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“O father Phoebus ! whether Lycia's coast And snowy mountains thy bright presence boast : Whether to sweet Castalia thou repair, And bathe in silver dews thy yellow hair ; Or pleas'd to find fair Delos float no more, Delight in Cynthus and the shady shore; Or choose thy seat in Ilion's proud abodes, The shining structures rais'd by labouring gods : By thee the bow and mortal shafts are borne; Eternal charms thy blooming youth adorn : Skill'd in the laws of secret fate above, And the dark counsels of almighty Jove, 'Tis thine the seeds of futu e war to know, The change of sceptres and impending woe, When direful meteors spread through glowing air Long trails of light, and shake their blazing hair. Thy rage the Phrygian felt, who durst aspire To excel the music of thy heavenly lyre; Thy shafts aveng'd lewd Tityus' guilty flame, The' immortal victim of thy mother's fame; Thy hand slew Python, and the dame who lost Her numerous offspring for a fatal boast. In Phlegyas' doom thy just revenge appears, Condema'd to furies and eternal fears ; He views his food, but dreads, with lifted eye, The mouldering rock that trembles from on high.
Propitious hear our pray's, O pow'r divine ! And on thy hospitable Argos shine ; Whether the style of Titan please thee more, Whose purple rays the' Achæmenes adore ; Or great Osiris, who first taught the swain In Pharian fields to sow the golden grain ; Or Mithra, to whose beams the Persian bows, Apd pays, iu hollow rocks, his awful vows; Mithra ! whose head the blaze of light adorns, Who grasps the struggling heifer's lunar borns."
THE PARTING OF
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.
From Homer's Iliad.
He said, and past with sad presaging heart
To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part;
Hector, this heard, return'd without delay:
(Cicilian Thebè great Aetion sway'd,
Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run ?
So shall my days in one sad tenour run, And end with sorrows as they first begun. No parent now remains my griefs to share, No father's aid, no mother's tender care. The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire, Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire ! His sate compassion in the victor bred ; Stern as he was, he yet rever'd the dead, His radiant arms preserv'd from hostile spoil, And laid him decent on the funeral pile; Then rais'd a mountain where his bones were burn'd; The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd, Jove's silvan daughters bade their elms bestow A barren shade, and in his honour grow.
By the same arm ny seven brave brothers fell; In one sad day beheld the gates of hell : While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed, Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled ! My mother liv'd to bear the victor's bands, The queen of Hippoplacia's silvan lands: Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again Her pleasing empire and her native plain, When, ah! opprest by life-consuming woe, She fell a victim to Diana's bow.
Yet while my Hector still survives; I see My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee; Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all Once more will perish, if my Hector fall. Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share : O prove a husband's and a father's care ! That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, Where yon' wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy : Thou, from this tower defend the important post; There Agamemnon points his dreadful host, That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given : Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heaven, Let others in the field their arms employ, But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy!
The chief reply'd : That post shall be my care,
Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates ; (How my heart trembles while my tongue relates !
The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,
ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.
[Written in the Year 1708.]
AND OTHER PIECES FOR MUSIC.
DESCEND, ye Nine! descend and sing;
The breathing instruments inspire,