And longer had she sung ;-but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose :

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo!
And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum, with furious heat;
And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity, at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,

While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state!

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd;
And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate.

With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd,

Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;

And, from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul:

And, dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs died away.

But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gem'd with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-ey'd Queen, Satyrs and Sylvan Boys were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green:

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:

He with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,

Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought who heard the strain,

They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,

Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round: Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings,

O Music! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid!
Why, goddess! why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As, in that lov'd Athenian bower,
You learn'd an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd,
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording Sister's page-
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,

Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age,
Ev'n all at once together found,
Cecilia's mingled world of sound-
O bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece:
Return in all thy simple state!
Confirm the tales her sons relate!

ODE ON ST. CECILIA's DAY.

[POPE.]

DESCEND, Ye Nine! descend and sing;

The breathing instruments inspire,
Wake into voice each silent string,
And sweep the sounding lyre!
In a sadly-pleasing strain

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

The shrill echos rebound:

While in more lengthen'd notes and slow,
The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow.

Hark! the numbers soft and clear,
Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder and yet louder rise,

And fill with spreading sounds 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.

By Music, minds an equal temper know,
Nor swell too high, nor sink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft, assuasive voice applies;
Or, when the soul is press'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.

Warriors she fires with animated sounds:
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
Melancholy lifts her head,

Morpheus rouses from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,

List'ning Envy drops her snakes;
Intestine war no more our Passions wage,
And giddy Factions hear away their rage.