’TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won | |
| By Philip’s warlike son: | |
| Aloft in awful state | |
| The godlike hero sate | |
| On his imperial throne; | 5 |
| His valiant peers were placed around; | |
| Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: | |
| (So should desert in arms be crowned). | |
| The lovely Thais, 2 by his side, | |
| Sate like a blooming Eastern bride, | 10 |
| In flower of youth and beauty’s pride. | |
| Happy, happy, happy pair! | |
| None but the brave, | |
| None but the brave, | |
| None but the brave deserves the fair. | 15 |
| |
Chorus Happy, happy, happy pair! | |
| None but the brave, | |
| None but the brave, | |
| None but the brave deserves the fair. | |
| |
| Timotheus, 3 placed on high | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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: | 30 |
| 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; | 35 |
| A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound: | |
| With ravished ears | |
| The monarch hears, | |
| Assumes the god, | |
| Affects to nod, | 40 |
| And seems to shake the spheres. | |
| |
Chorus With ravished ears | |
| The monarch hears, | |
| Assumes the god, | |
| Affects to nod | 45 |
| And seems to shake the spheres. | |
| |
| The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, | |
| Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young: | |
| The jolly god in triumph comes; | |
| Sound the trumpets; beat the drums; | 50 |
| 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; | 55 |
| Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure, | |
| Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure; | |
| Rich the treasure, | |
| Sweet the pleasure, | |
| Sweet is pleasure after pain. | 60 |
| |
Chorus Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure, | |
| Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure; | |
| Rich the treasure, | |
| Sweet the pleasure, | |
| Sweet is pleasure after pain. | 65 |
| |
| 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; | 70 |
| And, while he heaven and earth defied, | |
| Changed his hand, and checked his pride. | |
| He chose a mournful Muse, | |
| Soft pity to infuse; | |
| He sung Darius great and good, | 75 |
| By too severe a fate, | |
| Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, | |
| Fallen from his high estate, | |
| And weltering in his blood; | |
| Deserted at his utmost need | 80 |
| By those his former bounty fed; | |
| On the bare earth exposed he lies, | |
| With not a friend to close his eyes. | |
| |
| With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, | |
| Revolving in his altered soul | 85 |
| The various turns of chance below; | |
| And, now and then, a sigh he stole, | |
| And tears began to flow. | |
| |
Chorus Revolving in his altered soul | |
| The various turns of chance below; | 90 |
| And, now and then, a sigh he stole, | |
| And tears began to flow. | |
| |
| The mighty master smiled to see | |
| That love was in the next degree; | |
| ’Twas but a kindred-sound to move, | 95 |
| 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; | |
| Honour, but an empty bubble; | 100 |
| Never ending, still beginning, | |
| Fighting still, and still destroying: | |
| If the world be worth thy winning, | |
| Think, O think it worth enjoying: | |
| Lovely Thais sits beside thee, | 105 |
| 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 | 110 |
| Who caused his care, | |
| And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, | |
| Sighed and looked, and sighed again; | |
| At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, | |
| The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. | 115 |
| |
Chorus The prince, unable to conceal his pain, | |
| Gazed on the fair | |
| Who caused his care, | |
| And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, | |
| Sighed and looked, and sighed again; | 120 |
| At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, | |
| The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. | |
| |
| Now strike the golden lyre again; | |
| A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. | |
| Break his bands of sleep asunder, | 125 |
| And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. | |
| Hark, hark, the horrid sound | |
| Has raised up his head; | |
| As awaked from the dead, | |
| And amazed, he stares around. | 130 |
| Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries, | |
| See the Furies arise; | |
| See the snakes that they rear, | |
| How they hiss in their hair, | |
| And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! | 135 |
| Behold a ghastly band, | |
| Each a torch in his hand! | |
| Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, | |
| And unburied remain | |
| Inglorious on the plain: | 140 |
| Give the vengeance due | |
| To the valiant crew. | |
| Behold how they toss their torches on high, | |
| How they point to the Persian abodes, | |
| And glittering temples of their hostile gods. | 145 |
| The princes applaud with a furious joy; | |
| And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; | |
| Thais led the way, | |
| To light him to his prey, | |
| And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. | 150 |
| |
Chorus And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; | |
| Thais led the way, | |
| To light him to his prey, | |
| And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. | |
| |
| Thus, long ago, | 155 |
| Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, | |
| While organs yet were mute, | |
| Timotheus, to his breathing flute, | |
| And sounding lyre, | |
| Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. | 160 |
| At last, divine Cecilia came, | |
| Inventress of the vocal frame; | |
| The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, | |
| Enlarged the former narrow bounds, | |
| And added length to solemn sounds, | 165 |
| With Nature’s mother-wit, and arts unknown before. | |
| Let old Timotheus yield the prize, | |
| Or both divide the crown: | |
| He raised a mortal to the skies; | |
| She drew an angel down. | 170 |
| |
Grand Chorus At last, divine Cecilia came, | |
| Inventress of the vocal frame; | |
| The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, | |
| Enlarged the former narrow bounds, | |
| And added length to solemn sounds, | 175 |
| With Nature’s mother-wit, and arts unknown before. | |
| Let old Timotheus yield the prize, | |
| Or both divide the crown: | |
| He raised a mortal to the skies; | |
| She drew an angel down. | 180 |
