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O DE

ON

ST. CECILIA'S DAY,

MDCC VIII.

AND OTHER PIECES FOR MUSIC.

ODE FOR

ON

MUSIC

ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

I.

DESCEND, ye Nine! descend, and fing;

The breathing instruments inspire,

Wake into voice each filent string,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pleafing 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 swell the bold notes,
Iu broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats;
Till, by degrees, remote and small,

The strains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall.

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II.

By Mufic, minds an equal temper know,
Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low,
If in the breaft tumultuous joys arife,
Mufic her foft, affuafive voice applies;
Or, when the foul is prefs'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.

Warriors fhe fires with animated founds;

Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;

Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus roufes from his bed,

Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
Listening Envy drops her snakes ;
Inteftine war no more our Paffions wage,
And giddy Factions hear away their rage.

III.

But when our Country's cause provokes to Arms,

How martial mufic every bofom warms!

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So when the firft bold veffel dar'd the feas,

High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,
While Argo faw her kindred trees
Defcend from Pelion to the main.
Tranfported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Enfilam'd with glory's charms :
Each chief his fevenfold fhield difplay'd,
And half unfheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!

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But

IV.

But when through all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegeton surrounds,

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

What founds were heard,

What scenes 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 ghofts!

But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And fee! the tortur'd ghosts refpire.

See, fhady forms advance!

Thy ftone, O Sifyphus, ftands ftill,
Ixion refts upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!

The Furies fink upon their iron beds,

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And snakes uncurl'd hang listening round their heads.

V.

By the ftreams that ever flow,

By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er the Elysian flowers;
By those happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,

Or Amaranthine bowers;

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