The Works of John Dryden

The master saw the madness rise;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heaven and earth defied,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd 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 welt'ring in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul

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

CHORUS.

Revolving in his alter'd soul

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

The mighty master smil'd, to see
That love was in the next degree;
'Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.

War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour, but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying:
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying:
Lovely Thais sits besides thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the skies with loud applause; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again: At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

CHORUS.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:

At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd 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 awak'd from the dead,

And amaz'd, 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!

[slain,

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were

And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain:
Give the vengeance due
To the valliant crew.

Behold, how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glittering temples of their hostile gods.
The princes applaud, with a furious joy;
And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to
Thais led the way,
[destroy;

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.

CHORUS.

And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to Thais led the way, [destroy

To light him to his prey,

And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy

VII.

Thus, long ago,

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute; Timotheus, to his breathing flute, And sounding lyre,

[sire.

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft de-
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, [before.
Or both divide the crown;

He rais'd a mortal to the skies;

She drew an angel down.

GRAND CHORUS.

At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame;

The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown
Lat old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;
He rais'd a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.

[before.

VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS.
PARAPHRASED.

CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come visit every pious mind;
Come pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.
O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete !
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us, while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy!
Thou strength of his Almighty hand
Whose power does heaven and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence!
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!

VOL. 1.-10

Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold 'em down.
Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe:
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name :
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete,* to thee.

With shouting and hooting we pierce thro' the The fools are only, &c.

SONG OF A SCHOLAR AND HIS And the better the sooner begun.

MISTRESS,

WHO BEING CROSSED BY THEIR FRIENDS, FELL MAD FOR ONE ANOTHER; AND NOW FIRST MEET IN BEDLAM.

Music within. The lovers enter at opposite doors, each held by a keeper.

PHILLIS.

Look, look, I see-I see my love appear!
"T is he T is he alone;
For, like him there is none

'Tis the dear, dear man, 't is thee, dear.

AMYNTAS.

Hark! the winds war;

The foamy waves roar;

I see a ship afar,

Tossing and tossing, and making to the shore :

But what is that I view,

So radiant of hue,

CHORUS OF BOTH.

At worst if delay, &c.

They run out together hand in hand.

SONGS IN THE INDIAN EMPEROR.

AH fading joy; how quickly art thou past!
Yet we thy ruin haste.

As if the cares of human life were few,
We seek out new:

And follow fate, which would too fast pursue.
See, how on every bough the birds express,
In their sweet notes, their happiness.
They all enjoy, and nothing spare ;
But on their mother Nature lay their care:
Why then should man, the lord of all below,
Such troubles choose to know,

St. Hermo, St. Hermo, that sits upon the sails? As none of all his subjects undergo ?

Ah! No, no, no.

St. Hermo, never, never shone so bright;
'Tis Phillis, only Phillis, can shoot so far a

light;

[alone,

Hark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall,
And with a murmuring sound
Dash, dash upon the ground,

To gentle slumbers call.

'Tis Phillis, 't is Phillis, that saves the ship For all the winds are hush'd, and the storm is I LOOK'D and saw within the book of fate. overblown.

PHILLIS.

When many days did lour,
When lo one happy hour

Let me go, let me run, let me fly to his arms. Leap'd up. and smil'd to save the sinking

'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,
That I had rather die than once remove it.
Yet he for whom I grieve shall never know it;
My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show
Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, [it.
But they fall silently, like dew on roses.
Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel,
My heart's the sacrifice, as 't is the fuel:
And while I suffer this to give him quiet,
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.

On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me;
Where I conceal my love no frown can fright
To be more happy, I dare not aspire; [me:
Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher.

WHEREVER I am, and whatever I do,
My Phyllis is still in my mind;
When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go,
My feet of themselves, the way find:
Unknown to myself I am just at her door,
And, when I would rail, I can bring out no
Than, Phyllis too fair and unkind! [more,
When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my
And the love I would stifle is shown; [breast,
But asleep, or awake, I am never at rest,

When from my eyes Phyllis is gone. [mind; Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad But, alas! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find, How I sigh to myself all alone!

Should a king be my rival in her I adore,
He should offer his treasure in vain :
O, let me alone to be happy and poor,
And give me my Phyllis again!

Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever be kind,
I could to a desert with her be confin'd,
And envy no monarch his reign.
Alas! I discover too much of my love,
And she too well knows her own power![prove,
She makes me each day a new martyrdom
And makes me grow jealous each hour:
But let her each minute torment my poor mind

I had rather love Phyllis, both false and unkind,
Than ever be freed from her power.

II.

HE. How unhappy a lover am I,

While I sigh for my Phyllis in vain ;

Has no food to its fire;

But it burns and consumes me within..

SHE. Yet, at least, 't is a pleasure to know That you are not unhappy alone:

For the nymph you adore

Is as wretched, and more;

And counts all your sufferings her own.

HE. O ye gods, let me suffer for both;
At the feet of my Phyllis I'll lie:
I'll resign up my breath,
And take pleasure in death,

To be pitied by her when I die.

SHE. What her honour denied you in life,
In her death she will give to your
Such a flame as is true
After fate will renew,

[love.

For the souls to meet closer above.

SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, IN AMBOYNA.

WHO ever saw a noble sight,

That never view'd a brave sea-fight! Hang up your bloody colours in the air Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare; Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright, [fight.

Now each man his brindice, and then to the St. George, St. George, we cry,

The shouting Turks reply

Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, Ply it with culverin and with small shot; [roar, Hark, does it not thunder? no, 't is the guns The neighbouring billows are turn'd into gore; Now each man must resolve to die,

[amain,

For here the coward cannot fly.
Drums and trumpets toll the knell,
And culverins the passing bell.
Now, now they grapple, and now board
Blow up the hatches, they're off all again :
Give them a broadside, the dice run at all,
Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings

falli

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The Works of John Dryden: In Verse and Prose, with a Life, 1. köide