What though nor real voice nor sound For ever singing, as they shine, "The hand that made us is divine." ADDISON. THE PASSIONS. AN ODE. WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, 5 Till once, 't is said, when all were fired, 10 From the supporting myrtles round They snatch'd her instruments of sound; Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each (for Madness ruled the hour) First FEAR his hand, its skill to try, Ev'n at the sound himself had made. Next ANGER rush'd; his eyes on fire, With woful measures wan DESPAIR, 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, 25 20 She call'd on Echo still, through all the song ; 35 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: 40 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 sound so full of woe! The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected PITY, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, 45 50 Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien [his head. While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to naught were fix'd; Sad proof of thy distressful state! 55 Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale MELANCHOLY sat retired; And, from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, 60 Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; 65 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 O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, 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: 76 80 He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd! But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best; They would have thought, who heard the strain, 85 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 framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round; 90 As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. O MUSIC! sphere-descended maid, 95 You learn'd an all-commanding power, 100 Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd! Can well recall what then it heard; 105 Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 110 Than all which charms this laggard age; Ev'n all at once together found, 115 ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 'T was at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne: COLLINS. His valiant peers were placed around: Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound: (So should desert in arms be crown'd.) The lovely Thais, by his side, Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! 5 10 None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair. 15 Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above, K 20 |