I came, beheld, admired, reflected, grieved;
I chid the folly of my thoughtless haste,
For, the work perfected, the joy was past.
To my new courts sad thought did still repair;
And round my gilded roofs hung hovering care.
In vain on silken beds I sought repose,
And restless oft from purple couches rose;
Vexatious thought still found my flying mind
Nor bound by limits, nor to place confined;
Haunted my nights, and terrified my days;
Stalked through my gardens, and pursued my ways, 60
Nor shut from artful bower, nor lost in winding maze.
Yet take thy bent, my soul; another sense
Indulge; add music to magnificence!
Essay, if harmony may grief control,
Or power of sound prevail upon the soul.
Often our seers and poets have confessed,
That music's force can tame the furious beast;
Can make the wolf, or foaming boar restrain
His rage; the lion drop his crested mane,
Attentive to the song; the lynx forget
His wrath to man, and lick the minstrel's feet.
Are we, alas, less savage yet than these;
Else music sure may human cares appease.
I spake my purpose, and the cheerful choir
Parted their shares of harmony; the lyre
Softened the timbrel's noise; the trumpet's sound
Provoked the Dorian flute (both sweeter found
When mixed); the fife the viol's notes refined,
And every strength with every grace was joined.
Each morn they waked me with a sprightly lay;
Of opening Heaven they sung, and gladsome day.
Each evening their repeated skill expressed
Scenes of repose, and images of rest;
Yet still in vain; for music gathered thought:
But how unequal the effects it brought!
The soft ideas of the cheerful note,
Lightly received, were easily forgot:
The solemn violence of the graver sound
Knew to strike deep, and leave a lasting wound.
And now reflecting, I with grief descry
The sickly lust of the fantastic eye;
How the weak organ is with seeing cloyed,
Flying ere night what it at noon enjoyed.
And now (unhappy search of thought!) I found
The fickle ear soon glutted with the sound;
Condemned eternal changes to pursue,
Tired with the last, and eager of the new.
I bade the virgins and the youth advance,
To temper music with the sprightly dance.
In vain! two low the mimic-motions seem;
What takes our heart must merit our esteem.
Nature, I thought, performed too mean a part,
Forming her movements to the rules of art;
And vexed I found, that the musician's hand
Had o'er the dancer's mind too great command.
I drank; I liked it not: 'twas rage, 'twas noise;
An airy scene of transitory joys.
In vain I trusted, that the flowing bowl
Would banish sorrow, and enlarge the soul;
To the late revel, and protracted feast
While dreams succeeded, and disordered rest;
And, as at dawn of morn fair reason's light
Broke through the fumes and phantoms of the night,
What had been said, I asked my soul, what done;
How flowed our mirth, and whence the source begun!
Perhaps the jest that charmed the sprightly crowd,
And made the jovial table laugh so loud,
To some false notion owed its poor pretence,
To an ambiguous word's perverted sense;
To a wild sonnet, or a wanton air,
Offence and torture to the sober ear.
Perhaps, alas! the pleasing stream was brought
From this man's error, from another's fault:
From topics which good-nature would forget,
And prudence mention with the last regret.
Add yet unnumbered ills, that lie unseen
In the pernicious draught; the word obscene,
Or harsh, which once elanced must ever fly
Irrevocable; the too prompt reply,
Seed of severe distrust, and fierce debate,
What we should shun, and what we ought to hate.
Add too the blood impoverished, and the course
Of health suppressed, by wine's continued force.
Unhappy man! whom sorrow thus and rage
To different ills alternately engage;
Who drinks, alas! but to forget; nor sees,
That melancholy sloth, severe disease,
Memory confused, and interrupted thought,
Death's harbingers, lie latent in the draught;
And in the flowers that wreath the sparkling bowl,
Fell adders hiss, and poisonous serpents roll.
Remains there ought untried, that may remove
Sickness of mind, and heal the bosom?-Love.
Love yet remains; indulge his genial fire,
Cherish fair hope, solicit young desire,
And boldly bid thy anxious soul explore
This last great remedy's mysterious power.
Why therefore hesitates my doubtful breast;
Why ceases it one moment to be blest?
Fly swift, my friends; my servants, fly; employ 150 Your instant pains to bring your master joy.
Let all my wives and concubines be dressed;
Let them to-night attend the royal feast;
All Israel's beauty, all the foreign fair;
The gifts of princes, or the spoils of war:
Before their monarch they shall singly pass,
And the most worthy shall obtain the grace.
I said: the feast was served; the bowl was crowned;
To the king's pleasure went the mirthful round;
The women came, as custom wills, they passed; 160
On one, (O that distinguished one!) I cast
The favourite glance! O! yet my mind retains
That fond beginning of my infant pains.
Mature the virgin was, of Egypt's race;
Grace shaped her limbs, and beauty decked her face;
Easy her motion seemed, serene her air;
Full, though unzoned, her bosom rose; her hair
Untied, and ignorant of artful aid,
Adown her shoulders loosely lay displayed,
And in the jetty curls ten thousand Cupids played. 170
Fixed on her charms, and pleased that I could love,
Aid me, my friends, contribute to improve
Your monarch's bliss, I said; fresh roses bring
To strew my bed, till the impoverished Spring
Confess her want; around my amorous head
Be dropping myrrh, and liquid amber shed,
Till Arab has no more. From the soft lyre,
Sweet flute, and ten-stringed instrument, require
Sounds of delight; and thou, fair nymph, draw nigh;
Thou in whose graceful form, and potent eye,
Thy master's joy long sought at length is found;
And, as thy brow, let my desires be crowned;
O favourite virgin, that hast warmed the breast,
Whose sovereign dictates subjugate the East!
I said; and sudden from the golden throne,
With a submissive step, I hasted down,
The glowing garland from my hair I took,
Love in my heart, obedience in my look;
Prepared to place it on her comely head:
O favourite virgin! (yet again I said)
Receive the honours destined to thy brow;
And O above thy fellows happy thou!
Their duty must thy sovereign word obey:
Rise up, my love, my fair one, come away.
What pang, alas! what ecstasy of smart
Tore up my senses, and transfixed my heart,
When she with modest scorn the wreath returned,
Reclined her beauteous neck, and inward mourned!
Forced by my pride, I my concern suppressed,
Pretended drowsiness, and wish of rest;
And sullen I forsook the imperfect feast:
Ordering the eunuchs, to whose proper care
Our eastern grandeur gives the imprisoned fair,
To lead her forth to a distinguished bower,
And bid her dress the bed, and wait the hour.
Restless I followed this obdurate maid
(Swift are the steps that love and anger tread);
Approached her person, courted her embrace,
Renewed my flame, repeated my disgrace;
By turns put on the suppliant, and the lord:
Threatened this moment, and the next implored:
Offered again the unaccepted wreath,
And choice of happy love, or instant death.
Averse to all her amorous king desired,
Far as she might, she decently retired:
And, darting scorn and sorrow from her eyes,
What means, said she, king Solomon the wise?
This wretched body trembles at your power;
Thus far could fortune, but she can no more.
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