Than all which charms this laggard age, T I. 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 Thaïs, by his side, Sate like a blooming Eastern bride, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. With flying fingers touched the lyre; The song began from Jove, 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; A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound. The monarch hears, Assumes the god, Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres. III. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, He shows his honest face; Now give the nutboys breath; he comes, he comes. Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain; Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure; 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. The master saw the madness rise, Soft pity to infuse; He sung Darius great and good, Fallen from his high estate, The various turns of chance below; And tears began to flow. V. The mighty master smiled to see 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, VI. Now strike the golden lyre again; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. |