ods,

f thy forests rush into the floods; Etain's thunder, and her cross display,. pright regions of the rising day;

cy seas, where scarce the waters roll, clearer flames glow round the frozen pole; r southern skies exalt their sails, new stars, and borne by spicy gales! the balm shall bleed, and amber flow, al redden, and the ruby glow, rly shell its lucid globe unfold, ebus warm the ripening ore to gold. e shall come, when free as seas or wind, Hed Thames shall flow for all mankind, nations enter with each swelling tide, s but join the regions they divide; listant ends our glory shall behold, new world launch forth to seek the old. Ips of uncouth form shall stem the tide, ther'd people crowd my wealthy side, ed youths and painted chiefs admire ech, our colour, and our strange attire! etch thy reign, fair peace! from shore to

re,

quest cease, and slavery be no more; freed Indians in their native groves

eir own fruits, and woo their sable loves;

ce more a race of kings behold,

er Mexicos be roof'd with gold.

y thee from earth to deepest hell,
n bonds shall barbarous discord dwell:

pride, pale terror, gloomy care,
1 ambition shall attend her there:
urple vengeance bathed in gore retires,
apons blunted, and extinct her fires:
ateful envy her own snakes shall feel,
secution mourn her broken wheel;

There faction roar, rebellion bite her chain,
And asping furies thirst for blood in vain.'

Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays
Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days;
The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite,
And bring the scenes of opening fate to light;
My humble muse, in unambitious strains,
Paints the green forests and the flowery plains,
Where peace descending, bids her olive spring,
And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing.
E'en I more sweetly pass my careless days,
Pleased in the silent shade with empty praise.
Enough for me, that to the listening swains
First in these fields I sang the sylvan strains.

ODE

ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY,

MDCCVIII.

And other Pieces for Music.

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

The shrill echoes rebound:

While, in more lengthen'd notes and slow
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;
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.

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 bear away their rage. 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,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortured ghosts:
But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre:
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 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!
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 flies;
Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals' cri

Ah see, he dies!

Yet e'en 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 confined the sound, When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,

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.