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ODE for MUSIC

t

ON

ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

D

I.

ESCEND, ye Nine! defcend and fing;
The breathing instruments inspire,

Wake into voice each filent string,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a sadly-pleasing strain
Let the warbling lute complain:
Let the loud trumpet found

NOTES.

Ode for Music.) This is one of the most artful as well as fublime of our Poet's smaller compositions. The first stanza expreffes the various tones and measures in music. The second defcribes their power over the several passions in general. The third explains their use in inspiring the Heroic passions in particular. The fourth, fifth, and fixth, their power over all nature in the fable of Orpheus's expedition to hell; which subject of illustration arofe naturally out of the preceding mention of the Argonautic expe. dition, where Orpheus gives the example of the use of Music to inspire the heroic paflions. The seventh and last conclude in praise of Music, and the advantages of the facred above the prophane.

VER. 7. Let the loud trumpet sound, c.) Our Author in his rules for good writing had faid, that the found should be an echo to the sense. The graces it adds to the harmony are obvious. But we should never have feen all the advantages arifing from this rule, had this ode not been written. In which, one may venture to fay, is found all the harmony that poetic found, when it comes in aid of fenfe, is capable of producing.

'Till the roofs all around
The Thrill echoes rebound;

While in more lengthen'd notes and flow,
The deep, majestic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear
Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rife

And fill with fpreading founds the skies;
Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats;
'Till, by degrees, remote and small,
The strains decay,

And melt away.
In a dying, dying fall.

II.

By Mufic, minds an equal temper know,
Nor swell too high, nor fink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arife,
Music her foft, assuasive voice applies;

Or, when the foul is press'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors the fires with animated founds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:

Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouzes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arins and wakes,
Lift'ning Envy drops her snakes;

Intestine war no more our Paffions wage,
And giddy Factions hear away their rage.

III.

1

But when our Country's cause provokes to Arms. How martial music ev'ry bosom warins!

JO

15

20

25

30

35

1

So when the first bold vessel dar'd the feas
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,
While Argo faw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi-gods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Enflam'd with glory's charm :

Each chief his sev'nfold shield dispsay'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arins, to arms, to arms!

IV.

But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,

Which flaming Phlegeton furrounds,

Love, strong as Death, the Poet led

To the pale nations of the dead,

What founds were heard,

What scenes appear'd,

O'er all the dreary coafts!

Dreadful gleams,

Difmal screams,

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,
Sullen moans,

Hollow groans

And cries of tortur'd ghosts! But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;

And fee! the tortur'd ghofts respire,

See, shady forms advance!

Thy ftone, O Sifyphus, stands still,

Ixion rests upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!

40

50

55

60

65

The Furies fink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning ronnd their heads,

V.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er the Elysian flow'rs;
By those happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Asphodel,
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,
Restore, 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 music and love were victorious.

VI.

70

MA

But foon, too foon, the lover turns his eyes:
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move?
No crime was thine, if'tis no crime to love.

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