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By the streams that ever flow,
By those happy souls who dwell
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
A conquest how hard, and how glorious!
But soon, too soon, the lover turns his
Again she falls-again she dies-she dies!
Unheard, unknown, He makes his moan; And calls her ghost, For ever, ever, ever lost!
Now with Furies surrounded,
See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies;
Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bac
Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And make despair and madness please;
And antedate the bliss above. This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praise confined the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear; Borne on the swelling notes our souls as
While solemn airs improve the sacred
And angels lean from Heav'n to hear. Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv'n; His numbers raised a shade from Hell, Hers lift the soul to Heav'n.
THE PROGRESS OF POESY.
A PINDARIC ODE.
AWAKE, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress
The laughing flowers that round them blow
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden| The fond complaint, my song, disprove,
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Egean deep, Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, Or where Mæander's amber waves In lingering lab'rinths creep,
Slow melting strains their Queen's ap- How do your tuneful echoes languish,
Mute, but to the voice of anguish !
Where'er she turns the Graces homage Where each old poetic mountain
With arms sublime that float upon the air In gliding state she wins her easy way: O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom
The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.
Man's feeble race what ills await! Labor, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!
Inspiration breathed around; Every shade and hallow'd fountain
Murmur'd deep a solemn sound; Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, Left their Parnassus for the Latian
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power,
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion! next, thy sea-en circled coast.
Far from the sun and summer gale,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Richly paint the vernal year;
AN ODE FOR MUSIC.
Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal By turns they felt the glowing mind
This can unlock the gates of Joy;
Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of th' abyss to spy.
He pass'd the flaming bounds of Place
The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear
With necks in thunder clothed, and long-
Hark! his hands the lyre explore! Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn
Thoughts that breathe, and words that
But ah! 'tis heard no more-
Thro' the azure deep of air;
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined;
First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
E'en at the sound himself had made.
Next Anger rush'd; his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own'd his secret stings:
With woeful measures wan Despair—
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled: A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.
But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
She call'd on Echo still through all the song;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.
O Music! sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! Why, goddess, why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? As in that loved Athenian bower You learn'd an all-commanding power, Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd. Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart, Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energic, chaste, sublime! Thy wonders, in that god-like age, Fill thy recording Sister's page ;— 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
INFLUENCE OF MUSIC. ORPHEUS with his lute made trees, And the mountain-tops that freeze,
Bow themselves, when he did sing: To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring. Everything that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay byIn sweet music is such art: Killing care, and grief of heart, Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE. Ariel to Miranda :-Take
This slave of Music, for the sake
When you live again on earth,
Now in humbler, happier lot,
From you he only dares to crave
The artist wrought this loved guitar;