The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne: His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound; So should desert in arms be crowned. The lovely Thaïs by his side Sat, like a blooming Eastern bride, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touched the lyre: The song began from Jove, When he to fair Olympia pressed; And stamped an image of himself, a sov'reign of the world. A present deity, they shout around; And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, The jolly god in triumph comes; He shows his honest face. Now, give the hautboys breath; he comes! he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain : Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: 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. His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good, Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, With not a friend to close his eyes. With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, The various turns of fate below; The mighty master smiled to see Softly sweet in Lydian measures, Never ending, still beginning, Take the good the gods provide thee. Who caused his care, And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, Now strike the golden lyre again; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Has raised up his head, As awaked from the dead, See the snakes that they rear! How they hiss in the air, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, Give the vengeance due Behold how they toss their torches on high! And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods! The princes applaud, with a furious joy; And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy; Thaïs led the way, To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. Thus long ago, Ere heaving billows 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. Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Or both divide the crown: Earl of Roscommon. { Born 1635. WENTWORTH DILLON, Earl of Roscommon, and nephew of the celebrated Earl of Strafford. His chief poem is "Essay on Translated Verse," of which the following is an extract. THE MODEST MUSE. How nice the reputation of the maid! Bishop Ken. Born 1637. Died 1710. THOMAS KEN, Bishop of Bath and Wells, was born in Hertfordshire in 1637. Though a man of unyielding conscientiousness, he was made a bishop by Charles II. He was one of the seven prelates sent to the Tower for opposing the usurpations of James II. He is chiefly known as the author of the "Morning, Evening, and Midnight Hymns." EVENING HYMN. ALL praise to Thee, my God, this night, Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son, O let my soul on Thee repose, And with sweet sleep mine eyelids close; If in the night I sleepless lie, My soul with heavenly thoughts supply; Teach me to live, that I may dread Sir Charles Sedley. { Born 1639. Died 1701. His ONE of the wits of the court of Charles II., with whom he was a great favourite. He wrote plays and poems greatly admired in his time. songs are, however, his happiest compositions. TO A VERY YOUNG LADY. AH! Chloris, that I now could sit |