Billeder på siden



HEN Mafic, heavenly maid, was young,

W While yet in early Greece the fung,

The paffions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Poffefs'd beyond the Mufe's painting.
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.
Till once, 'tis faid, when all were fir'd.
Fill'd with fury, rapt, infpir'd,
From the fupporting myrtles round
They fnatch'd her inftruments of found
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet leffons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness rul'd the hour)
Would prove his own expreffive pow'r.

FIRST, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,

Even at the found himself had made.

NEXT, Anger rufh'd, his eyes on fire:

In lightnings, own'd his fecret ftings.
In one rude clash, he ftruck the lyre-
And swept with hurry'd hands, the ftrings.

WITH Woeful meafures, wan Defpair-
Low fullen founds his grief beguil'd:
A folemn, ftrange, and mingl'd air:
'Twas fad, by fits-by ftarts, 'twas wild.



BUT thou, O Hope! with eyes fo fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whifper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at diftance hail !
Still would her touch the ftrain prolong;

And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on echo ftill through all her fong:

And, where her sweeteft theme the chofe,

A foft refponfive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope, enchanted, fmil'd, and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had fhe fung-but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rofe.

He three his blood-ftain'd fword in thunder down;
And, with a withering look,

The war denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blaft, fo loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic founds fo full of woe.
And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum, with furious heat:

And tho', fometimes, each dreary pause between,

Dejected Pity, at his fide,

Her foul-subduing voice apply'd,

Yet ftill he kept his wild unalter'd mien ;

While each ftrain'd ball of fight-feem'd bursting from his head.

THY numbers, Jealoufy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy diftressful ftate.

Of differing themes the veering fong was inix'd :
And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, call'd on


WITH eyes up-rais'd, as one infpir'd,
Pale Melancholy fat retir'd;
And, from her wild fequefter'd feat,
In notes, by diftance made more sweet,


Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her penfive foul:
And, dafhing foft, from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the found.

Thro' glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole,
Or o'er fome haunted ftreams, with fond delay,
(Round an holy calm diffufing,

Love of peace, and lonely mufing)
In hollow murmurs died away.
BUT O, how alter'd was its fprightlier tone!
When Chearfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her fhoulder flung,
Her bufkins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an infpiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.
The oak-crown'd Sifters, and their chafte-ey'd Queen,
Satyrs, and fylvan Boys, were feen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green :

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;

And Sport leapt up, and feiz'd his beechen fpear.

LAST Came Joy's ecftatic trial.
He, with viny crown advancing,

First, to the lively pipe his hand addrefs'd;
But foon he faw the brifk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought, who heard the ftrain,

They faw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amid the feftal founding fhades,
To fome unweary'd minstrel dancing;
`While, as his flying fingers kifs'd the ftrings,

Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
(Loose were her treffes feen, her zone unbound)
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.








[Written and spoken by D. GARRICK, Efq.]

what bleft genius of the isle,
Shall gratitude her tribute pay,
Decree the feftive day,

Erect the ftatue, and devote the pile?
Do not your fympathetic hearts accord,
To own the "bofom's lord "
"Tis he! 'tis he!-that demi-god,
Who Avon's flow'ry margin trod,

While fportive Fancy round him flew ;
Where nature led him by the hand,
Inftructed him in all fhe knew,
And gave him abfolute command :
To him the fong, the edifice we raise ;
He merits all our wonder, all our praife!

Yet, ere impatient joy break forth,
In founds, that lift the foul from earth,
And, to our fpell-bound minds, impart
Some faint idea of his magic art-
Let awful filence ftill the air!
From the dark cloud the hidden light
Burfts tenfold bright!-

Prepare! prepare! prepare !


The lefs important parts of this and many other pieces, have been omitted, for a reason affigned in the Preface.

Now, fwell at once the choral fong;
Roll the full tide of harmony along ;
Let rapture sweep the trembling ftrings;
And Fame, expanding all her wings,
With all her trumpet-tongues proclaim,
The lov'd, rever'd, immortal name!

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

O, from his Mufe of fire,

Could but one fpark be caught!
Then, might these humble ftrains afpire

To tell the wonders he has wrought:
To tell, how, fitting on his magic throne,
Unaided and alone,
In dreadful ftate,

The fubject paffions round him wait;
Whom, tho' unchain'd and raging there,
He checks, inflames-or turns their mad career

With that fuperior skill
Which winds the fiery fteed at will.


« ForrigeFortsæt »