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If in the breast tumultnous joys arise,
Music her soft, assuasive voice applies;
Or, when the soul is press'd with cares.
Exalts her in enlivening airs.
'Warriors she fires with animated sounds;
fours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;

Melancholy lifts her head,

Morphens rouses from his bed,.

Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,

Listening envy drops her snakes;
Intestine war no more our passions wage,
And giddy factions hear away their rage.

But when our country's canse 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,
While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi-gods stood round.
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Inflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his sevenfold shield display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade:
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!

But when through 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,

Dismal screams.

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,


Hollow groans,
And cries of toi tur'd ghostsl
But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And see! the tortur'd ghosts respire.
See, shady forms advance!
Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!
The Furies sink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurl'd hang listening round their heads.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er the elysian flowers;
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of asphodel,

Or aramanthine bowers;
By the hero's armed shades,
Glittering through the gloomy glades;
By the youths that died for love,
Wandering in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life:
Oh take the husband, or return the wife!
He sung, and hell consented
To hear the- poet's prayer;
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 I
k Though fate had fast bound her
With Styx nine times round her,
Yet music and love were victorious.

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,

Or where Hebrus wanders,

Rolling in meanders,

All alone,
Unheard, unknown*
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost.
For ever, ever, ever lost!'
Now with furies surrounded.
Despairing, confounded.
He trembles, he glows, #
Amidst Rhodope's snows:
See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he fries;
Hark! Haemus resounds with the Bacchanals' cries -

Ah sei:, he dies!
Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung;
Eurydice still trembled on his tongue;
Eurydice the woods,
Eurydice the floods,,
Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.

Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And fate's severest rage disarm:
Music can soften pain to ease,
And make despair and madness please:
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,

Th' immortal powers incline their ear:
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
'While solemn airs improve the sacred fire; ,

And angels lean from heaven to hear.
Of Orphens now no more let poets tell,
Xo bright Cecilia greater power is given:
His numbers rais'd a shade from hell,.
Her's lift the soul to heaven.



Altered from Shakespeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whose desire these two Choruses were composed, to supply as many, wanting in his Play. They were set many years afterwards by the famous Bononcini, and performed at Buck* ingham-house.


Strophe 1.

YE shades, where sacred truth is sought;
Groves, where immortal sages tanght;
Where heavenly visions Plato fir'd.
And Epicurus lay inspir'd!
Ia vain your guiltless lanrels stood
Unspotted long with human blood.
War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,
And steel now glitters in the muses' shades.

Antistrophe 1.

Oh heaven-born sisters! source of art!

Who charm the sense, or mend the heart;

Who lead fair virtue's train along,

Moral truth and mystic song!

To what new clime, what distant »Vy,

Forsaken, friendless, shall ye fly f
Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore?
Or bid the furious Ganl be rnde no more?

Strophe 2.
When Athens sinks by fates unjust,
When wild barbarians spurn her dust;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore:
Sec arts her savage sons control,
And Athens rising near the pole!

Till some new tyrant lifts his purple hand.

And civil madness tears them from the land.

Antistrophe 2.

Ye gods! what justice rules the ball!

Freedom and arts together fall;

Fools grant whate'er ambition craves,

And men, once ignorant are slaves.

O curs'd effects of civil hate,

In every age, in every state!
Still, when the lust of tyrant power succeeds,
Some Athens perishes, some Tuily bleeds.



OH tyrant love! hast thou possest
The prndent, learn'd, and virtnous breast?
Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,
And arts but soften us to feel thy flame.
Love, soft intrnder, enters here,
But entering learns to be sincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves.
And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Why, virtue, dost thou blame desire,

Which nature hath imprest?
Why nature, dost thou soonest Are
The mild and generous breast;


Love's purer flames the gods approve;
The gods and Brutus bend to love:
Brutus for absent Porcia sighs,
And sterner Cassins melts at Junta's eyes.

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