False in thy glass all objects are,
Some set too near, and some too far;
Thou art the fire of endless night,
The fire that burns, and gives no light.
All torments of the damn'd we find
In only thee,

O Jealousy!

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy,
Thou tyrant of the mind!

XIX.

SONG. FAREWELL, FAIR ARMIDA.

FAREWELL, fair Armida, my joy and my grief,
In vain I have loved you, and hope no relief;
Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe,
Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me despair;
Now call'd by my honour, I seek with content
The fate which in pity you would not prevent:
To languish in love, were to find by delay
A death that's more welcome the speediest way.
On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire,
The danger is less than in hopeless desire;
My death's-wound you give, though far off I bear
My fall from your sight-not to cost you a tear:
But if the kind flood on a wave should convey,
And under your window my body should lay,
The wound on my breast when you happen to see,
You'll say with a sigh-it was given by me.

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XX.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC.

AN ODE, IN HONOUR OF ST CECILIA'S DAY.

1 '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,

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None but the brave deserves the fair.

CHORUS.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

2 Timotheus, placed on high

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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 press'd:

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.

CHORUS.

With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears,

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

3 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 ;

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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;

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

CHORUS.

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
Rich the treasure,

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.

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;

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5

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.

CHORUS.

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,