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L

A FRAGMENT.

EST you should think that verse shall die, Which sounds the silver Thames along,

Taught on the wings of Truth to fly

Above the reach of vulgar song;

Tho' daring Milton sits sublime
In Spencer native Muses play;
Nor yet shall Waller yield to time,
Nor pensive Cowley's moral lay---
Sages and Chiefs long since had birth,
Ere Cæsar was, or Newton nam'd;

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HOR. LIB. IV. ODE IX.

NE forte credas interitura, quæ
Longe sonantem natus ad Aufidum,
Non ante vulgatas per artes
Verba loquor sòcianda chordis.
Non, si priores Mæonius tenet
Sedes Homerus, Pindaricæ latent,
Ceæque, et Alcæi minaces,
Stesichorique graves Camænæ;
Nec, si quid olim lusit Anacreon,
Delevit ætas: spirat adhuc amor,
Vivuntque commissi calores
Ecliæ ficibus puellæ.

These rais'd new empires o'er the earth,

And those new heav'ns and systems fram'd.
Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride!

In vain they schem'd, in vain they bled!

They had no poet, and they died.

They had no poet, and are dead.

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; sed omnes illacrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotique longa

Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.

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AND OTHER PIECES OF MUSIC.

[Written in the year 1708.]

I.

DESCEND, ye Nine ! descend and sing;

The breathing instruments inspire;
Wake into voice each silent string,
And sweep the sounding lyre!
In a sadly-pleasing strain,
Let the warbling lute complain;
Let the loud trumpet sound,
Till the roofs all around

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The shrill echoes rebound;..

While in more length'd notes and slow,

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The deep, majestic, solemn, organs blow.
Hark! the numbers soft and clear

Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder rise,

And fill with spreading sounds the skies.

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Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,

In broken air trembling, the wild music floats;
Till by degrees, remote and small,

The strains decay,

And melt away.

In a dying, dying, fall.

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II.

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;

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Or when the soul is press'd with cares,

Exalts her in enliv'ning airs.

Warriors she fires with animated sounds,

Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;

Melancholy lifts her head,

Morpheus rouses from his bed,

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But when our country's cause 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,

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While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main:
Transported demigods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Inflam'd with Glory's charms;
Each chief his sev'nfold shield display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade;
And seas, and rocks, and skies, rebound,
To arms, to arms, to arms!

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IV.

But when thro' 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,

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Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts!

But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And, see! the tortur'd ghosts respire!
See! shady forms advance!

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Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still,
Ixion rests upon his weel,

And the pale spectres dance;

The Furies sink upon their iron beds,

And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their heads.

V.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elysian flow'rs;
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of asphodel,
Or amaranthine bow'rs;

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