Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre, 45
The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire.
CHALDEAN WOMAN.
AIR.
See the ruddy morning smiling,
Hear the grove to bliss beguiling;
Zephyrs through the woodland playing,
Streams along the valley straying. 50
FIRST PRIEST.
While these a constant revel keep,
Shall Reason only teach to weep?
Hence, intruder! We'll pursue
Nature, a better guide than you.
SECOND PRIEST.
Every moment, as it flows, 55
Some peculiar pleasure owes;
Then let us, providently wise,
Seize the debtor as it flies.
Think not to-morrow can repay
The pleasures that we lose to-day; 60
To-morrow's most unbounded store
Can but pay its proper score.
FIRST PRIEST.
RECITATIVE.
But hush! See, foremost of the captive choir,
The master-prophet grasps his full-ton'd lyre.
Mark where he sits, with executing art, 65
Feels for each tone, and speeds it to the heart;
See how prophetic rapture fills his form,
Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm;
And now his voice, accordant to the string,
Prepares our monarch's victories to sing.
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