PUBLISHED AUG.1, 1824: BY JOHN SHARPE, LONDON.

DRYDEN.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST;

OR,

THE POWER OF MUSIC.

AN ODE,

IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

"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.

CHORUS.

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 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 prest,

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.

CHORUS.

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 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.

CHORUS.

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.