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ODE for MUSIC

O DE

Ο Ν

ST. CECILIA's DA Y.

I.

ESCEND, ye Nine! defcend and fing;
The breathing inftruments infpire,

Wake into voice each filent ftring,
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 slow,

The deep, majeftic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear

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Now louder, and yet louder rise

And fill with spreading founds the skies; Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes,

In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats;

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"Till, by degrees, remote and fmall,

The ftrains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall.

II.

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

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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 rouzes from his bed,

Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,

Lift'ning Envy drops her fnakes;

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 ev'ry bofom warms!

So when the first bold veffel dar'd the feas,
High on the ftern the Thracian rais`d his strain,
While Argo faw her kindred trees
Defcend from Pelion to the main,

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Tranfported demi-gods flood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Enflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his fev'nfold fhield display'd,
And half unheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and skies 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 coafts!

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 flone, O Sifyphus, ftands ftill,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!

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The Furies fink upon their iron beds,

And fnakes uncuri'd hang lift'ning round the

heads.

V.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elyfian flow'rs;
By thofe happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,
Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
By the hero's armed shades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades;
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,

Reftore, reftore 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.

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