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V.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er the Elyfian flow'rs;

By thofe happy fouls who dwell

In yellow meads of Afphodel,

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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 conquest how hard and how glorious!

Tho' fate had fast bound her

With Styx nine times round her,

Yet mufic and love were victorious.

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VI.

eyes:

But foon, too foon, the lover turns his
Again the falls, again the dies, fhe dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal fifters 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 Mæanders,

All alone,

Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,

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For ever, ever, ever loft!

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Now with Furies furrounded,

Defpairing, confounded,

He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's fnows:

See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies; 110 Hark! Hamus refounds with the Bacchanals cries-

Ah fee, he dies!

Yet ev❜n in death Eurydice he fung,

Eurydice ftill trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,

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Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.

VII.

Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,
And fate's fevereft 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,

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And to her Maker's praise confin'd the found.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire, 126
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear;
Borne on the fwelling notes our fouls aspire,
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,

Her's lift the foul to heav'n.

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-TWO

CHORUS's

TO THE

Tragedy of BRUTUS'.

YR

CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.

STROPHE I.

E fhades, where facred truth is fought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught:
Where heav'nly visions Plato fir'd,

And Epicurus lay inspir'd!

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In vain your guiltless laurels stood Unfpotted long with human blood. War, horrid war, your thoughtful Walks invades, And steel now glitters in the Muses shades.

NOTES.

THESE two Chorus's were compofed to enrich a very poor Play; but they had the usual effect of ill-adjusted Ornaments, only to make the meannefs of the fubject the more confpicuous.

a Altered from Skakespear by the Duke of Buckingham, at whofe defire thefe two Chorus's were composed to supply as many, wanting in his play. They were fet many years afterwards by the famous Bononcini, and performed at Buckingham-house. P.

VER. 3. Where heav'nly Vifions Plato fir'd, And Epicurus lay infpir'd!] The propriety of these lines arifes from hence, that Brutus, one of the Heroes of this play, was of the Old Academy; and Caffius, the other, was an Epicurean : but this had not been enough to justify the Poet's choice, had not Plato's fyftem of Divinity, and Epicurus's fyftem of Morals, been the most rational amongst the various fects of Greek Philofophy.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Oh heav'n-born fifters! fource of art!

Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart; 10
Who lead fair Virtue's train along,
Moral Truth, and mystic Song!

To what new clime, what distant sky,
Forfaken, friendless, shall ye fly?

Say, will

ye bless the bleak Atlantic fhore? 15 Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

STROPHE II.

When Athens finks by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians fpurn her duft;
Perhaps ev❜n Britain's utmost shore

Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore, 20
See Arts her favage fons controul,

And Athens rifing near the pole!

Till fome new Tyrant lifts his purple hand, And civil madness tears them from the land.

NOTES.

VER. 12. Moral truth AND myftic fong !] He had expressed himself better had he said,

"Moral truth IN myftic fong!"

In the Antiftrophe he turns from Philofophy to Mythology; and Mythology is nothing but moral truth in myftic fong.

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