Let fome retreating Cynic find To rove thy scene-full world with thee! THE PASSION S. AN ODE FOR MUSIC. Hen Mufic, heavenly maid, was young, WE While yet in early Greece fhe fung, The Paffions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell, From the supporting myrtles round And as they oft had heard apart Sweet leffons of her forceful art, Each, for madnefs rul'd the hour, Would prove his own expreffive power. Firft Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, Even at the found himself had made. Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, And swept with hurried hand the ftrings. A With woeful measures wan Despair Low fullen founds his grief beguil'd, 'Twas fad by fits, by ftarts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes fo fair, And bade the lovely fcenes at diftance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong, And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo ftill thro' all the fong; And And where her sweetest theme she chose, A foft refponfive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted fmil'd, and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had fhe fung,but, with a frown He threw his blood-ftain'd fword in thunder down, And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast fo loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic founds fo full of woe. The doubling drum with furious heat; And tho' fometimes, each dreary pause between Dejected Pity at his fide, Her foul-fubduing voice applied, Yet ftill he kept his wild unaltered mien, 2 While each ftrain'd ball of fight feem'd bursting from his head. F 2 Thy [ 84 ] Thy numbers, Jealoufy, to nought were fix'd, Sad proof of thy distressful state, Of differing themes the veering fong was mix'd, And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, And from her wild fequefter'd feat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd thro' the mellow Horn her penfive foul: Bubbling runnels join'd the found; Thro'glades and glooms the mingled measure Or o'er fome haunted ftreams with fond delay, Love of peace, and lonely mufing, In hollow murmurs died away. But |