IV.

But when through all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegeton furrounds,

Love, ftrong as Death, the Poets led
To the pale nations of the dead,

What founds were heard,
What scenes appear'd,

O'er all the dreary coasts!
Dreadful gleams,
Difmal fcreams,

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghofts!

But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And fee! the tortur'd ghofts refpire.

See, fhady forms advance!

Thy stone, O Sifyphus, ftands ftill,
Ixion refts upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!

The Furies fink upon their iron beds,

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55

60

65

And fnakes uncurl'd hang listening round their heads.

4.

By the ftreams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er the Elyfian flowers;
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,

Or Amaranthine bowers;

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By

By the hero's armed fhades,
Glittering through the gloomy glades ;

By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wandering in the myrtle grove,
Restore, 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!
Though fate had fast bound her

With Styx nine times round her,

Yet mufic and love were victorious.

VI.

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

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Now with Furies furrounded,

Defpairing, confounded,

He trembles, he glows,

Amidft Rhodope's fnows:

See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies;
Hark! Hæmus refounds with the Bacchanals cries-

Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he fung,

Ah fee, he dies!

And make despair and madness please:
Our joys below it can improve,

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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 powers incline their ear;
Borne on the fwelling notes our fouls afpire,
While folemn airs improve the facred fire;

And angels lean from heaven to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let Poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater power is given :
His numbers rais'd a fhade from hell,

Her's lift the foul to heaven.

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TWQ

TWO

CHORUSE S

то THE

TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS.

Altered from Shakespeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whose defire thefe two Chorufes were compofed, to fupply as many, wanting in his play. They were fet many years afterwards by the famous Bononcini, and performed at Buckingham-house.

Y

CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.

STROPHE

I.

E fhades, where facred truth is fought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught:
Where heavenly vifions Plato fir'd,
And Epicurus lay infpir'd!

In vain your guiltlefs laurels ftood
Unfpotted long with human blood.

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,
And steel now glitters in the Mufes' fhades.

Oh heaven-born fifters! fource of art!

Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart;
Who lead fair Virtue's train along,
Moral truth and mystic Song!

To what new clime, what distant sky,
Forfaken, friendless, shall ye fly?

Say, will

ye blefs the bleak Atlantic fhore? Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

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S

15

STROPHE

STROPHE II.

When Athens finks by fates unjust,

When wild Barbarians fpurn her duft;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore

Shall ceafe to blush with stranger's gore;
See Arts her favage fons control,
And Athens rifing near the pole!

Till fome new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madness tears them from the land.

Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball !
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are slaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,

In every age, in every state!

Still, when the luft of tyrant power fucceeds,
Some Athens perifhes, fome Tully bleeds.

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CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

SEMICHORUS.

OH Tyrant Love! haft thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast ?

Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim,

And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame.

Love, foft intruder, enters here,

But entering learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.

G 2

5

Why,