This is a lovely piece-- a bit long, and decried by the Post-Modernists, but useful for its music, and fun to read aloud, even in parts. Its refrain continues to influence our vision of Heroism and Heroes: None but the Brave deserve the Fair. Is this still true, in our fractured and tortured World? It would be nice to think so.... Here is John Dryden. ALEXANDERS FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC: AN ODE IN HONOR OF ST. CECILIAS DAY. Twas at the royal feast,{1} for Persia won By Philips 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:{2} (So should desert in arms be crowned.) The lovely Thais,{3} by his side, Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beautys 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,{4} placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touched the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove,{5} Who left his blissful seats above, (Such is the power of mighty love.) A dragons fiery form belied the god: Sublime on radiant spires he rode. The listening crowd admire the lofty sound, A present deity,{6} they shout around; A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound: With ravishd ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god, Affects to nod,{7} And seems to shake the spheres. Chorus. With ravishd 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; Flushd with a purple grace, He shows his honest face: Now give the hautboys{8} breath; he comes! he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain; Bacchus blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldiers pleasure; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Chorus. Bacchus blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldiers pleasure; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothd with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles oer again; And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he slew the slain.{9} The master saw the madness rise; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And, while he Heaven and Earth defied, Changed his hand, and checkd his pride. He chose a mournful muse, Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius{10} great and good, By too severe a fate, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And weltring in his blood; Deserted at his utmost need, By those his former bounty fed: On the bare earth exposd he lies,{11} With not a friend to close his eyes.{12} With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his alterd soul The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole,{13} And tears began to flow. Chorus. Revolving in his alterd soul The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole, And tears began to flow. The mighty master smild to see That love was in the next degree: Twas but a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love.{14} Softly sweet, in Lydian{15} measures, Soon he soothd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honor, but an empty bubble;{16} Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee. The many{17} rend the air with loud applause; So Love was crownd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazd on the fair Who causd his care, And sighd and lookd,{18} sighd and lookd, Sighd and lookd, and sighd again; At length, with love and wine at once oppressd, The vanquishd victor sunk upon her breast. Chorus. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazd on the fair Who causd his care, And sighd and lookd, sighd and lookd, Sighd and lookd, and sighd again; At length, with love and wine at once oppressd, The vanquishd victor sunk upon her breast. Now strike the golden lyre again; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. Break his bands of sleep{19} asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark, the horrid sound Has raised up his head! As awaked from the dead, And amazd he stares around. Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries, See the Furies{20} 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! Those are Grecian ghosts,{21} that in battle were slain, And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain: Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew.{22} 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 seizd a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way,{23} To light him to his prey, And like another Helen, fired another Troy. Chorus. And the king seizd 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 learnd to blow, While organs{24} 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;{25} The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Natures mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown: He raisd a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down.{26} Grand Chorus. 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 Natures mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown: He raisd a mortal to the skies She drew an angel down!
Posted on: Mon, 05 Jan 2015 06:11:48 +0000
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