[THIS little requiem has long been a favourite, but little has been known of the author except that he was a dramatic writer of some repute early in the 17th century, his fame being based on the success of the 'Duchess of Malfi' and other dramas. Mr. Dyce has made a collection of his writings. (London, 1830).]

ALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,

CALL

Since o'er shady groves they hover
And with leaves and flowers do cover

The friendless bodies of unburied men.

Call unto his funeral dole

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm
And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;
But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,
For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

Or the Power of Music.

BY JOHN DRYDEN.—1632-1700.

[JOHN DRYDEN, the son of Erasmus Dryden, of Tichmersh, was born 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 60%. a year. He soon afterwards began to write poetry and dramatic composi tions, 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.]

'WAS at the royal feast, for Persia won,

'TWAS

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 myrtle bound;
So should desert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thaïs by his side.

Sat, 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 deserve 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 spheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd;
And while he sought her snowy breast,
Then round her slender waist he curl'd,

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sov'reign of the world.
The list'ning 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:
Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure ;

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Sooth'd 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 heav'n 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
Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high estate,
And welt'ring 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 look the joyless victor sate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of fate below;
And now and then a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smiled to see
That love was in the next degree:
"Twas but a kindred sound to move;

For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet in Lydian measures,

Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures;
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying ;

If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O 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,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again.

At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd,
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.
Now strike the golden lyre again;

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,

And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark! hark! the horrid sound

Has raised up his head,

As awaked from the dead,

And amazed, he stares around.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries;
See the Furies arise;

See the snakes that they rear!

How they hiss in the air,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,

And unburied remain

Inglorious on the plain;

Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew:

Behold how they toss their torches on high!

How they point to the Persian abodes,

And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods!

The Princes applaud, with a furious joy;

And the king seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to destroy; Thaïs led the way,

To light him to his prey,

And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.