Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear
As your own glass, or what shines there!
Smooth as Heaven's face, and bright as he
When without mask or tiffany,

In all your time not one jar meet,-
But peace as silent as his feet!

Like the Day's warmth may all your comforts be,
Untoil'd for and serene as he,

Yet free and full as is that sheaf
Of sunbeams gilding every leaf
When now the tyrant heat expires

And his cool'd locks breathe milder fires!

And as the parcel'd glories he doth shed
Are the fair issues of his head,

Which, ne'er so distant, are soon known
By the heat and lustre for his own,
So may each branch of yours we see
Your copies and our wonders be!

And when no more on earth you may remain,
Invited hence to heaven again,

Then may your virtuous virgin-flames
Shine in those heirs of your fair names,
And teach the world that mystery-
Yourselves in your posterity!

So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring;
And, gather'd up to heaven, leave here a Spring.

THOMAS STANLEY.

1625-1678.

LOVE NOT TO BE RENEWED.

I prithee let my heart alone!

Since now 'tis raised above thee:
Not all the beauty thou dost own
Again can make me love thee.

He that was shipwreck'd once before

By such a Syren's call,

And yet neglects to shun that shore,
Deserves his second fall.

Each flattering kiss, each tempting smile,
Thou dost in vain bestow,
Some other lovers might beguile
Who not thy falsehood know.

But I am proof against all art:
No vows shall e'er persuade me
Twice to present a wounded heart
To her that hath betray'd me.

Could I again be brought to love
Thy form, though more divine,
I might thy scorn as justly move
As now thou sufferest mine.

JOHN HALL.
1627-1656.

EPITAPH

ON A GENTLEMAN AND HIS WIFE WHO DIED BOTH WITHIN A VERY FEW DAYS.

Thrice happy Pair! who had and have
Living one bed, now dead one grave:
Whose love being equal, neither could
A life unequal wish to hold;

But left a question, whether one
Did follow 'cause her mate was gone,
Or the other went before to stay
Till that his fellow came away:
So that one pious tear now must
Besprinkle either parent's dust,
And two great sorrows jointly run
And close into a larger one,
Or rather turn to joy, to see
The burial but the wedding be.

JOHN DRYDEN.
1631-1700.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

THE POWER OF MUSIC.

'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 realms above
(Such is the power of mighty Love) :
A dragon's fiery form belied the God,
Sublime on radiant spheres 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.

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 :

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:
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.

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 oppress'd,
The vanquished Victor sunk upon her breast.