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Exultiug, trembling, raging, fainting,
First Fear his hand, its skill to try
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Ev'n at the found himself had made.
Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,
• In light’nings own'd his secret stings, In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And fwept, with hurried hand, the strings.
With woful measures, wan Despair
Low sullen sounds his guief beguild, A solemn, strange, and mingled air,
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.
But thou O, Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted Measure?
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
Still would her touch the scene prolong,
She callid on Echo, still thro' all the song ; A fost responsive voice was heard at every close, And hope enchanted (mild, and wav'd her golden hair,
And longer had the sung,--but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose, He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down,
And with a withering look,
The war denouncing trumpet took,
And ever and anon he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat : And tho' sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity at his side,
Her foul-fubduing voice applied, Yet ftill he kept his wild unalter'd mein, While each strain'd ball of fight scem'd bruiting from
Thy numbers Jealousy, to nought were fix'l,
Sad proof of thy distressful state,
And now it courted Love, now,raving, call’d on Hate.
With eyes up rais’d, as one inspir’d,
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the found: Throʻ glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or o'er fome haunted streams with fond delay,
Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace and lonely musing, In hollow murmers, die away.
But O, how alter'd was its' sprightlier tone!
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Blew an aspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known;
The oak-crown'd lifters, and their chaste.ey'd queen
Peeping from forth their alleys green ;
Last came Joy's extatic trial,
He, with viny crown advancing,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov’d the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing,
Love fram'd with mirtin a gay fantastic round,
As if he would the the charming air repay,
Music! sphere-descended maid,
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
OR is that Cot, of which fond fancy draws
This casual picture, alien from our theme. Revisit it at morn ; its opening latch, Tho' Penury and Toil within reside, Shall pour the forth a youthful progeny Glowing with health and beauty: (such the dower Of equal Heav'n) see how the ruddy tribe Throng round the threshold, and, with vacant gaze Salute thee; call the loiterers in to use, And form of these thy fence, the living fence That graces what it guards. Thou think'st perchance Thit, skill'd in nature's heraldry, thy art, Has, in the limits of yon fragrant tust, Marshall d each rose, that to the eye of June