IV.
The soft complaining flute,

In dying notes, discovers

The woes of hopeless lovers; Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute.

V.

· Sharp violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs, and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation,
Depth of pains, and height of passion,
For the fair, disdainful dame.

VI.
But, oh! what art can teach,

What human voice can reach,
The sacred organ's praise?

Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.

VII.
Orpheus could lead the savage race;
And trees uprooted left their place,

Sequacious of the lyre:
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher;

When to her organ * vocal breath was given, An angel heard, and straight appeared,

Mistaking earth for heaven.

GRAND CHORUS
As from the power of sacred lays

The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
• To all the blessed above;
So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky.

The descent of the angel we have already mentioned. She thus announces this celestial attendant to her husband :

" I have an angel which that loveth me;
That with great love, wher so I wake or slepe,
Is ready aye my body for to kepe."

The Second Norne's Tale.

THE

TEARS OF AMYNTA,

FOR THE
DEATH OF DAMON.

A SONG.

I. On a bank, beside a willow, Heaven her covering, earth her pillow,

Sad Amynta sighed alone; From the cheerless dawn of morning Till the dews of night returning, Singing thus, she made her moan:

Hope is banished,

Joys are vanished,
Damon, my beloved, is gone!

Time, I dare thee to discover
Such a youth, and such a lover;

Oh, so true, so kind was he!
Damon was the pride of nature,
· Charming in his every feature;
Damon lived alone for me:
• Melting kisses,

Murmuring blisses;
Who so lived and loved as we!

III. Never shall we curse the morning, Never bless the night returning,

Sweet embraces to restore: Never shall we both lie dying, Nature failing, love supplying All the joys he drained before.

Death, come end me,

To befriend me;
Love and Damon are no more.

SYLVIA, the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green;
She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guest
By the towzing, and tumbling, and touching her

breast. She saw the men eager, but was at a loss, What they meant by their sighing, and kissing so

close;

By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing,

And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.

II.
Ah! she cried, ah, for a languishing maid,
In a country of Christians, to die without aid !
Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least,
Or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest,
To instruct a young virgin, that is at a loss,
What they meant by their sighing, and kissing so

close!

By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing,

And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.