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 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! Behold how they toss their torches on high, And glittering temples of their hostile gods. The princes applaud with a furious joy : And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way To light him to his prey, And like another Helen, fired another Troy! -Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, While organs yet were mute, Timotheus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. - Let old Timotheus yield the prize Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down! J. Dryden BOOK THIRD CXVII ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE Now tres her dew-bespangled wing, WOW the golden Morn aloft With vermeil cheek and whisper soft New-born flocks, in rustic dance, Frisking ply their feeble feet; The birds his presence greet: And lessening from the dazzled sight, Yesterday the sullen year Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; Smiles on past Misfortune's brow Soft Reflection's hand can trace, And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw While Hope prolongs our happier hour, Still, where rosy Pleasure leads, And blended form, with artful strife, See the wretch that long has tost The meanest floweret of the vale, To him are opening Paradise. T. Gray H CXVIII THE QUIET LIFE APPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Sound sleep by night; study and ease Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. CXIX A. Pope THE BLIND BOY SAY what is that thing call'd Light, |