These rais'd new empires o'er the earth,

And those new heav'ns and systems fram'd.
Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride!

They had no poet, and they died.

In vain they schem'd, in vain they bled!

They had no poet, and are dead.

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Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; sed omnes illacrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotique longa
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro,

AND OTHER PIECES OF MUSIC.

[Written in the year 1708.]

I.

DESCEND, ye Nine! descend and sing;

The breathing instruments inspire;
Wake into voice each silent string,
And sweep the sounding lyre!
In a sadly-pleasing strain,
Let the warbling lute complain;
Let the loud trumpet sound,
Till the roofs all around

The shrill echoes rebound;

While in more length'd notes and slow,

The deep, majestic, solemn, organs blow.
Hark! the numbers soft and clear

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Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder rise,

And fill with spreading sounds the skies.

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

The strains decay,

And melt away.

In a dying, dying, fall.

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II.

By Music, minds an equal temper know,
Nor swell too high, nor sink too low :
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft assuasive voice applies;

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But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
How martial music every bosom warms!

So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas,

High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,

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While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main:
Transported demigods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Inflam'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!

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IV.

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,

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бо

But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And, see! the tortur'd ghosts respire!
See! shady forms advance!

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Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still,
Ixion rests upon his weel,

And the pale spectres dance;

The Furies sink upon their iron beds,

And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their heads.

V.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elysian flow'rs;
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of asphodel,
Or amaranthine bow'rs;

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By the heroes' armed shades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades;
By the youths that dy'd for love,

Wand'ring in the myrtle grove ;--

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Restore, restore Eurydice to life:

Oh, take the husband, or return the wife!

He sung, and Hell consented

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To hear the poet's pray'r;
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 fast bound her,

With Styx nine times round her,

Yet music and love were victorious.

VI.

But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes;
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!
How wilt thou now the Fatal Sisters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,

Beside the falls of fountains,

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