Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats; "Till, by degrees, remote and small,

The strains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall.

II.

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 fhe 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,

Lift'ning Envy drops her fnakes;
Inteftine war no more our paflions wage,

And giddy factions hear

away their rage.

III.

But, when our country's caufe provokes to arms,
How martial mufic ev'ry bofom warms!

So, when the firit 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

Transported demi-gods flood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Enflam'd with glory's charms:

Each chief his fev'n-fold fhield difplay'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade:

And feas, and rocks, and skies rebound]
To arms, to arms, to arms!

IV.

But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegeton 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,
Difmal fcreams,

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts!

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

Thy ftone, O Sifyphus, ftands 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.

V.

By the ftreams 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 bowers;
By the heros' armed fhades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades;
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Reftore, reftore 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 conquest how hard and how glorious?
Tho' fate had faft bound her

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

VI.

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

Now

Now under hanging mountains,

Befide the falls of fountains,

Or where Hebrus wanders,

Rolling in meanders,

All alone,

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 snows:

See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies; Hark! Hæmus refounds with the Bacchanals criesAh fee, he dies!

Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he fung,

Eurydice ftill trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,

Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.

VII.

Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,

And fate's feverest. rage difarm:

Mufic can foften pain to ease,

And make defpair 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 pow'r is given;
His numbers rais'd a shade from hell,
Her's lift the foul to Heav'n

THE