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The master saw the madness rise;
He chose a mournful muse,
Soft pity to infuse :
By too severe a fate,
Fall’n from his high estate,
With downcast look the joyless victor sat,
The various turns of fate below;
And tears began to flow!
The mighty master smild, to see
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Never ending, still beginning,
If the world be worth thy winning,
The many rend the skies with loud applause: So love was crown'd; but music won the cause. Now, strike the golden lyre again!
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain!
Has rais'd up his head,
As awak'd from the dead; And amaz'd he stares around.
Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries-
See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their hair,
Behold a ghastly band,
Each a torch in his hand!
And, unburied, remain
Inglorious on the plain!
To the valiant crew!
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods!
Thais led the way,
To light him to his prey;
Thus, long ago,
And sounding lyre,
At last, divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame.
Enlarg’d the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown:
She drew an angel down!
XVI. -EXTRACTS FROM GRAY'S BARD.
Ruin seize thee, ruthless' King !
On a rock, whose haughty brow
It was a common tradition in Wales, that Edward I. ordered all the Bards to be put to death. On that tradition this Ude is founded.
And with a master's hand and prophet's fire
No more I weep. They do not sleep;
“ • Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
“. Mighty victor, mighty lord,
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening preyi In allusion to the murder of Edward II. 9 Death of Edward III. 8 In allusion to the auspicious commencement of Richard II.'s reign.
Fond impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs. the golden flood, And warms the rations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: with joy I see The different doom our fates assign, Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care; To triumph and to die are mine." He spoke; and, headlong from the mountain's height, Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.
XVII.-ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds ;
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ;
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,
The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such, as wandering near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.
Beneath these rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittring from her straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.