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O'er all the dreary coasts!

Dreadful gleams,

Dismal screams

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

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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 Sysiphus, stands still,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,

And the pale spectros dance!

The furies sink upon their iron beds,

And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their

heads.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elysian flow'rs;

By those happy souls who dwell
In yellow meads of Asphodel,
Or Amaranthrine bow'rs;
By the hero's armed shades,
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy glades;
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life :
Oh take the Husband, or réturn the Wife !
and hell consented

He

sung,

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,

A conquest how hard, and how glorious!
Tho' fate had fast bound her

With Styx nine times round her
Yet 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,
All alone,

Unbeard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever lost!
Now with Furies surrounded,
Despairing, confounded,
He trembles, hè glows,

Amidst Rhodope's snows.

See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies; Hark! Hamus resounds with the Bacchanal's cries

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Yet even in death Eurydice he sung,

Eurydice still trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,

Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.

Music the fiercest grief can charm,

And fate's severest rage disarm :
Music can soften pain to ease,

And make despair and madness please :
Our joys below it can improve,

And antedate the bliss above.

This the divine Cecilia found,

And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear:
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fireș
And Angels lean from heav'n to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater power is giv'n;
His numbers rais'd a shade from hell,
Her's lift the soul to heav'n.

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ALEXANDER'. FEAST.

"TWAS

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WAS at the royal feast, for Persia won,
By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft in awful state

The god-like hero sate

On his imperial throne :

His valiant peers were plac'd around; Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound So should desert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thais by his side

Sat, like a blooming eastern bride,
In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair;
None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave descrves the fair,

Timotheus plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heav'nly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove;

Who left his blissful seats above,
Such is the pow'r of mighty love!
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the God:

Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd,

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sov'reign

of the world.—

The list'ning crowd admire the lofty sound;
A present deity they shout around,
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus then, the sweet musician sung:
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young :

The jolly god in triumph comes;

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;
Flush'd with a purple grace

He shews his honest. face.

Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he

comes!

Bacchus ever fair and young,

Drinking joys did first ordain:
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.
Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure;

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again;

And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he

slew the slain.

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