From hence no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight, Star interposed, however small he sees, Not unconform to other shining globes, Earth, and the garden of God, with cedars crowned, Of Galileo, less assured, observes A cloudy spot. Down thither prone in flight He lights, and to his proper shape returns Each shoulder broad, came mantling o'er his breast Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round MILTON. Sonnet cxlv. Those lips, that Love's own hands did make, SHAKSPEARE. Alexander's Feast, or the Power of Music. AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY. I. "T WAS at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne : His valiant peers were placed around'; Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound. (So should desert in arms be crowned :) The lovely Thais by his side, Sate like a blooming Eastern bride, In flower of youth and beauty's pride. None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, placed on high II. Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touched the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above, 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 croud admire the lofty sound, A present deity, they shout around: A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound: The monarch hears, And seems to shake the spheres. III. The praise of Bacchus then, the sweet musician sung, The jolly god in triumph comes; He shews his honest face: Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes. Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. IV. 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. His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, And weltering in his blood; Deserted, at his utmost need, With not a friend to close his eyes. With downcast looks the joyless victor sate The various turns of chance below; V. The mighty master smiled, to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, |