« EdellinenJatka »
Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung,
When Music, heaverly 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, Possessed 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 woful measures, wan Despair
Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air ;
'Twas sad, by fits—by starts, 'twas wild.
But thou, Oh Hope! with eyes so fair,
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 her 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.
And, with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat;
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
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed
Šad proof of thy distresssul state ;
And now it courted Love, now, raving, called on Hate.
With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels joined the sound :
(Round a holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace and lonely musing,) In hollow murmurs-died away.
But, oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung! The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.
The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed queen,
Last came joy's ecstatic trial :
He with viny crown advancing,
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
They would have thought who heard the strain,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing :
And he, amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won
On his imperial throne.
His valiant peers were placed around,
So should desert in arms be crowned.
Happy, happy, happy pair!
Timotheus, placed on high
Amid the tuneful choir,
With flying fingers touched the lyre:
The song began from Jove,
When he to fair Olympia pressed, 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
Affects to nod,
The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung,
The jolly god in triumph comes !
Flushed with a purple grace
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Bacchus's blessings are a treasure ;
Rich the treasure ;
Sweet the pleasure ; 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; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes!
And, while he heaven and earth defied Changed his hand and checked his pride.
He chose a mournful muse,
Soft pity to infuse :
By too severe a fate,
Fallen from his high estate,
With downcast looks the joyless victor sat, Revolving, in his altered soul,
The various turns of fate below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.
The mighty master smiled to see
Never ending, still beginning,
If the world be worth thy winning, Think, Oh! 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 crowned; but music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gazed on the fair
Who caused his care,
Sighed and looked, and sighed again :