While, ever varying as they pass, To some Contempt applies her glass: There where the young eyed healthful Wit Are placed each other's beams to share), By old Miletus, who so long By him, whose knight's distinguish'd name, ; Whose tales c'en now, with echoes sweet, Castilia's Moorish hills repeat: Or him.‡ whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore, In watchet weeds, on Gallia's shore; Who drew the sad Sicilian maid, By virtues in her sire betray'd: O Nature boon, from whom proceed Each forceful thought, each prompted deed; On all my heart imprint thy seal! * Alluding to the Milesian Tales, some of the earliest romances. † Cervantes. Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable Adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1745. Let some retreating Cynic find Those oft-turn'd scrolls I leave behind; To rove thy scene-full world with thee! THE PASSIONS. AN ODE FOR MUSIC. WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, From the supporting myrtles round They snatch'd her instruments of sound, First Fear his hand, its skill to try, 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 hurried hand the strings. With woeful measures wan Despair- But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? She call'd on Echo still through all the song; 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, And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, 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. d With eyes upraised, as one inspired, And from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, 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 shoulders 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 leapt up, and seized his beechen spear Last came Joy's ecstatic trial; He with vain crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 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, AN EPISTLE, ADDRESSED TO SIR THOMAS HANMER, WHILE, born to bring the Muse's happier days, E |