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 sang, 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 Thais 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: At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 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.
�� �
