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While in more lengthen'd notes and flow,
The deep, majettic, folemn organs blow.

Hark! the numbers soft and clear,
Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rise,

And fill with spreading rounds the skies; Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats ;

Till, by degrees, remote and small,

The strains decay,

And melt away
In a dying, dying fall.

By Music, minds an equal temper know,

Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. If in the breast tumultuous joys arise, Music her foft, assuasive voice applies ;

Or, when the soul is press’d with cares,

Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors the fires with animated founds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:

Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouzes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,

Liftning Envy drops her snakes ;
Intestine war no more our Passions wage,
And giddy Factions hear away their rage.

But when our country's cause provokes to arms, How martial music every bofom warms! So when the first bold vessel dar'd the feas, 'High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his frain,

While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.

Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Enflam’d with glory's charms:
Each chief his fev’nfold field display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade :
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!

But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds,

Love, strong as Death, the Poet led

To the pale nations of the dead,
What sounds were heard,
What scenes appear’d,
O’er all the dreary coasts ?

Dreadful gleams,
Dismal screams,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,
Sullen moans,
Hollow groans,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts !
But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And see! the tortur'd ghosts respire,

See, shady forms advance !
Thy stone, O Sysiphus, stands still,
Ixion, rests upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance !
The furies sink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurl'd hang list’ning round their heads.


- By the streams that ever flow, .
By the fragrant winds that blow

O’er th' Elysian flow'rs;
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,

Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
. By the heroe's armed shades,

Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades;
By the youths that dy'd for love,

"Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life:
Oh take the Husband, or return the Wife!

He sung, and hell consented :

To hear the Poet's prayer: .
Stern Proserpine relented,
And gave him back, the fair,

Thus song could prevail

O’er death, and o’er hell,
A conquest how hard, and how glorious !

Tho' fate had faft bound her

With Styx nine times round her, Yet music and love were victorious.

But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes :
Again the falls, again the dies, the dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal fifters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.

Now under hanging mountains,
Beside the falls of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in mæanders,
All alone,


Unheard, :

Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever lost !
How with Furies surrounded,
Despairing, confounded,
He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's snows :
see, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies;
Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanal's cries-

Ah see, he dies !
Yet even in death Eurydice he sung,
Eurydice still trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,
Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.

Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And fate's fevereit rage disarm :
Music can soften pain to ease,
- And make despair and madness please :

Our joys below it can improve,

And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praise confin’d the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,

Th’immortal.pow'rs incline their ear : -
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire ;

And Angels lean from heav'n to hear. Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell, To bright Cecilia greater power is giv'n;


His numbers rais'd a shade from hell,
Her's lift the soul to heav'n. -





WAS at the royal feast, for Persia won,

By Philip's warlike son:
Aloft in awful ftate
The god-like hero fate

On his imperial tirone:

His valiant peers were plac'd around;
Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound:

So should desert in arms be crowa’d.
The lovely Thais by his side
Sat, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride,

Happy, happy, happy pair ;
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the fair.

Timotheus plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful quire,
With-flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,

And heav'nly joys infpire..
The song began from Jove;

· Who left his blissful seats above, Such is the pow'r of mighty love !.

T 2.

A dra.

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