The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd, To see the revel scene; At close of eve he leaves his home, And wends to find the ruin'd dome All on the gloomy plain. As there he bides, it so befel, The wind came rustling down a dell, But certes, solely sunk with woe, When Oberon crys, "A man is near, With that, Sir Topaz, hapless youth! In accents falt'ring, ay for ruth, Intreats them pity graunt; "For als he been a mister wight Betray'd by wand'ring in the night To tread the circled haunt." N "Ah Losell vile!" at once they roar; "And little skill'd of fairie lore, Thy cause to come we know: Now has thy kestrell courage fell; And fairies, since a lye you tell, Are free to work thee woe." Then Will, who bears the wispy fire There like a tortoise in a shop He dangled from the chamber top, The revel now proceeds apace, By this the stars began to wink, They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, And down ydrops the knight; For never spell by fairie laid With strong enchantment bound a glade Beyond the length of night. Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay, 'Till up the welkin rose the day, Then deem'd the dole was o'er: But wot ye well his harder lot? This tale a Sybil-nurse ared; She softly stroak'd my youngling head, And when the tale was done, "Thus some are born, my son," she cries, "With base impediments to rise, And some are born with none. "But virtue can itself advance To what the fav'rite fools of chance ALEXANDER'S FEAST. BY DRYDEN. "Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won, By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The god-like hero sate On his imperial throne: His valiant peers were plac'd around; Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound: So should desert in arms be crown'd. The lovely Thaïs by his side Sat, like a blooming eastern bride, In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserve the fair. Timotheus plac'd on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heav'nly joys inspire. The song began from Jove; Who left his blissful seats above, Such is the pow'r of mighty love! A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god : When he to fair Olympia press'd, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. The list'ning crowd admire the lofty sound; A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound: 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; He shows his honest face. Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes! Bacchus ever fair and young, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: |