"Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their

woods,

And half thy forests rush into the floods;

Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display,

To the bright regions of the rising day; Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll, Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole; Or under southern skies exalt their sails, Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales! For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow, The coral redden, and the ruby glow, The pearly shell its lucid globe unfold, And Phœbus warm the ripening ore to gold. The time shall come, when free as seas or wind, Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind, Whole nations enter with each swelling tide, And seas but join the regions they divide; Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold, And the new world launch forth to seek the old. Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide, And feather'd people crowd my wealthy side, And naked youths and painted chiefs admire Our speech, our colour, and our strange attire! Oh, stretch thy reign, fair peace! from shore to shore,

Till conquest cease, and slavery be no more;

Till the freed Indians in their native groves

Reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves;

Peru once more a race of kings behold,

And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold.
Exiled by thee from earth to deepest hell,
In brazen bonds shall barbarous discord dwell:
Gigantic pride, pale terror, gloomy care,
And mad ambition shall attend her there :
There purple vengeance bathed in gore retires,
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires:
There hateful envy her own snakes shall feel,
And persecution 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,

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 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! Hamus resounds with the Bacchanals' cn

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.