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“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,
Every sense in slumber dewing.
“No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here
Mustering clan or squadron tramping, Yet the lark's shrill fife may come
At the day-break from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum,
Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steeds' neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.
“Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not, with the rising sun,
Bugles here shall sound reveillé.
Sleep! the deer is in his den;
Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
How thy gallant steed lay dying.
'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won
By Philip's warlike son,
On his imperial throne.
The lovely Thaïs, by his side,
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
Timotheus, placed on high,
Amid the tuneful choir,
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again ;
the slain !
He chose a mournful muse,
Soft pity to infuse:
By too severe a fate,
Fallen from his high estate,
Deserted at his utmost need
With not a friend to close his eyes.
The various turns of fate below;
And tears began to flow.
The mighty master smiled, to see
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Honour, but an empty bubble ;
Fighting still, and still destroying, If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, oh think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thaïs sits beside thee,
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,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again;
Hark! hark! the horrid sound
Has raised up his head,
As awakend from the dead;
See the furies arise !
How they hiss in their hair,
Behold a ghastly band,
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,
And, unburied, remain
To the valiant crew!
How they point to the Persian abodes,
Thaïs led the way,
To light him to his prey!
WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I;
After summer, merrily:
OVER hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Thorough flood, thorough fire.