Throng'd around her magic cell,

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possest beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin’d.

'Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,

Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,

G

From the supporting myrtles round

They snatch'd her instruments of sound,

And, as they oft had heard apart

Sweet lessons of her forceful art,

Each, for Madness rul'd the hour,

Would prove his own expressive power..

First Fear, his hand its skill to try,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,

And back recoil'd, he knew not why,

Even at the sound himself had made.

Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own'd his secret stings,

In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept with hurried hand the strings..

With woful measures wan Despair

Low sullen sounds his grief beguil❜d,

A sullen, 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,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

Still would her touch the strain prolong, And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,

She call'd on Echo still thro' all the song;

And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden

hair.

And longer had she 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 blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe.

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 soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,

While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting

from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd,

Sad proof of thy distressful state,

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd,

And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on

Hate.

With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd,

Pale Melancholy sat retir'd,

And from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul: ·

And dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;

Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,