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Dryden. Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries,
See the furies arife!

See the fnakes that they rear,

How they hifs in their hair!

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a ghaftly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

Thofe are Grecian ghofts, that in battle were flain,

And unbury'd remain'

Inglorious on the plain:

Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.

Behold how they tofs their torches on high,

How they point to the Perfian abodes,

And glittring temples of their hoftile gods!

The princes applaud with a furious joy,

And the King feiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to de

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And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.


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To light him to his prey,


„And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy

Thus long ago,


Ere heaving bellow's learn'd to blow, bbt f
While organs yet were mute,

Timotheus, to his breathing flute !!

And founding lyre

Could fwell the foul to rage, or kindle foft defire.
At last divine Cecilia camesh and movi
Inventrefs of the vocal framesâ eú bíváiun LA
The sweet enthufiaft, from her facred store,


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At laft divine Cecilia came,

Inventrefs of the vocal frame;

The iweet enthufiaft, from her facred ftore,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to folemn founds,

With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown be-

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;

„He rais'd a mortal to the skies,

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She drew an anget down."

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Dr. Warton bemerkt in seinem Essay on Pope, Vol. I. p. 51. Pope habe mehrmals erklärt, daß er die Iliade nicht wärde überscht haben, wenn Dryden seine Uebersehung voll endet håtte; aber, segt er hinzu, richtiger und wahrer håtte er sagen können: Ich mag, nach dem Alexanderssefte, keine Ode mehr für die Musik schreiben. Den zweiten Rang ges 'steht indeß dieser Kunstrichter der Ode von Pope zu; und fie übertrifft unstreitig die übrigen, auch die von Congreve, gar sehr. Vornehmlich ist die Hinabsteigung des Orpheus in die Unterwelt sehr glücklich darin angebracht und geschils dert. Schade nur, daß die Stanze sich mit sechs Versen schliefst, die ganz ins Burleske fallen. Man vergleiche die geschmackvolle Zergliederung des Ganzen in Warton's anges führtem Versuche.




Defcend, ye Nine! defcend and fing;
The breathing inftruments infpire,
Wake into voice each filent ftring,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pensive strain

Let the warbling lute complain;
Let the loud trumpet found,
Till the roofs all around

The fhrill echoes rebound:

While in more lengthen'd notes and flow
The deep, majeftic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear

Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder, rife,

And fill with spreading founds the skies;


Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes,

In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats;
Till, by degrees, remote and fmall,
The ftrains decay,

And melt away

In a dying, dying fall.


By Mufic, minds an equal temper know,
Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arife,
Mufic her foft, affuafive voice applies;

Or, when the foul is prefs'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.

Warriors the fires with animating founds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head,

Morpheus roufes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds his arms and wakes,
Lift'ning Envy drops her fnakes:
war no more our paffions wage;
And giddy factions hear away their rage,



But when our country's caufe provokes to arms,
How martial Mufic ev'ry bofom warms!

So when the firft bold veffel dar'd the feas,
High on the ftern the Thracian rais'd his ftrain,
While Argo faw her kindred trees
Defcend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes to the found,
Inflam'd with glory's charms:

Each chief his fev'nfold fhield difplay'd,
And half unfheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and fkies, rebound:
To arms! to arms! to arms!


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But when through all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegeton furrounds,

Love, ftrong as death, the poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What founds were heard,
What fcenes appear'd

O'er all the dreary coafts!
Dreadful gleams,
Difmal fcreams,

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
But hark! he strikes the golden lyre!
And fee! the tortur'd ghofts refpire,
See, fhady forms advance!
Thy ftone, o Sifyphus, ftands ftill,
Ixion refts upon his wheel,

And the pale fpe&tres dance!

The furies fink upon their iron beds,

And inakes uncurl'd hang lift'ning round their



By the ftreams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elyfian flow'rs;

By thofe happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,
Or amarantine bow'rs;

By the hero's armed fhades,

Glitt'ring through the gloomy glades;
By the youths that died for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life;
O take the husband, or return the wife!


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