And, when the solemn and deep church bell Entreats the soul to pray, The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar The spectral camp is fled; Faith shineth as a morning star, Our ghastly fears are dead.
H. W. Longfellow.
[ ALEXANDER’S FEAST OR,
THE POWER OF MUSIC]
’Twas at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip’s 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 (So should desert in arms be crown’d); The lovely Thais by his side Sate like a blooming eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty’s pride:— Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave None but the brave None but the brave deserves the fair!
Timotheus placed on high Amid the tuneful quire With flying fingers touch’d the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove Who left his blissful seats above— Such is the power of mighty love! A dragon’s fiery form belied the god; Sublime on radiant spires he rode When he to fair Olympia prest, And while he sought her snowy breast; Then round her slender waist he curl’d, And stamp’d an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. —The listening crowd admire the lofty sound! A present deity! they shout around: A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound! With ravish’d 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! Flush’d with a purple grace He shows his honest face: Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain; Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure: Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o’er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain! The master saw the madness rise, His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And while he Heaven and Earth defied Changed his hand and check’d his pride. He chose a mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse: He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood; Deserted, at his utmost need, By those his former bounty fed; On the bare earth exposed he lies With not a friend to close his eyes. —With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his alter’d soul The various turns of Chance below; And now and then a sigh he stole, And tears began to flow.