A FRAGMENT.

I EST you should 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,

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In Spenfer native Muses play; Nor yet shall Waller yield to time, Nor pensive 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.

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Vain was the chief's, the sage'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.

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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: spirat adhuc amor,
Vivuntque commiffi calores
Æoliæ fidibus puellæ.

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; fed omnes illacrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotique longa
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.

AND OTHER PIECES FOR MUSIC.

[Written in the year 1708.]

I.

DESCEND, ye Nine! defcend and fing,

The breathing instruments inspire;

Wake into voice each filent string,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pleasing strain
Let the warbling lute complain;
Let the loud trumpet found
Till the roofs all around
The shrill echoes rebound;
While in more lengthen'd notes and flow
The deep, majestic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers soft and clear

Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rife,
And fill with spreading founds 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.

II.

By Music minds an equal temper know,
Nor swell too high nor fink too low.
If in the breaft tumultuous joys arife,
Music her foft afsuasive voice applies;
Or when the foul is press'd with cares
Exalts her in enliv'ning airs.

Warriors she 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,

Lift'ning Envy drops her snakes;
Intestine war no more our paffions wage,
And giddy factions bear away their rage.

III. But

III.

But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
How martial mufic ev'ry bosom warms!
So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas,
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,

While Argo faw her kindred trees

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Descend from Pelion to the main:

Transported demigods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Inflam'd with Glory's charms :

Each chief his sev'nfold shield display'd,
And half unsheath'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,

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Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds,
Love, strong as Death, the Poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,

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What founds were heard,

What scenes appear'd,
O'er all the dreary coafts!

Dreadful gleams,

Difmal screams,

Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghofts!

See shady forms advance!

But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre,

And, fee! the tortur'd ghosts respire;

Thy stone, O Sisyphus! stands still,

Ixion rests upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance;

The Furies fink upon their iron beds,

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60

65

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

V. By

V.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elysian flow'rs;
By those happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of afphodel,
Or amaranthine bow'rs;
By the heroes' armed shades

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75

Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades;
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,

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Reftore, restore Eurydice to life;

Oh, take the husband, or return the wife!

But foon, too foon, 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.

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He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's înows:

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

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Hark! Hæmus refounds with the Bacchanal cries

Ah fee, 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.

VII.

Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And Fate's feverest rage difarm :
Music can foften 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 confin'd the found.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear;
Borne on the swelling notes our fouls afpire,
While folemn airs improve the sacred 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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120

125

130

Her's lift the foul to heav'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.

Whose herbs with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks fupply him with attire,

Whose trees in fummer yield him shade,

In winter fire.

Blefs'd

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