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By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, raised, refined.
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir’d,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd her instruments of sound,
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness ruled the hour)
Would prove his own expressive pow'r.

First, FEAR, his hand, its skill to try,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid :
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,

Ev'n at the sound himself had made.

Next, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own'd his secret stings;
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept with þurried hand the strings.

With woful measures wan DesPAIR

Low sullen sounds bis grief beguiled:
A solemn, strange, and mingled air,

'Twas sad by fits-by starts 'twas wild.

But thou, O HOPE! with eyes so fair,

What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong;

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call’d on Echo still through all her song:

And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close: And HOPE, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair.

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 woe.

And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat:
And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,

Dejected Puty, 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 upraised, as one inspired,
Pale MELANCHOLY sat retird;
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 stream, with fond delay,

(Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing) In hollow murmurs died away.

But 0, how alterd was its sprightlier tone,
When CHEERFULNESS, a nymplı of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'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-eyed queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen

Peeping from forth their alleys green:
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear;
And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial :
He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd,

But soon le 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,

Amid 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 loved Athenian bower
You learn’d an all-commanding power.
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeard !
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple art,
Devote to virtue, fancy, heart?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime !
Thy wonders, in that god-like age,
Fill thy recording Sister's page
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,

G

Had more of strength, Hiviner 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 A

Distant Prospect of Eton College.

BY GRAY.

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores

Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that, from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way!

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