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While in more lengthen'd notes and now
The deep, majestic, folemn organs blow,

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

And fill with spreading founds the skies ; Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats ;

Till, by degrees, remote and Imall,

The strains decay,
And melt

In a dying, dying full.


By Music, minds an equal temper know,

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

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

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

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

List’ning 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 bosom warms !
So when the first bold vefsel dar'd the seas,
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his Atrain,

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

Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,

Enflam’d with glory's charms ;
Each chief his sev’nfold shield 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,

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And cries of tortur'd ghosts ;
But hark ! he strikes the golden lyre ;
And fee! the tortur'd ghosts refpire,

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 fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,

Or Amaranthine bow'rs ;
By the hero'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 she falls, again she dies, she dies b
How wilt thou now the fatal fisters 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 meanders,

All alone.


Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan ;

And calls her ghoft,
For ever, ever, ever lost !
Now with Furies furrounded,
Despairing, confounded,
He trembles, he glows,

Amidft Rhodope's snows :
See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies ;
Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals cries.

Ah see, he dies ! Yet even in death Eurydice he fung, Eurydice till 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 severest


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 taneful 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
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater power is giv'a ;

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"WAS at the royal feaft, for Persia won,

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

On his imperial throne :

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

So should defert in arms be crown'd.
The lovely Thais by his fide
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 inspire.
The song began from Jove ;
Who left his blissful feats above,
Such is the pow'r of mighty love!

A dra.

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