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Softly fweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he footh'd his foul to pleasures.
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, so think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais fits befide thee;

Take the good the gods provide thee.

The many rend the fkies with loud applaufe:
So Love was crown'd, but Mufic won the cause.
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 oppreft,
The vanquish'd victor funk upon her breast.

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Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his cares

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 oppreft The vanquifh'd victor funk upon her breaft."


Now ftrike the golden lyre again:

A louder yet, and yet a louder ftrain.

Break his bands of fleep afunder,

And rouze him, like a rattling peal of thunder.

Hark, hark, the horrid found

Has rais'd up his head,

As awak'd from the dead,
And amaz'd, he ftares around.

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Dryden. Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries,

See the furies arife!

See the fnakes that they rear,
How they hifs in their hair!

And the sparkles that flafh from their eyes!
Behold a ghaftly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

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Thofe are Grecian ghofts, that in battle 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 hostile gods!

The princes applaud with a furious joy,

And the King leiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to de stroy:

Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey,

And, like another Helen, fird another Troy.


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Thais led the way,


,,To light him to his prey,

,,And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy."

Thus long ago,


Ere heaving bellow's learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute,

Timotheus, to his breathing flute

And founding lyre

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Could fwell the foul to rage, or kindle foft defire.

At laft divine Cecilia came,

Inventrefs of the vocal frame;

The fweet enthufiaft, from her facred ftore,


Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to folemn founds,


With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown be

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The fweet enthufiaft, from her facred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

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 fkies,

She drew an angel down.".


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Dr. Warton bemerkt in seinem Effay on Pope, Vol. I. p. 51. Pope habe mehrmals erklärt, daß er die Iliade nicht würde überscht haben, wenn Dryden seine Uebersetzung volle 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 gekeht 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 geschil dert. Schade nur, daß die Stanze sich mit sechs Versen schliefft, die ganz ins Burleske fallen. Man vergleiche die geschmackvolle Zergliederung des Ganzen in Warton's anges führtem Versuche.




Defcend, ye Nine! defcend and fing;
The breathing inftruments infpire,
Wake into voice each filent ftring,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pensive strain

Let the warbling lute complain;
Let the loud trumpet found,
Till the roofs all around

The fhrill echoes rebound:
While in more lengthen'd notes and flow
The deep, majeftic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear
Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder, rife,

And fill with spreading founds the skies;


Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats;
Till, by degrees, remote and fmall,
The ftrains decay,

And melt away

In a dying, dying fall.


By Mufic, minds an equal temper know,
Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arife,
Mufic her foft, affuafive voice applies;

Or, when the foul is prefs'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.

Warriors the fires with animating founds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus roufes from his bed,

Sloth unfold his arms and wakes,
Lift'ning Envy drops her fnakes:

Inteftine war no more our paffions wage;
And giddy factions hear away their rage.


But when our country's caufe provokes to arms,
How martial Mufic ev'ry bofom warms!

So when the firft bold veffel dar'd the feas,
High on the ftern the Thracian rais'd his ftrain,
While Argo faw her kindred trees

Defcend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi-gods ftood round,
And men grew heroes to the found,
Inflam'd with glory's charms:

Each chief his fev'nfold fhield display'd,
And half unfheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and fkies, rebound:
To arms! to arms! to arms!


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