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While in more lengthen'd notes and flow,
The deep, majeftic, folemn organs blow.

Hark! the numbers foft and clear,
Gently fteal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder rife

And fill with spreading founds the skies;
Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats;
'Till, by degrees, remote and fmall,
The ftrains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall,


By Mufic, minds an equal temper know,
Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arife,
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 Paffions wage,
And giddy Factions hear away their









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


So when the firft 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.
Transported demi-gods ftood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Enflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his fev'nfold shield display'd,
And half unfheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!


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,

Dismal fcreams,
Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts!

But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And fee! the tortur'd ghosts respire,

See, fhady forms advance!
Thy stone, O Syfiphus, 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.


By the ftreams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elyfian flow'rs;

By those happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,

Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
By the hero's 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.


But foon, too foon, the lover turns his eyes:
Again fhe 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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Amidst Rhodope's fnows:

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

Ah 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.


Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,

And fate's fevereft råge difarm:

Mufic can foften pain to ease,

And make despair 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. 125


When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,

Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear;
Borne on the fwelling notes our fouls afpire,
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 power is giv❜n;
His numbers rais'd a fhade from hell,
Hers lift the foul to heav'n.



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