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,
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods!"
The princes applaud, with a furious joy;

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

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 destroy; Thais led the way,

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,

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,
Enlarg'd 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;

266

267

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 before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

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

ON MILTON

THREE poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy and England did adorn.
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed;
The next in majesty; in both the last.
The force of nature could no further go;
To make a third, she joined the former two.

MATTHEW PRIOR

[1664-1721]

TO A CHILD OF QUALITY

Five years old, 1704. The Author then forty
LORDS, knights, and squires, the numerous band
That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,

Were summoned by her high command
To show their passions by their letters.

My pen amongst the rest I took,

Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read,
Should dart their kindling fires, and look

The power they have to be obey'd.

268

Nor quality, nor reputation,

Forbid me yet my flame to tell;

Dear Five-years-old befriends my passion,
And I may write till she can spell.

For, while she makes her silkworm beds
With all the tender things I swear;
Whilst all the house my passion reads,
In papers round her baby's hair;

She may receive and own my flame;

For, though the strictest prudes should know it, She'll pass for a most virtuous dame,

And I for an unhappy poet.

Then, too, alas! when she shall tear

The rhymes some younger rival sends,

She'll give me leave to write, I fear,

And we shall still continue friends.

For, as our different ages move,

'Tis so ordain'd (would Fate but mend it!),

That I shall be past making love

When she begins to comprehend it.

CLOE

THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrow'd name:
Euphelia serves to grace my measure,
But Cloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay

When Cloe noted her desire

That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes.

Fair Cloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd:

I sung, and gazed; I play'd, and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around

Remark'd how ill we all dissembled.

269

270

271

THE DYING ADRIAN TO HIS SOUL

POOR, little, pretty, fluttering thing,
Must we no longer live together?

And dost thou prune thy trembling wing,

To take thy flight thou knowst not whither? Thy humorous vein, thy pleasing folly,

Lies all neglected, all forgot:

And pensive, wavering, melancholy,

Thou dread'st and hop'st thou know'st not what.

EPIGRAM

TO JOHN I owed great obligation;

But John unhappily thought fit

To publish it to all the nation,

Sure John and I are more than quit.

ISAAC WATTS

[1674-1748]

TRUE GREATNESS

WERE I so tall to reach the pole
Or grasp the ocean with my span,
I must be measured by my soul:
The mind's the standard of the man.

272

LADY GRISEL BAILLIE

[1665-1746]

WERENA MY HEART LICHT I WAD DEE

THERE ance was a may,1 and she lo'ed na men;
She biggit her bonnie bow'r doun in yon glen;
But now she cries, Dool and well-a-day!

3

Come doun the green gait and come here away!

When bonnie young Johnnie cam owre* the sea,
He said he saw naething sae lovely as me;

He hecht me baith rings and mony braw things-
And werena my heart licht, I wad dee.

6

He had a wee titty that lo'ed na me,

Because I was twice as bonnie as she;

She raised sic a pother 'twixt him and his mother

That werena my heart's licht, I wad dee.

The day it was set, and the bridal to be:

7

The wife took a dwam and lay doun to dee;

8

She maned and she graned out o' dolour and pain,
Till he vow'd he never wad see me again.

His kin was for ane of a higher degree,
Said-What had he do wi' the likes of me?
Appose 10 I was bonnie, I wasna for Johnnie-
And werena my heart licht, I wad dee.

They said I had neither cow nor calf,
Nor dribbles o' drink rins thro' the draff,"
Nor pickles" o' meal rins thro' the mill-e'e-
And werena my heart licht, I wad dee.

His titty she was baith wylie and slee:1
She spied me as I cam owre the lea;

And then she ran in and made a loud din-
Believe your ain e'en, an ye trow not me.