* * * * * THE MODERN ALEXANDER'S FEAST OR, THE POWER OF SOUND. (_An Ode for the Brandenburg Diet Day; a long way after Dryden._) ["At the banquet of the Diet of Brandenburg, the GERMAN EMPEROR said:-- 'The assured knowledge that your sympathy loyally attends me in my work, inspires me with fresh strength to persevere in my task, and to advance along the path marked out for me by Heaven. To this are added the sense of responsibility to our Supreme Lord above, and my unshakable conviction that He, our former ally at Rossbach and Dennewitz, will not leave me in the lurch. He has taken such infinite pains with our ancient Brandenburg and our House, that we cannot suppose he has done this for no purpose.... My course is the right one, and it will be persevered in."--_Daily Paper._] 'Twas in the royal feast Brandenburg set For Providence's pet: Aloft in Teuton state The god-like hero sate On his Imperial throne: His Brandenburgers listened round, Appreciative of the Power of Sound; All admire shouting--when the Shouter's crowned! The Jovian Eagle at his side Perched, and like Rheims's Jackdaw, eyed The Olympian hero in his pride. Happy, happy, happy Chief! None but the loud, None but the loud, From the crass crowd may win belief! His looks he shook, his long moustache he twirled, And saw a vision of himself as Sovereign of the World! The listening crowd admire the lofty sound. "A present deity!" they shout around. "A present deity!" the vaulted roofs rebound. With ravished ears, The monarch hears, Assumes the god, Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres! In praise of Brandenburg the Shouting Emperor spoke, In language like a huge thrasonic joke. The newest god in triumph comes; Blare the trumpets, thump the drums: Flushed with a purple grace, He lifts his Jovian face! Now give the blowers breath. He comes, he comes! New ALEXANDER fair and young, Drinking, in Teuton nectar, once again To Brandenburg, that treasure Of earth, and heaven's chief pleasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Which to the gods has given such pain! Soothed with the sound, the Emperor grows vain, Fights all his battles o'er again; 'Twas Heaven that routed all _his_ foes, Olympus slew _his_ slain. _He_ has the greatest of allies! Doubters are dastards in _his_ eyes, And grumblers at their deified Young Emperor in his proper pride. Should shake from their false shoes Germania's dust. The Muse Must sing Jove-WILHELM great and good, By a benignant fate Lifted, gifted, gifted, lifted, Lifted to a god's estate, Olympian in his mood: * * * * *