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While in more lengthen'd notes and flow,
And fill with spreading founds the skies;
And melt away
In a dying, dying fall.
By Mufic, minds an equal temper know,
Or, when the foul is prefs'd with cares,
Warriors fhe fires with animated founds:
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouzes from his bed,
But when our country's caufe provokes to arms, How martial mufic every 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
But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Love, ftrong as Death, the Poet led
O'er all the dreary coasts?
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,
But hark! he ftrikes the golden lyre;
And fee! the tortur'd ghofts refpire,
And the pale spectres dance!
And fnakes uncurl'd hang lift'ning round their heads.
By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
To hear the Poet's prayer:
A conqueft how hard, and how glorious!
With Styx nine times round her, Yet mufic and love were victorious.
But foon, too foon, the lover turns his eyes:
Now under hanging mountains,
Befide the falls of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
He trembles, he glows,
Amidst Rhodope's fnows:
See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies; Hark! Hamus refounds with the Bacchanal's criesAh fee, he dies!
Yet even in death Eurydice he fung,
Eurydice ftill trembled on his tongue,
Eurydice the woods,
Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.
Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,
And antedate the blifs above.
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear:
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,
CHA P. XXXIII
WAS at the royal feast, for Perfia won,
Aloft in awful state
The god-like hero fate
On his imperial throne:
His valiant peers were plac'd around; Their brows with rofes and with myrtle bound: So fhould defert in arms be crown'd.
The lovely Thais by his fide
Sat, like a blooming eastern bride,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deferves the fair.
Timotheus plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The fong began from Jove;