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ON

ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

I.

DESCEND, ye Nine! descend and fing;
The breathing inftruments infpire,

Wake into voice each filent string,
And fweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pleasing strain

Let the warbling lute complain:
Let the loud trumpet found,
"Till the roofs all around

The fhrill echoes rebound:

While in more lengthen'd notes and flow,
The deep, majestic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear
Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder rife,

And fill with fpreading founds the skies; Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats; "Till, by degrees, remote and finall,

The ftrains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall.

II.

By Music, minds an equal temper know,
Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her foft, affuafive voice applies;

Or, when the foul is prefs'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.

Warriors the fires with animated founds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouzes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
Liftening envy drops her fnakes;
Inteftine war no more our Paffions wage,
And giddy factions bear away their rage,

III.

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
Defcend from Pelion to the main.
Tranfported demi-gods ftood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Inflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his feven-fold fhield difplay'd,
And half unfheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and fkies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!

IV.

But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegeton furrounds,

Love, ftrong as Death, the Poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,

What founds were heard,

What fcenes appear`d,

O'er all the dreary coasts!

Dreadful gleams,

Difmal fcreams,

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts!

But hark! he ftrikes the golden lyre;
And fee the tortur'd ghosts refpire,

See, fhady forms advance!

Thy ftone, O Sifyphus, ftands still,

Ixion refts upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!

The Furies fink upon their iron beds,

And fnakes uncurl'd hang listening round their heads.

V.

By the ftreams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elyfian flowers;
By thofe happy fouls that dwell
In yellow meads of afphodel,

Or aramanthine bowers;

By the hero's armed shades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades ;
By the youths that dy'd for love,

Wandering in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life:
Oh take the husband, or return the wife!

He fung, and hell confented
To hear the poet's prayer;

Stern Proferpine relented,

And gave him back the fair.
Thus fong could prevail

O'er death, and o'er hell,

A conqueft how hard and how glorious?
Tho fate had faft bound her

With Styx nine times round her,

Yet mufic and love were victorious.

VI.

But foon, too foon, the lover turns his eyes:
Again the falls, again fhe dies, fhe dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal fifters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,
Befide the falls of fountains,

Or where Hebrus wanders,

Rolling in Maeanders,

All alone,

Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,

For ever, ever, ever loft!

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