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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 crowned, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,
Sighed and looked, and sighed again.

Chorus.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,
Sighed and looked, and sighed again.

6.

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 their hair,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly hand,

Each a torch in his hand !
Those 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 glittering temples of their hostile gods.
The princes applaud with a furious joy;
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;

Thaïs led the way,

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.

Chorus. And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy ;

Thaïs led the way,

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.

7.
Thus long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learned 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 Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarged 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 raised a mortal to the skies

She draw an angel down.

Grand Chorus.

At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarged 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 raised a mortal to the skies;

She drew an angel down.

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DEFOE.

DANIEL DEFOE. Born about 1663; Died 1731.
As a youth Defoe served in Monmouth's army, and after the

Revolution, he maintained by his pen the principles of free
government against the Jacobites. A political writer during
the greater part of his life, he yet never stooped to write as the

servant of the Whig or the Tory party, Late in life, he began the series of works of fiction on which his

fame chiefly rests. They are all distinguished for their graphic reality and fulness of detail.

CRUSOE AND THE FOOT-PRINT. It happened one day about noon, going towards my boat, I was exceedingly surprised with the Print of a Man's naked foot on the shore, which was very plain to be seen in the sand; I stood like one thunder-struck, or as if I had seen an apparition; I listened, I looked round me, I could hear nothing, nor see anything; I went up to a rising ground to look farther; I went up the shore, and down the shore, but it was all one, I could see no other impression but that one. I went to it again to see if there were any more, and to observe if it might not be my fancy; but there was no room for that, for there was exactly the very print of a foot; toes, heel, and every part of a foot; how it came thither, I knew not, nor could in the least imagine. But after innumerable fluttering thoughts, like a man perfectly confused and out of myself, I came home to my fortification, not feeling, as we say, the ground I went

on, but terrified to the last degree, looking behind me at every two or three steps, mistaking every bush and tree, and fanoying every stump at a distance to be a man; nor is it possible to describe how many várious shapes affrighted imagination represented things to me in; how many wild ideas were formed every moment in my fancy, and wbat strange unaccountable whimsies came into my thoughts by the way.

When I came to my castle, for so I think I called it ever after this, I fled into it like one pursued; whether I went over by the ladder as first contrived, or went in at the hole in the road, which I called a door, I cannot remember; no, nor could I remember the next morning; for never frighted hare fled to cover, or fox to earth, with more terror of mind, than I to this retreat.

I slept none that night; the farther I was from the occasion of my fright, the greater my apprehensions were ; which is something contrary to the nature of such things, and especially to the usual practice of all creatures in fear: but I was so embarrassed with my own frightful ideas of the thing, that I formed nothing but dismal imaginations to myself, even though I was now a great way off it.

I presently concluded that it must be some of the savages of the main land over against me, who had wandered out to sea in their canoes, and either driven by the currents, or by contrary winds, had made the island;

and had been on shore, but were gone away again to sea, being as loth, perhaps, to have stayed in this desolate island, as I would have been to have had them.

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