Disparted; and between spun out the air
And earth, self-balanc'd, on her centre hung.

VIII. Overthrow of the Rebel Angels.

So spake the Son: and into terror changed

His countenance, too severe to be beheld, And full of wrath bent on his enemies.

At once, the four spread out their starry wings,
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs
Of his fierce chariot roll'd as with the sound
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host.
He on his impious foes, right onward drove,
Gloomy as night. Under his burning wheels
The stedfast empyrean shook throughout,
All but the throne itself of God. Full soon
Among them he arriv'd; in his right hand
Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent
Before him, such as in their souls infix'd
Plagues. They, astonish'd, all resistance lost,
All courage: down their idle weapons dropt :-
O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads, he rode,
Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate,
That wish'd the mountains, now, might be again
Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire.
Nor less on either side, tempestuous fell
His arrows, from the four-fold visag'd four
Distant with ages, and from the living wheels
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes.
One spirit in them rul'd; and every eye
Glar'd lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire
Among the accurs'd, that wither'd all their strength,
And, of their wonted vigor, left them drain'd,
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen.

Yet half his strength he put not forth; but check'd
His thunder in mid volley: for he meant,
Not to destroy, but root them out of heav'n.
The overthrown he rais'd; and, as a herd
Of goats or timorous flock together throng'd,
Drove them before him, thunder-struck, pursued
With terrors, and with furies, to the bounds
And crystal wall of heav'n; which, opening wide,
Roll'd inward, and a spacious gap disclos'd
Into the wasteful deep. The monstrous sight
Struck them with horror backward; but far worse
Urg'd them behind. Headlong themselves they threw
Down from the verge of heav'n: eternal wrath
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.

IX. Alexander's Feast; or, The Power of Music.
An Ode for St. Cicilia's Day.

"TW

WAS at the royal feast, for Persia won
By Philip's warlike son.-

Aloft in awful state,

The god-like hero sat

On his imperial throne.

His valiant peers were plac'd around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound:
So should desert in arms be crown'd,

The lovely Thais 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, deserves the fair.

Timotheus plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heav'nly joys inspire.-

The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above:
(Such is the pow'r of mighty love !)
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god :
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd,

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world, The list'ning crow'd 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 haughtboys 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 defy'd,
Chang'd 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,

Fail'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood:
Deserted at his utmost need
By those his former bounty fed,

On the bear earth expos'd he liés,

With not a friend to close his eyes.

With downcast look the joyless victor sat,
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 smil'd 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 sooth'd his soul to pleasures
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honor but an empty buble:

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying,
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, oh, think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais 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,

Gaz'd on the fair

Who caus'd 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 oppressid,
The vanquish'd 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 rais'd up his head,

As awak'd from the dead;

And, amaz'd, he stares around.

Revenge, revenge! Timotheus cries-
See the furies arise !

See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their hair,

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 unbury'd 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: Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey;

And, like another Helen-fir'd another Troy.

Thus, long ago,

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute;

Timotheus, to his breathing flute

And sounding lyre,

Could swell the soul to rage-or kindle soft desire.
At last, divine Cicilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame.

The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,

With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown:

He rais'd a mortal to the skies;
She drew an angel down.

LESSONS IN SPEAKING.

SECTION I.

ELOQUENCE OF THE PULPIT.

I. On Truth and Integrity.

RUTH and integrity have all the advantages of ap

Turan andandegrity have all

be good for any thing, I am sure the reality is better; for why does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is not, but because he thinks it good to have the qualities he pretends to? for, to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the appearance of some real excellency. Now, the best way for a man to seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be. Besides, it is often as troublesome to support the pretence of a good quality, as to have it ; and if a man have it not, it is most likely he will be discoyered to want it; and then all his labor to seem to have it is lost. There is something unnatural in painting, which a skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty and complexion.

It is hard to personate and act a part long; for, where truth is not at the bottom, nature will always be endeavoring to return, and will betray herself at one time or other. Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed; and then his goodness will appear to every one's satisfaction: for truth is convincing, and carries its own light and evidence along with it; and will not only commend us to every man's conscience, but which is much more, to God, who searcheth our hearts. So that, upon all accounts, sincerity is true wisdom. Particularly, as to the affairs of this world, integrity hath many advan tages over all the artificial modes of dissimulation and deceit. It is much the plainer and easier, much the safer and more secure way of dealing in the world; it hath less of trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, of