While in more lengthen'd notes and flow
The deep, majeftic, folemn organs blow,
Hark! the numbers foft 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 fmall,

By Mufic, minds an equal temper know,
Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Mufic her foft, affuafive voice applies;
Or, when the foul is prefs'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 roufes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
Lift'ning Envy drops her fnakes;
Inteftine war no more our Paffions wage.
And giddy Factions hear away their rage.

But when our country's cause provokes to arms How martial mufic every bofom warms!

So when the first bold veffel dar'd the feas, High on the ftern the Thracian rais'd his ftrain,

While Argo faw her kindred trees
Defcend from Pelion to the main.
Tranfported demi-gods flood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Enflam'd with glory's charms;
Each chief his fev'nfold shield display'd,
And half unfheath'd the fhining blade;
And feas, and rocks, and fkies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!

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

Love, ftrong as Death, the Poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What founds were heard,
What scenes appear'd,

O'er all the dreary coafts?

Dreadful gleams,

Dismal screams,

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woc,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts;

But hark! he ftrikes the golden lyre;
And fee! the tortur'd ghosts respire,
See, fhady forms advance!

Thy stone, O Sysiphus, stands ftill,

Ixion refts upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!

The furies fink upon their iron beds,

And fnakes uncurl'd hang lift'ning round their heads.

By

By the streams that ever flow,

By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er th' Elyfian flow'rs;

By thofe happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,
Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
By the hero's armed fhades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades?
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Reftore, restore Eurydice to life;
Oh take the Husband, or return the Wife !
He fung, and hell confented

To hear the Poet's prayer:
Stern Proferpine relented,

And

gave him back the fair : Thus fong could prevail

O'er death and o'er hell,

A conqueft how hard, and how glorious!
Tho' fate had faft bound her

With Styx nine times round her,

Yet mufic and love were victorious,

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

Now under hanging mountains,

Befide the falls of fountains,

Or where Hebrus wanders,

Rolling in meanders,

All alone,

Unheard,

Unheard, unknown,

He makes his moan;

And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever loft!
Now with Furies furrounded,
Defpairing, confounded,

He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's fnows:

See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies;

Hark! Hamus refounds with the Bacchanals cries-.

Yet even in death Eurydice he fung,

Eurydice ftill trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,

Ah fee, he dies!

Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung,

Mufic the fiercest grief can charm,

And fate's feverest rage disarm :
Mufic can foften pain to ease,

And make despair and madness please:

Our joys below it can improve,

And antedate the blifs above.

This the divine Cecilia found,

And to her Maker's praise confin'd the found,
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,

Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear :
Borne on the fwelling notes our fouls aspire,
While folemn airs improve the facred 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;

C

His numbers rais'd a fhade from hell,

Her's lift the foul to heav'n.

CHA P. XXXIII

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

"WAS at the royal feaft, for Perfia won,

"TWAS

By Philip's warlike fon :

Aloft in awful state

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 fhould defert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thais by his fide

Sat, like a blooming eaftern 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 deferves the fair.

Timotheus plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes afcend the fky,
And heav'nly joys inspire.

The fong began from Jove;
Who left his blissful feats above,
Such is the pow'r of mighty love!

POPE

A dra