And longer had she sung ;-but, with a frown, He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down; The war-denouncing trumpet took, The doubling drum, with furious heat; 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; Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, Pale Melancholy sat retir'd; 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 streams, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gem'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-ey'd Queen, Satyrs and Sylvan Boys were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he 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, Amidst 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, Had more of strength, diviner rage, ODE ON ST. CECILIA's DAY. [POPE.] DESCEND, Ye Nine! descend and sing; The breathing instruments inspire, Let the warbling lute complain: The shrill echos rebound: While in more lengthen'd notes and slow, Hark! the numbers soft and clear, Now louder and yet louder rise, And fill with spreading sounds the skies: Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats; Till, by degrees, remote and small, The strains decay, And melt away In a dying, dying fall. By Music, minds an equal temper know, Warriors she fires with animated sounds: Morpheus rouses from his bed, List'ning Envy drops her snakes; |