« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
O D E for MUSIC
ST. CECILI A's' D A Y.
Wake into voice each filent ftring,.
In a sadly pleafing strain
Let the loud trumpet found,
The thrill echoes rebound :
Hark! the numbers loft and clear
And fill with spreading sounds the skies ;
'Till, by degrees, remote and small,,
The strains decay,
And melt away,
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Or, when the soul is press’d with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Melancholy lifts her head,
Lift'ning Envy drops her fnakes ;
While Argo saw her kindred trees
Transported demi-gods stood round,
Enflam'd with glory's charms :
Love, strong as Death, the Poets led
To the pale nations of the dead,
O'er all the dreary coasts!
See, shady forms advance !
And the pale spectres dance!
O'er th' Elysian flow'rs;
He fung, and hell confented
To hear the Poet's prayer ;
And gave him back the fair.