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But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.
Enflam'd with glory's charms :
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!
But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Love, strong as Death, the Poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts !
See, shady forms advance !
And the pale spectres dance ! The Furies sink upon their iron beds, And snakes uncursd hang list’ning round their heads.
By the streams that ever flow,
O’er th’ Elysian flow'rs;
Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
He sung, and hell consented
To hear the poet's prayer :
him back the fair :
Thus song could prevail
O’er death, and o'er hell,
Thoʻ fate had fast bound her
With Styx nine times round her, Yet music and love were victorious.
But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes :
Now under hanging mountains,
And calls her ghost,
Amidst Rhodope's snows:
Ah see, he dies !
Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung,
Eurydice the woods,
Eurydice the floods, Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.
Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And antedate the bliss above.
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear; Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire, While solemn 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 shade from hell,
Her's lift the soul to heav'n.
OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC:
In honour of St. Cecilia's Day.
'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won,
By Philip's warlike son:
On his imperial throne :
His valiant peers were placed around; Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound :
So should desert in arms be crown'd,
Happy, happy, happy pair!