By all you taught the Tuscan maids, By him,* whose knight's distinguish❜d name Whose tales e'en now, with echoes sweet, Or him,† whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore, 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; If but from thee I hope to feel, On all my heart imprint thy seal! Let some retreating Cynic find Those oft-turn'd scrolls I leave behind; THE PASSIONS. FOR MUSIC. WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, * Cervantes. Le Sage, who died at Paris in the year 1745. Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Next Anger rush'd; his eyes on fire, With woful measures wan Despair- But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted smil'd; and wav'd her golden hair. 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, [his head. While each strain'd ball of sight seem bursting from 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, [Hate. 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; [stole, Through glades and glooms the mingled measure Or, o'er some haunted stream, 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 gemm'd with morning dew; Blew an aspiring 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 Satyrs and Sylvan Boys were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green : Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear; [Queen, And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: First to the lively pipe his hand address'd : 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, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round: As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. O Music! sphere-descended maid, Where is thy native simple heart, ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON. THE SCENE OF THE FOLLOWING STANZAS IS SUPPOSED TO LIE ON THE THAMES, NEAR RICHMOND. In yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave! The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, To deck its Poet's sylvan grave! In yon deep bed of whispering reeds * The harp of Eolus, of which see a description in the Castle of Indolence. |