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In Argive looms our battles to defign,
And woes of which fo large a part was thine!
To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia's fpring.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry, behold the mighty Hector's wife!
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to fee,
Embitters all thy woes, by naming me.

The thoughts of glory paft, and prefent fhame,
A thousand griefs fhall waken at the name!
May I be cold before that dreadful day,
Prefs'd with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting fleep,
Shall neither hear thee figh, nor fee thee weep.
Thus having fpoke, th' illuftrious chief of Troy
Stretch'd his fond arms to clafp the lovely boy.
The babe clung crying to his nurfe's breaft,
Scar'd at the dazzling helm, and nodding creft.
With fecret pleafure each fond parent fmil'd,
And Hector hafted to relieve his child,
The glitt'ring terrours from his brows unbound,
And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground.
Then kifs'd the child, and lifting high in air,
Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's pray'r.n

O thou! whofe glory fills th' æthereal throne,
And all ye deathlefs pow'rs! protect my fon!
Grant him, like me, to purchase juft renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
Against his country's foes the war to wage,
And rife the Hector of the future age!

So when triumphant from fuccessful toils atz
Of heroes flain he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hofts may hail him with deferv'd acclaim,
And fay, this chief tranfcends his father's fame:
While pleas'd amidst the gen'ral fhouts of Troy,
His mother's confcious heart o'erflows with joy.
He fpoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,
Reftor'd the pleafing burthen to her arms;
Soft on her fragrant breaft the babe fhe laid,
Hufh'd to repofe, and with a fmile furvey'd.
The troubl'd pleafure foon chaftis'd by fear,
She mingl'd with a smile a tender tear.
The foftn'd chief with kind compaffion view'd, wok
And dry'd the falling drops, and thus purfu'd. Ens

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Andromache! my foul's far better part,
With what untimely forrows heaves thy heart?
No hoftile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the filent tomb.
Fix'd is the term of all the race of earth;
And fuch the hard condition of our birth,
No force can then refift, no flight can fave;
All fink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more - but haften to thy tasks at home,
There guide the fpindle, and direct the loom
Me glory fummons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere for men.
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger as the first in fame.

Thus having faid, the glorious chief refumes
His tow'ry helmet, black with fhading plumes,
His princess parts with a prophetic figh,
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye
That ftream'd at ev'ry look: then moving flow,
Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her woe.
There, while her tears deplor'd the godlike man, -
Thro' all her train the foft infection ran,
The pious maids their mingled forrows fhed,
And mourn the living Hector, as the dead.

ODE for MUSIC on ST. CECILIA's DAY [POPB.]

ESCEND, ye nine! defcend and fing;
The breathing inftruments infpire,

Wake into voice each filent ftring,
And sweep, the founding lyre!

In a fadly pleafing ftrain,
Let the warbling lute complain:
Let the loud trumpet found,
'Till the roofs all around.

The fhrill echoes rebound:

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

And fill with spreading founds the fkies;

Exulting

Exulting in triumph now (well the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild mufic floats;
'Till, by degrees, remote and fmall,
The ftrains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall.

By Mufic, minds an equal temper know,

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Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low.hed Land si

If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,

Mufic her foft, affuafive voice applies; yt

Or, when the foul is prefs'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.

Warriors fhe fires with animated founds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:
.Melancholy lifts her head, ind
Morpheus rouzes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
Lift'ning envy drops her fnakes;
Inteftine war no more our paffions wage,
And giddy factions hear away their rage.

But when our country's caufe provokes to arms,
How martial mufic every bofom warms!

So when the first bold veffel dar'd the feas, lo
High on the ftern the Thracian rais'd his ftrain,
While Argo faw her kindred trees
Defcend from Pelion to the main.

OT

Tranfported demi-gods ftood round, do
And men grew heroes at the found,
Inflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his fev'nfold fhield difplay'd,
And half unheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and fkies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms! bre

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4 wod Acus But when thro' all th' infernal bounds, Pori T Which flaming Phlegeton furrounds,

Love, ftrong as Death, the Poet led tofum 457
To the pale nations of the dead,

What founds were heard,vol air co

What scenes appear'd,

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O'er all the dreary coafts!

Dreadful gleams,
Difmal fcreams,

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
But hark! he ftrikes the golden lyre;
And fee! the tortur'd ghofts refpire,
See, fhady forms advance!

Thy ftone, O Syfiphus, ftands ftill,
Ixion refts upon his wheel,

And the pale fpectres dance!

The furies fink upon their iron beds,

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And fnakes uncurl'd hang lift'ning round their heads.

By the ftreams that ever flow, theboh
By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er th' Elyfian flow'rs;

By thofe happy fouls who dwell antibal q
In yellow meads of Afphodel,

Or Amaranthine bow'rs;
By the hero's armed fhades,
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 return the wife!
He fung, and hell confented

To hear the Poet's prayer:

Stern Proferpine relented,

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And gave him back the fair. blacodian Vallak
Thus fong could prevail or big pool dhe
O'er death, and o'er hell,

A conqueft how hard, and how glorious!

Tho' fate had faft bound her

With Styx nine times round her,

Yet mufic and love were victorious.

But foon, too foon, the lover turns his eyes on tan 72 Again the falls, again fhe dies, the dies!uch on How wilt thou now the fatal fifters move!

No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.

Now

Now under hanging mountains,
Befide the falls of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in Mæanders,
All alone,

Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghoft,
For ever, ever, ever loft um
Now with Furies furrounded,
Defpairing, confounded,
He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's fnows:

See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies;
Hark! Hæmus refounds with the Bacchanais cries--

Ah fee, he dies!

Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he fung,

Eurydice ftill trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice the woods, metodicabi
Eurydice the floods,

Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung.

Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,
And fate's fevereft rage disarm;
Mufic can foften pain to eafe,

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

And antedate the blifs above.
This the divine Cecilia found,

And to her Maker's praife confin'd the found.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear:
Borne on the fwelling notes our fouls afpire,
While folemn airs improve the facred fire;
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 fhade from hell,
Hers lift the foul to heav'n.

ALEXANDER's FEAST; or the Power of Music: An ODE on ST. CECILIA'S DAY, [DRYDEN.]

WAS at the royal feaft, for Perfia won,

'T By Philip's warlike fon:

Aloft

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