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Till, by degrees, remote and smal^

The strains decay,

And melt away,
In a dying, dying fall.

By music, minds an equal temper know,
Nor swell too high, nor sink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous 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;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus 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.

Hi.

But when our country's cause provokes to arms
How martial music every bosom warms!
So when the first bold vessel dared the seas,
High on the stern the Thracian raised 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,
Inflamed with glory's charms;
Each chief his sevenfold shield display'd,
And half unsheathed the shining blade:
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms! to arms! to arms!

But when, through all the 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,
Sullen moans,
Hollow groans,
And cries of tortured ghosts!
But, hark! he strikes the golden Iyrej
And see! the tortured 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 amaranthine bowers;
By the heroes' armed shades,
Glittering through the gloomy glades;
By the youths that died for love,
Wandering in the myrtle grove,
[Restore, restore Eurydiee 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!
Though fate had fast bound her
With Styx nine times round her,
Yet music and love were victorious.

VI.

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 Bhodope's snows:
See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies;
Hark! Hsemus resounds with the Bacchanals' cries—'

Ah see, he dies!
~ Yet even in death Eurydice he sung,
Eurydice still trembled on his tongue,
Eurydice the woods,
Eurydice the floods,
Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.

^m t!?p»■■ freest grief cap charm.
ffiid fate's severest rage disarm;
Music can soiten pain to ease.
And maKe despair arn-i maHness please:
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This the divine Cecilia lound,

And to her Maker's praise confined the sound.

When the full organ joins the tuneful choir,

The 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 Orpheus now no more let poets tell,

To bright Cecilia greater power is given; His numbers raised a shade from hell.

Hers lift the soul to heaven.

TWO CHOEUSES

TO THE TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS.

CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.
STROPHE I.

Ye shades, where sacred truth is sought 5
Groves, where immortal sages taught;
Where heavenly visions Plato fired,
And Epicurus lay inspired!
In vain your guiltless laurels stood
Unspotted long with human blood.
War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invade%
And steel now glitters in the Muses' shades.

ANTISTROPHE I.

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 sky,

Forsaken, friendless, shall ye fly]
Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore?
Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

STROPHE u.

When Athens sinks by fates unjust,
When wild barbarians spurn her dust;
Perhaps even Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with strangers' gore,
See 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 II.

Ye gods! what justice rules the ball?

Freedom and arts together fall;

Fools grant whate'er ambition craves,

And men, once ignorant, are slaves.

Oh cursed effects of civil hate,

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

€HORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS

SEMICHORUS.

Oh tyrant Love! hast thou possest

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast f
Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,
And arts but soften us to feel thy name.
Love, soft intruder, 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 has imprest,
Why, nature, dost thou soonest fire
The mild and generous breast?

CHORUS.

Love's purer flames the gods approve;
The gods and Brutus bend to love:
Brutus for absent Portia sighs,
And sterner Cassius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loose love? a transient gust,
Spent in a sudden storm of lust,
A vapour fed from wild desire,
A wandering, self-consuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite,

And burn for ever one;
Chaste as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the sun.

SEMICHORUS.

O source of every social tie,
United wish, and mutual joy!
What various joys on one attend,
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend t
Whether his hoary sire he spies,
While thousand grateful thoughts arise;
Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;
Or views his smiling progeny:

What tender passions take their turns,

What home-felt raptures move!
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
With reverence, hope, and love.

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