The whole unto Him, and remember who Prevail'd by wrestling ere the sun did shine; ALEXANDER'S FEAST. AN ODE TO ST. CECILIA'S DAY. BY JOHN DRYDEN. (JOHN DRYDEN, the son of Erasmus Dryden, of Tichmersh, was bom at Aldwinkle, in Northamptonshire, in the year 1632. He was educated at Westminster School under the celebrated Dr. Busby, and was elected to one of the Cambridge scholarships. He entered Trinity College in 1650, and, in four years, took his B.A. degree. At the same time, upon the death of his father, he came into possession of property worth about 60l. a year. He soon afterwards began to write poetry and dramatic compositions, and, in 1665, married the Lady Elizabeth Howard, daughter of the first Earl of Berkshire. For many years he supported himself solely by his writings; these were principally for the stage, or satires of men of the day, or translations of the classic authors. His poems “Absalom and Achitophel” and “The Hind and the Panther" gained him great reputation, and he was made Poet Laureate. In his later days he wrote “Alexander's Feast : an Ode to St. Cecilia's Day,” the finest lyric poem in the English language, and his “ Fables.” Dryden died in poverty on the ist of May, 1700, at a small house in Gerrard Street, Soho. He had a public funeral, and was buried with great honour in Westminster Abbey.) 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won, By Philip's warlike son: On his imperial throne : His valiant peers were placed around, So should desert in arms be crown'd. Happy, happy, happy pair ; None but the brave, None but the brave deserve the fair. Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, And heavenly joys inspire. When he to fair Olympia press'd ; Then round her slender waist he curl d, The list’ning crowd admire the lofty sound; A present deity, they shout around ; With ravish'd ears Affects to nod, The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young : The jolly god in triumph comes; Now, give the hautboys breath ; he comes ! he comes ! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure ; Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain : Fought all his battles o'er again : The master saw the madness rise He chose a mournful muse, Soft pity to infuse : By too severe a fate Fall’n from his high estate, Deserted at his utmost need By those his former bounty fed, With downcast look the joyless victor sate, The various turns of fate below; .Ind tears began to flow. |