Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, From the supporting myrtles round First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Next Anger rushed; his eyes, on fire, In lightnings owned his secret stings; In one rude clash he struck the lyre, With woful measures wan Despair A solemn, strange, and mingled air; But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on Echo still, through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung,-but, with a frown, He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down The war-denouncing trumpet took, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe. The doubling drum with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed, Sad proof of thy distressful state; Of differing themes the veering song was mixed, And now it courted Love, now raving called on Hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sate retired, And from her wild sequestered seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole; Love of Peace and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But oh, how altered was its sprightlier tone, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial. He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addressed; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids Amidst the vestal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round; As if he would the charming air repay, O Music! sphere-descended maid, Even all at once together found, William Collins [1721-1759] TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER CHARM me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious numbers, Ease my sick head, And make my bed, Thou power that canst sever From me this ill, And quickly still, Though thou not kill My fever. Thou sweetly canst convert the same From a consuming fire Into a gentle-licking flame, Then make me weep My pains asleep; And give me such reposes May think thereby 'Mongst roses. Fall on me like a silent dew, Or like those maiden showers Melt, melt my pains That, having ease me given, I leave this light, And take my flight For Heaven. Robert Herrick [1591-1674] A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sat the great god Pan, And hacked and hewed as a great god can, He cut it short, did the great god Pan, Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river. "This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, (Laughed while he sat by the river,) "The only way, since gods began |