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The shady empire shall

retain no trace Of war or blood, but in the sylvan chase: The trumpet sleep, while cheerful horns are blown, And arms employ'd on birds and beasts alone. Behold! th' ascending villas on my side, Project long shadows o'er the crystal tide. Behold! Augusta's glittering spires increase, And temples rise, the beauteous works of peace. I see, I see, where two fair cities bend Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend ! There mighty nations shall inquire their doom, The world's great oracle in times to come; There kings shall sue, and suppliant states be seen Once more to bend before a British queen. •Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their

woods, And half thy forests rush into the floods; Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display, To the bright regions of the rising day: Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll, Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole; Or uoder southern skies exalt their sails, Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales! For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow, The coral redden, and the ruby glow, The pearly shell its lucid globe unfold, And Phæbus warm the ripening ore to gold. The time shall come, when free as seas or wind Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind, Whole nations enter with each swelling tide, And seas but join the regions they divide; Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold, And the new world launch forth to seek the old, Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide, And feather'd people crowd my wealthy side, And naked youths and painted chiefs admire Our speech, our colour, and our strange attire! Oh, stretch thy reign, fair peace! from shore to

shore, Till conquest coase, and slavery be no more;

Till the freed Indians in their native groves
Reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves;
Peru once more a race of kings behold,
And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold.
Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell,
In brazen bonds shall barbarous discord dwell:
Gigantic pride, pale terror, gloomy care,
And mad ambition, shall attend her there:
There purple vengeance bath'd in gore retires,
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires:
There hateful envy her own snakes shall feel,
And persecution mourn her broken wheel:
There factiou roar, rebellion bite her chain,
And gasping furies thirst for blood in vain.'

Here cease thy fight, nor with unhallow'd lays
Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days;
The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite,
And bring the scenes of opening fate to light:
My humble muse, in unambitious strains,
Paints the green forests and the flowery plains,
Where peace descending bids her olive spring,
And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing.
Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days,
Pleas'd in the silent shade with empty praise;
Enough for me, that to the listening swains
First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.

ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY,

MDCCVIII.

And other Pieces for Music.

DESCEND, ye Nine! descend, and sing;

The breathing instruments inspire;
Wake into voice each silent string,
And sweep the sounding lyre!

In a sadly-pleasing strain
Let the warbling lute complain:

Let the loud trumpet sound,
Till the roofs all around

The shrill echoes rebound:
While, in more lengthen'd notes and slow,
The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow.

Hark! the numbers soft and clear
Gently steal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rise,

And fill with spreading sounds the skies;
Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,
In broken air trembling, the wild music floats;

Till, by degrees, remote and small,

The strains decay,

And melt away,
In a dying, dying fall.

1

By music, minds an equal temper know,

Nor swell too high, nor sink too low,

If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft, assuasive voice applies ;

Or, when the soul is press'd with cares,

Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors she fires with animated sounds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;

Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouses from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,

Listening envy drops her snakes;
Intestine war no more our passions wage,
And giddy factions hear away their rage.
But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
How martial music every bosom warms!
So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas,
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,

While Argo saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi-gods stood round,

And men grew heroes at the sound,
Inflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his sevenfold shield display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade:
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound

To arms, to arms, to arms!
But when through all th' infernal bounds,
Which faming Phlegethon surrounds,

Love, strong as death, the poet led

To the pale nations of the dead,
What sounds were heard,
What scenes appear’d,
O'er all the dreary coasts!

Dreadful gleans,
Dismal screams,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,
Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts!

But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And see! the tortur'd ghosts respire.

See, shady forms advance!
Thy stone, O Sisyphus, stands still,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!
The Furies sink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurl'd hang listening round their heads.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er the elysian flowers ;
By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of asphodel,

Or aramanthine bowers;
By the hero's armed shades,
Glittering through the gloomy glados;
By the youths that died for love,

Wandering in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life:
Oh take the husband, or return the wifel

He sung, and hell consented

To hear the poet's prayer;
Stern Proserpine relented,
And gave him back the fair.

Thus song could prevail

O'er death, and o'er hell, conquest how hard and how glorious! Though fate had fast bound her

With Styx nine times round her, Vet music and love were victorious.

But soon, too soon the lover turns his eyes:
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!
How wilt thou now, the fatal sisters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.

Now under hanging mountains,
Beside the falls of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in meanders,

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