Receding from the presence of the damned,
Shrunk to a point of light, and as it shrunk
The hearts of his believers withered, and burned
Internally (as he had left behind

A portion of his fire), and on their souls

Came darkness and dismay; and all knew then
The unconsuming flame was come; and each
Hated himself and fellow. Thus they lived
For ages and for ages, a sad prey

To fires perpetual, and endless fear;

Sorrow, although they loved not; hot desires,
That never could be quelled; hunger and thirst,
Fierce jealousy, and groundless doubt, and hate,
And blasting envy, and (midst other ills)
Sense of contempt in others. Thus they lived:
And not one creature ever after knew

What 't was to-hope.

Bryan Waller Procter.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

I.

"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 crowned);

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.

II.

Timotheus, placed on high,

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touched the lyrc;
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 pressed,

And while he sought her snowy breast;

Then, round her slender waist he curled,

And stamped 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 ravished ears

The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

III.

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!
Flushed 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.

IV.

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 checked 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 altered soul

The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole; And tears began to flow.

V.

The mighty master smiled, to see
That Love was in the next degree;
"T was 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;
Honor but an empty bubble,

Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying;

If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh, think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the goods the gods provide thee.

The many rend the skies with loud applause;

So Love was crowned, but Music won the cause.
The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,

And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,
Sighed and looked, and sighed again.

At length, with love and wine at once oppressed,
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

VI.

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.