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A FRAGMENT.

LEST you fhould think that verse shall die
Which founds the filver Thames along,
Taught on the wings of Truth to fly
Above the reach of vulgar fong;

Tho' daring Milton fits fublime,
In Spenfer native Mules play;
Nor
yet fhall Waller yield to time,
Nor pentive Cowley's moral lay-
Sages and Chiefs long fince had birth

Ere Cæfar was or Newton nam'd;
These rais'd new empires o'er the earth,

And those new heav'ns and systems fram'd.
Vain was the chief's, the fage's pride!
They had no poet, and they died.

In vain they schem'd, in vain they bled!
They had no poet, and are dead.

HOR. LIB. IV. ODE IX.

NE forte credas interitura, quæ
Longe fonantem natus ad Aufidum,

Non ante vulgatas per artes
Verba loquor focianda chordis.
Non, fi priores Mæonius tenet
Sedes Homerus, Pindaricæ latent,
Ceæque, et Alcæi minaces,
Stefichorique graves Camenæ :
Nec, fiquid olim lufit Anacreon,
Delevit ætas fpirat adhuc amor,
Vivuntque commiffi calores
oliæ fidibus puellæ.

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; fed omnes illacrymabiles

Urgentur, ignotique longa

Nocte, carent quia vate facro.

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AND OTHER PIECES FOR MUSIC.

[Written in the year 1708.]

I.

DESCEND, ye Nine! defcend and fing,
The breathing inftruments inspire;

Wake into voice each filent ftring,
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, majeftic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear

Gently steal

upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder rife,

And fill with spreading founds the skies.
Exulting in triumph now fwell the bold notes,
In broken air trembling the wild mufic floats;
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 arife,
Mufic her foft affuafive voice applies;
Or when the foul is prefs'd with cares
Exalts her in enliv'ning airs.

Warriors fhe fires with animated founds,

Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;

Melancholy lifts her head,

Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,

Morpheus roufes from his bed,

Lift'ning Envy drops her snakes

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Inteftine war no more our paffions wage,
And giddy factions bear away their rage.

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35 III. But

III.

But when our country's caufe 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 :
Tranfported demigods ftood round,
fd men grew heroes at the found,
Inflam'd with Glory's charms:

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Each chief his fev'nfold fhield display'd,

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And half unfheath'd the shining blade;

And feas, and rocks, and skies, rebound,
To arms, to arms, to arms!

IV.

But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegethon furrounds,
Love, strong as Death, the Poet 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 ghosts!

But, hark! he ftrikes the golden lyre,

And, fee! the tortur'd ghofts respire;

See fhady forms advance!

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Thy ftone, O Sifyphus! ftands ftill,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,

And the pale fpectres dance;

The Furies fink upon their iron beds,

And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their heads.

V. By

V.

By the ftreams 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 heroes' 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;

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Oh, take the husband, or return the wife!

He fung, and Hell confented

To hear the poet's pray'r;

Stern Proferpine relented,

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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 Sisters 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 meanders,

All alone,

Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever loft!
Now with Furies furrounded,
Defpairing, confounded,

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He

He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's inows:

See, wild as the winds o'er the defert he flies

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Hark! Hæmus refounds with the Bacchanale' cries

Ah fee, he dies!

Yet e'en in death Eurydice he fung,

Eurydice ftill trembled on his tongue;

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,

Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains, rung.

VII.

Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,

And Fate's feverest rage difarm:

Mufic can foften pain to ease,

And make despair and madness please :

Our joys below it can improve,

And antedate the blifs above.
This the divine Cecilia found,

And to her Maker's praise confin'd the found.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear;
Borne on the fwelling notes our fouls afpire,
While folemn airs improve the facred fire,
And angels lean from heav'n to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell;
To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv❜n:
His numbers rais'd a fhade from hell,

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Her's lift the foul to hear'n.

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ODE ON SOLITUDE.

[Written when the Author was about twelve Years old.]

HAPPY the man whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air

In his own ground.

Whofe herbs with milk, whofe fields with bread,

Whofe flocks fupply him with attire,

Whofe trees in fummer yield him shade,

In winter fire.

Blefs'd

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