;

Love, that is day and night; Love, that is sun and moon and stars;

Now, trumpeter, for thy close,

Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet;

Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope:

Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future;

Give me, for once, its prophecy and joy.

O glad, exulting, culminating song!

Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with per- A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes! fume;

No other words, but words of love; no other thought but Love.

Marches of victory, man disenthralled, the conqueror at last!

Hymns to the universal God, from universal Man, all joy!

Blow again, trumpeter! conjure war's wild alar- A re-born race appears, a perfect world, all joy!


Swift to thy spell, a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls;

Women and men in wisdom, innocence, and health, all joy!

Riotous, laughing Bacchanals, filled with joy! Lo! where the armed men hasten. Lo! mid the War, sorrow, suffering gone; the rank earth clouds of dust, the glint of bayonets;

I see the grime-faced cannoniers; I mark the rosy flash amid the smoke; I hear the cracking of the guns:

purged: nothing but joy left!

The ocean filled with joy, the atmosphere all joy! Joy! joy! in freedom, worship, love! Joy in the ecstasy of life!

Nor war alone: thy fearful music-song, wild player, Enough to merely be! Enough to breathe! brings every sight of fear,

Joy joy! all over joy!


The Passions.



WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thronged around her magic cell-
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting-
Possest beyond the muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness ruled the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power.

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewildered laid, And back recoiled, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made.

Next Anger rushed; his eyes, on fire,

In lightnings owned his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woeful measures wan Despair,

Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiledA solemn, strange, and mingled air; "Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair—
What was thy delightful measure?
Still it whispered promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,

She called on Echo still, through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;

And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rose;


He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down;

And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!
And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,

Dejected Pity, at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed-
Sad proof of thy distressful state;

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; And now it courted Love-now, raving, called on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy sate retired;

And, from her wild sequestered seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul;

And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole;

Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,
Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.

But oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest


Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket


The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known! And Hope enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed

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