Alexander's Feast
Or
The Power of Music
by
John Dryden
(Poem)
A song in honour of St. Cecilia's day, 1697.
'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;
His
valiant peers were placed around,
Their
brows with roses and with myrtles bound
(So
should desert in arms be crown'd);
The
lovely Thais by his side
Sate
like a blooming Eastern bride
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!
Timotheus
placed on high
Amid
the tuneful quire
With
flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The
trembling notes ascend the sky
And
heavenly joys inspire.
The
song began from Jove
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 prest,
And
while he sought her snowy breast,
Then
round her slender waist he curl'd,
And
stamp'd 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
ravish'd ears
The
monarch hears,
Assumes
the god;
Affects
to nod,
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!
Flush'd
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;
Bacchus'
blessings are a treasure,
Drinking
is the soldier's pleasure:
Rich
the treasure,
Sweet
the pleasure,
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 check'd his pride.
He
chose a mournful Muse
Soft
pity to infuse:
He
sung Darius great and good,
By
too severe a fate
Fallen,
fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen
from his high estate.
And
weltering in his blood;
Deserted
at his utmost need
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 alter'd soul
The
various turns of chance below;
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,
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;
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,
Take
the good the gods provide thee!
The
many rend the skies with loud applause;
So
Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause.
The
prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gazed
on the fair
Who
caused his care,
And
sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd
and look'd, and sigh'd again:
At
length with love and wine at once opprest
The vanquish'd 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
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.
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!
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:
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.
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!
Thus,
long ago,
Ere
heaving bellows learn'd 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.
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,
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!
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