All times their scenes of pompous woe afford, From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. In gay hostility, and barbarous pride, With half mankind embattled at his side, Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey, And starves exhausted regions in his way; Attendant Flattery counts his myriads o'er, Till counted myriads soothe his pride no more; 230 Fresh praise is tried, till madness fires his mind, The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind; New powers are claim'd, new powers are still bestow'd, Till rude resistance lops the spreading god; The daring Greeks deride the martial show, And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; The insulted sea with humbler thoughts he gains, A single skiff to speed his flight remains; The encumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast Through purple billows and a floating host. 240 The bold Bavarian,[3] in a luckless hour, Tries the dread summits of Cæsarean power, With unexpected legions bursts away, And sees defenceless realms receive his sway: Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms, The Queen, the Beauty, sets the world in arms; From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise; The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war; 250 The baffled prince, in Honour's flattering bloom, Of hasty greatness finds the fatal doom, His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, And steals to death from anguish and from shame. Enlarge my life with multitude of days,-- In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays, Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know That life protracted is protracted woe. Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the passages of joy: 260 In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flower; With listless eyes the dotard views the store-- He views, and wonders that they please no more. Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines, And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. Approach, ye minstrels! try the soothing strain, Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear, Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near: 270 Nor lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend, Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend; But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, Perversely grave, or positively wrong; The still returning tale, and lingering jest, Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest; While growing hopes scarce awe the gathering sneer, And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; The watchful guests still hint the last offence, The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, 280 Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, And mould his passions till they make his will.