Who left his blissful feats above; Then round her flender waist he curl'd, And ftamp'd an image of himself, a fov'reign of the world. A prefent deity!' they fhout around; A prefent deity!' the vaulted roofs rebound. The praise of Bacchus then the fweet mufician fung The jolly god in triumph comes; Sound the trumpets, beat the drums : Flush'd with a purple grace, He fhews his honeft face. Now give the hautboys breath.-He comes! he comes! Sooth'd with the found, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he flew the flain. The The mafter faw the madness rife, By too fevere a fate, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, • Fallen from his high eftate, And welt'ring in his blood, • Deferted at his utmost need, By thofe his former bounty fed; On the bare earth expos'd he lies, • With not a friend to clofe his eyes." With downçaft looks the joyless victor fate, Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of chance below And now and then a figh he ftole, And tears began to flow. The many rend the fkies with loud applause : Who caus'd his care, And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look'd, At length, with Love and Wine at once opprefs'd, • Now ftrike the golden lyre again : • A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. • And rouze him, like a rattling peal of thunder, Hark, hark! the horrid found 6 Has rais'd up his head, As awak'd from the dead, Revenge, revenge!' Timotheus cries; • See the fnakes that they rear, How they hifs in their hair? And the sparkles that flafli from their eyes! Behold a ghaftly band, Each a torch in his hand! Thofe are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were flain, Behold how they tofs their torches on high, How they point to the Perfian abodes, And the king feiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to destroy; Thaïs led the way, To light him to his prey; nd, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy, Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, Timotheus, to his breathing flute And founding lyre, Could swell the foul to rage, or kindle soft defire. The sweet enthusiast, from her facred store, And added length to folemn founds, Or both divide the crown; She drew an angel down. BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. I WRITTEN ABOUT THE YEAR M DCC VIII. BY DEAN SWIFT. N ancient times, as ftory tells, The faints would often leave their cells, And stroll about, but hide their quality, It happen'd on a winter night, Difguis'd 454 BEAUTIES OF POETRY, Difguis'd in tatter'd habits, went But not a foul would let them in. Our wand'ring faints, in woeful ftate, Having thro' all the village pafs'd, Bid Goody Baucis mend the fire, Na |