ELLEN'S SONG. "SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking: Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, "No rude sound shall reach thine ear, "Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, Dream not, with the rising sun, Sleep! the deer is in his den; Here no bugles sound reveillé." SCOTT. ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son, The god-like hero sate On his imperial throne. His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound: The lovely Thaïs, by his side, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, placed on high, Amid the tuneful choir, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre; The trembling notes ascend the sky, Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain ! The master saw the madness rise; He sung Darius, great and good! Fallen fallen! fallen! fallen! Deserted at his utmost need The various turns of fate below; The mighty master smiled, to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Fighting still, and still destroying, 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, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, Now strike the golden lyre again! A louder yet, and yet a louder strain! And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder! Has raised up his head, As awakend from the dead; See the furies arise! See the snakes that they rear, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Each a torch in his hand! These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, To the valiant crew! Behold! how they toss their torches on high; And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy; To light him to his prey! And, like another Helen, fired another Troy! DRYDEN. ARIEL'S SONG. WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. SHAKSPEARE. FAIRY SONG. OVER hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough briar, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire. |