II. To guard his much lov'd country's weal, When valour gems it with his blood! III. On Lutzen's plain, at break of day, And Sweden, that brave band was thine. IV. O Lutzen! thou didst drink full deep His heart-stream on the fatal plain; V. Where has that patriot spirit fled That fired the Delecarlian swain, When from their cavern'd hills he led His friends against the insulting Dane? Is Charles's blood extinct?-Ah go Brave Swede! to Narva-she can say How felt the Russ the dreadful blow, How gained the royal boy the day. a VI. What dire effect from discord springs, On whose great deeds she lov'd to dwell; And dare not make their sorrows known. VII. O grasp thy sword, thou hardy Swede! The Passions.An Ode.-COLLINS. WHEN Music, heavenly Maid! was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell; Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, From the supporting myrtles round, They snatch'd her instruments of sound; And, as they oft had heard apart, Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each, (for madness rul'd the hour) Would prove his own expressive power. First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair : And longer had she sung, but with a frown, Revenge impatient rose. He threw his blood stain'd sword in thunder down ; And with a withering look, The war denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, And ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum with furious heat: And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side, Her soul subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mein, [head. While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd: And, now it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on Hate. With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd, And, from her wild sequester'd seat, Through glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay, (Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing) In hollow murmurs died away. But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown exercise rejoic'd to hear; And Sport leap'd up and seiz'd his beechen spear. He, with viny crown, advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd- To some unwearied minstrel dancing: As if he would the charming air repay, Alexander's Feast; or, the Power of Music.-An Ode for St. Cecilia's Day.-DRYDEN. 'TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son.Aloft in awful state, The godlike hero sat On his imperial throne. His valiant peers were plac'd around, The lovely Thais by his side, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave, deserve the fair. With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The song began from Jove, When he to fair Olympia press'd, [world. And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the The list❜ning crowd admire the lofty sound; A present Deity, they shout around; A present Deity, the vaulted roofs rebound. And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung; |