Thou by the Passions nursed, I greet O Humour, thou whose name is known Me too amidst thy band admit; There where the young-eyed healthful Wit, (Whose jewels in his crisped hair Are placed each other's beams to share; Whom no delights from thee divide) In laughter loosed, attends thy side. By old Miletus, who so long 50 55 60 By him' whose knight's distinguish'd name Whose tales e'en now, with echoes sweet, 65 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. X 70 Alluding to the Milesian tales, some of the earliest roy Cervantes. mances. z Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable Adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1745. O Nature boon, from whom proceed On all my heart imprint thy seal! 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, They snatch'd her instruments of sound; Sweet lessons of her forceful art, First Fear his hand, its skill to try, E'en at the sound himself had made. 10 1: 20 Next Anger rush'd; his eyes on fire, With woful measures wan Despair Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong; 25 30 And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still, through all the song; 35 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 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, 40 VARIATION. Ver. 30. What was thy delightful measure? And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! 45 The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, 50 Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mein, 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; 54 Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sate retired; And, from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, 60 Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul : And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 64 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. |