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Come then, my Friend ! my Genius! come along;
Oh, master of the poet and the song !
And while the Muse now ftoops, or cow ascends,
To man's low paffions or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, in various Nature wife,
To fall with dignity, with temper rise-
Oh! while along the stream of time thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame,
Say, thall my little bark attendant fail,
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale ?
Shall then this Verfé to future age pretend
Thou wert my guide, philofopher, and friend!
That, urg'd by thee, 'I turn'd, the 'tuneful art
From founds to things, from fancy to the heart?
For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light,
Shew'd er ing Pride whatever is is right.
That virtue only makes our blits below,
And all our knowledge is ourselves to know.

Egay on Man.

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AND OTHER PIECES FOR MUSIC.

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[Written in the Year 1708.]

I.
DESCEND, 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 found
Till the roofs all around
The fhrill echoes rebound;
While in more lengthen'd notes and slow
The deep, majestic, folemn, organs blow.
Hark! the numbers soft and clear
Gently steal 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 music floats;
Till by degrees, remote and small,
The strains decay,

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And melt away

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In a dying, dying fall.

II.
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;

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Or when the soul is press’d with cares
Exalts her in enliv’ning airs.
Warriors the fires with animated sounds,
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;
Melancholy lifts her head,

30 Morpheus rouses from his bed, Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes, Lift'ning Envy drops her snakes ; Intestine war no more our passions wage, And giddy factions bear away their rage.

III. But

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III.
But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
How martial music ev'ry bosom warms!
So when the first bold vefsel 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 demigods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Inflam'd with Glory's charms :
Each chief his sev’nfold field display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade;
And seas, and rocks, and skies, rebound,
To arms, to arms, to arms !

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IV.

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But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming 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 gleams,
Dismal screams,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,
Sullen moans,

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Hollow groans,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre,
And, fee! the tortur'd gholts respire;
See shady forms advance!
Thy stone, O Sisyphus ! ftands still,
Ixion rests upon his wheel,
And the pale spectres dance;
The Furies sink upon their iron beds,
And snakes upcurl'd hang list’ning round their heads.

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V. By

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