Where Peace descending bids her olives spring,
And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing.
Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days,
Pleas'd in the filent shade with empty praise;
Enough for me, that to the lift'ning swains
First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.

430

)

ODE

ON

ST. CECILIA'S DAY,

M DCC VIII.

AND OTHER

PIECES for MUSIC.

F3

DEfcend,

2

Escend, ye Nine! descend and fing;
The breathing instruments inspire,

Wake into voice each filent string,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pleasing strain
Let the warbling lute complain :
Let the loud trumpet sound,
'Till the roofs all around
The shrill echos rebound :

F4

5

While

Ode for Music.] 'This is one of the most artful as well as fublime of our Poet's smaller compositions. The first stanza is a description of the various tones and measures in music. The Second relates their power over the several paffions in general. The third, their use in infpiring the Heroic paffions in particular. The fourth, fifth, and fixth, their power over all nature in the fable of Orpheus's expedition to hell; which fubject of illuftration arose naturally out of the preceding mention of the Argonautic expedition, where Orpheus gives an example of the use of Music to inspire the heroic passions. The seventh and last concludes in praise of Mufic, and the advantages of the facred above the prophane.

While in more lengthen'd notes and flow,
The deep, majestic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear,
Gently fteal upon the ear;
Now louder, and yet louder rife

And fill with spreading sounds the skies;
Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats;
Till, by degrees, remote and small,
The strains decay,
And melt away,
In a dying, dying fall.

By Music, minds an equal temper know,
Nor swell too high, nor fink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft, assuafive voice applies;
Or, when the foul 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 rouzes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
List'ning Envy drops her snakes;
Intestine war no more our Paffions wage,
And giddy Factions hear away their rage.

III.

But when our Country's cause provokes to Arms,
How martial music ev'ry bosom warms!

10

15

20

25

30

35

So

1