APPENDIX.

[A Parody on Collins’s Ode to the Passions.]

—Numero plures, virtute et honore minores,Indocti stolidique et depugnare parati.—Hor.

—Numero plures, virtute et honore minores,

Indocti stolidique et depugnare parati.—Hor.

When Anarchy, sworn foe to Kings,O’er Gallia wav’d her crimson wings,Ere yet she spoil’d with iron handFair Europe’s desolated land;Her offspring here, a spurious brood,In faction nurs’d, inur’d to blood,Elate with Hope, perplex’d with Fear,Would often raise the listening ear;And all their mother’s wonders tell,And throng around her secret cell,Ranting, bribing, whispering, trembling,Urging, boasting, and dissembling.By turns they felt the Gallic mindEnlarg’d, unprejudic’d, refin’d;Till once, by all the goddess fir’d,Beyond Discretion rapt, inspir’d;Seditious, false, and prone to ill,They eager snatch’d the grey-goose quill.And as they oft had heard apartThe wonders of Sedition’s art,Each, for Madness rul’d the hour,Would prove his own subversive power.FirstPainehisRights of Mandisplay’d,But could no more—for falsely cross’dEv’n by the friends himself had made,Enraged he fled to Gallia’s coast.NextPriestleytried, to whom ’twas givenMankind’s free-agency to tell;Ordain’d to point the road to heaven,In pure free will he points—to hell!With meagre visageThelwallcame,In lectures told his sufferings sore;Till purple tyrants blush’d with shameAnd crowds the suffering saint adore.But thou, OGodwin! meek and mild;Speak thy metaphysic page:Now it cheer’d a laggard age,And bade new scenes of joy at distance hail;When tyrant Kings shall be no more,When human wants and wars shall fail,And sleep and death shall quit the hallow’d shore.’Twas thus he strove to sap the throne.With borrow’d arts and weapons not his own,While Gallia clapp’d her hands, and hail’d her favourite child.And longer had he sung—but, strange to say,Wakefield, the dragon-fly, rush’d on;Eager he sought the bold rebellious fray,And burst with anger and disdainThe web of sophistry in twainWhichGodwin, patient sage! had spreadTo catch the fluttering insects of the land.Treason upreared her arm to strike,Rebellion grasped the murd’rous pike,And though, sometimes, each maddening pause between,Soft Discretion, joined with Fear,Whisper’d her councils in his ear,Still Anarchy upheld the busy scene,And raised her shield of brass to guard her vot’ry’s head.NextHolcroftvowed in doleful toneNo more to fire a thankless age,Oblivion marked his labours for her own,Neglected from the press and damn’d upon the stage.See! faithful to their mighty dam,Coleridge,Southey,Lloyd, andLamb,In splay-foot madrigals of love.Soft moaning like the widowed dove,Pour side by side their sympathetic notes.Of equal rights and civic feastsAnd tyrant Kings and knavish PriestsSwift through the land the tuneful mischief floats.And now to softer strains they struck the lyre,They sung the beetle, or the mole,The dying kid, or ass’s foal,By cruel man permitted to expire.But O, how altered was the sprightlier hour!WhenFox, the Parthian hero, rose to view;He o’er the rest high-towering like a steepleLeagued with a “Corresponding” crew,Pledged in large floods of wine “their Majesties—the People”.The royal tribe accept the proffered power.Kings from the forge, dictators from the plough,Peeping from forth their allies low,Before the fallen arch-seceder bow;Lepauxbade Gallia hail his name,But old St. Stephen bowed his head for shame.SeeNorfolklast, withBedfordroll,He of Bacchus’ favours proud,The sovereign mob most eloquent addressed;But soon he spied the mirth-inspiring bowl,Whose ruby treasures charmed his soul the best;They would have thought who heard him speak,’Twas Falstaff, with his minions at his back,High primed with valour, turbulence, and sack,Aping the monarch to a wondr’ing crowd.WhileBedfordproud his lesson to rehearse,With studious labours urged the bold reply:Shouts of applause ran rattling through the sky:And he, the hero of the day,Right glad their servile suffrage to repay,Shook golden bounty from his swelling purse.O, England! heav’n-defended land!With power to “threaten and command,”Say, is thy former spirit broke,To crouch beneath a foreign yoke,And listen to the idiot strainsOf slaves thy better sense disdains,As erst, in many an ardent hour,You awed an adverse haughty power.Thy lofty mind, to Freedom true,May well retain what then it knew.Where is thy former patriot soul,Above deceit, above controul?Arise! as in that happier timeUnited, fearless, bold, sublime.’Tis said, and I believe the tale,Thy efforts then could more avail,Could more true happiness dispense,With Order, Morals, virtue, Sense,Than all that fires with party rageThis boastful philosophic age.Arise! with manly zeal advance,To curb the lawless power of France;O, bid her mad endeavours cease,And give the willing nations PEACE!—Fabricius.

When Anarchy, sworn foe to Kings,

O’er Gallia wav’d her crimson wings,

Ere yet she spoil’d with iron hand

Fair Europe’s desolated land;

Her offspring here, a spurious brood,

In faction nurs’d, inur’d to blood,

Elate with Hope, perplex’d with Fear,

Would often raise the listening ear;

And all their mother’s wonders tell,

And throng around her secret cell,

Ranting, bribing, whispering, trembling,

Urging, boasting, and dissembling.

By turns they felt the Gallic mind

Enlarg’d, unprejudic’d, refin’d;

Till once, by all the goddess fir’d,

Beyond Discretion rapt, inspir’d;

Seditious, false, and prone to ill,

They eager snatch’d the grey-goose quill.

And as they oft had heard apart

The wonders of Sedition’s art,

Each, for Madness rul’d the hour,

Would prove his own subversive power.

FirstPainehisRights of Mandisplay’d,But could no more—for falsely cross’dEv’n by the friends himself had made,Enraged he fled to Gallia’s coast.NextPriestleytried, to whom ’twas givenMankind’s free-agency to tell;Ordain’d to point the road to heaven,In pure free will he points—to hell!With meagre visageThelwallcame,In lectures told his sufferings sore;Till purple tyrants blush’d with shameAnd crowds the suffering saint adore.But thou, OGodwin! meek and mild;Speak thy metaphysic page:Now it cheer’d a laggard age,And bade new scenes of joy at distance hail;When tyrant Kings shall be no more,When human wants and wars shall fail,And sleep and death shall quit the hallow’d shore.’Twas thus he strove to sap the throne.With borrow’d arts and weapons not his own,While Gallia clapp’d her hands, and hail’d her favourite child.

FirstPainehisRights of Mandisplay’d,

But could no more—for falsely cross’d

Ev’n by the friends himself had made,

Enraged he fled to Gallia’s coast.

NextPriestleytried, to whom ’twas given

Mankind’s free-agency to tell;

Ordain’d to point the road to heaven,

In pure free will he points—to hell!

With meagre visageThelwallcame,

In lectures told his sufferings sore;

Till purple tyrants blush’d with shame

And crowds the suffering saint adore.

But thou, OGodwin! meek and mild;

Speak thy metaphysic page:

Now it cheer’d a laggard age,

And bade new scenes of joy at distance hail;

When tyrant Kings shall be no more,

When human wants and wars shall fail,

And sleep and death shall quit the hallow’d shore.

’Twas thus he strove to sap the throne.

With borrow’d arts and weapons not his own,

While Gallia clapp’d her hands, and hail’d her favourite child.

And longer had he sung—but, strange to say,Wakefield, the dragon-fly, rush’d on;Eager he sought the bold rebellious fray,And burst with anger and disdainThe web of sophistry in twainWhichGodwin, patient sage! had spreadTo catch the fluttering insects of the land.Treason upreared her arm to strike,Rebellion grasped the murd’rous pike,And though, sometimes, each maddening pause between,Soft Discretion, joined with Fear,Whisper’d her councils in his ear,Still Anarchy upheld the busy scene,And raised her shield of brass to guard her vot’ry’s head.

And longer had he sung—but, strange to say,

Wakefield, the dragon-fly, rush’d on;

Eager he sought the bold rebellious fray,

And burst with anger and disdain

The web of sophistry in twain

WhichGodwin, patient sage! had spread

To catch the fluttering insects of the land.

Treason upreared her arm to strike,

Rebellion grasped the murd’rous pike,

And though, sometimes, each maddening pause between,

Soft Discretion, joined with Fear,

Whisper’d her councils in his ear,

Still Anarchy upheld the busy scene,

And raised her shield of brass to guard her vot’ry’s head.

NextHolcroftvowed in doleful toneNo more to fire a thankless age,Oblivion marked his labours for her own,Neglected from the press and damn’d upon the stage.See! faithful to their mighty dam,Coleridge,Southey,Lloyd, andLamb,In splay-foot madrigals of love.Soft moaning like the widowed dove,Pour side by side their sympathetic notes.Of equal rights and civic feastsAnd tyrant Kings and knavish PriestsSwift through the land the tuneful mischief floats.And now to softer strains they struck the lyre,They sung the beetle, or the mole,The dying kid, or ass’s foal,By cruel man permitted to expire.But O, how altered was the sprightlier hour!WhenFox, the Parthian hero, rose to view;He o’er the rest high-towering like a steepleLeagued with a “Corresponding” crew,Pledged in large floods of wine “their Majesties—the People”.

NextHolcroftvowed in doleful tone

No more to fire a thankless age,

Oblivion marked his labours for her own,

Neglected from the press and damn’d upon the stage.

See! faithful to their mighty dam,

Coleridge,Southey,Lloyd, andLamb,

In splay-foot madrigals of love.

Soft moaning like the widowed dove,

Pour side by side their sympathetic notes.

Of equal rights and civic feasts

And tyrant Kings and knavish Priests

Swift through the land the tuneful mischief floats.

And now to softer strains they struck the lyre,

They sung the beetle, or the mole,

The dying kid, or ass’s foal,

By cruel man permitted to expire.

But O, how altered was the sprightlier hour!

WhenFox, the Parthian hero, rose to view;

He o’er the rest high-towering like a steeple

Leagued with a “Corresponding” crew,

Pledged in large floods of wine “their Majesties—the People”.

The royal tribe accept the proffered power.Kings from the forge, dictators from the plough,Peeping from forth their allies low,Before the fallen arch-seceder bow;Lepauxbade Gallia hail his name,But old St. Stephen bowed his head for shame.

The royal tribe accept the proffered power.

Kings from the forge, dictators from the plough,

Peeping from forth their allies low,

Before the fallen arch-seceder bow;

Lepauxbade Gallia hail his name,

But old St. Stephen bowed his head for shame.

SeeNorfolklast, withBedfordroll,He of Bacchus’ favours proud,The sovereign mob most eloquent addressed;But soon he spied the mirth-inspiring bowl,Whose ruby treasures charmed his soul the best;They would have thought who heard him speak,’Twas Falstaff, with his minions at his back,High primed with valour, turbulence, and sack,Aping the monarch to a wondr’ing crowd.WhileBedfordproud his lesson to rehearse,With studious labours urged the bold reply:Shouts of applause ran rattling through the sky:And he, the hero of the day,Right glad their servile suffrage to repay,Shook golden bounty from his swelling purse.

SeeNorfolklast, withBedfordroll,

He of Bacchus’ favours proud,

The sovereign mob most eloquent addressed;

But soon he spied the mirth-inspiring bowl,

Whose ruby treasures charmed his soul the best;

They would have thought who heard him speak,

’Twas Falstaff, with his minions at his back,

High primed with valour, turbulence, and sack,

Aping the monarch to a wondr’ing crowd.

WhileBedfordproud his lesson to rehearse,

With studious labours urged the bold reply:

Shouts of applause ran rattling through the sky:

And he, the hero of the day,

Right glad their servile suffrage to repay,

Shook golden bounty from his swelling purse.

O, England! heav’n-defended land!With power to “threaten and command,”Say, is thy former spirit broke,To crouch beneath a foreign yoke,And listen to the idiot strainsOf slaves thy better sense disdains,As erst, in many an ardent hour,You awed an adverse haughty power.Thy lofty mind, to Freedom true,May well retain what then it knew.Where is thy former patriot soul,Above deceit, above controul?Arise! as in that happier timeUnited, fearless, bold, sublime.’Tis said, and I believe the tale,Thy efforts then could more avail,Could more true happiness dispense,With Order, Morals, virtue, Sense,Than all that fires with party rageThis boastful philosophic age.Arise! with manly zeal advance,To curb the lawless power of France;O, bid her mad endeavours cease,And give the willing nations PEACE!—Fabricius.

O, England! heav’n-defended land!

With power to “threaten and command,”

Say, is thy former spirit broke,

To crouch beneath a foreign yoke,

And listen to the idiot strains

Of slaves thy better sense disdains,

As erst, in many an ardent hour,

You awed an adverse haughty power.

Thy lofty mind, to Freedom true,

May well retain what then it knew.

Where is thy former patriot soul,

Above deceit, above controul?

Arise! as in that happier time

United, fearless, bold, sublime.

’Tis said, and I believe the tale,

Thy efforts then could more avail,

Could more true happiness dispense,

With Order, Morals, virtue, Sense,

Than all that fires with party rage

This boastful philosophic age.

Arise! with manly zeal advance,

To curb the lawless power of France;

O, bid her mad endeavours cease,

And give the willing nations PEACE!

—Fabricius.

THE PASSIONS.

An Ode for Music.William Collins.

An Ode for Music.

William Collins.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,While yet in early Greece she sung,The Passions oft, to hear her shell,Throng’d around her magic cell,Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,Possess’d beyond the Muse’s painting;By turns they felt the glowing mind,Disturb’d, delighted, rais’d, refin’d,Till once, ’tis said, when all were fir’d,Fill’d with fury, rapt, inspir’d,From the supporting myrtles roundThey snatch’d her instruments of sound,And, as they oft had heard apartSweet lessons of her forceful art,Each, for Madness ruled the hour,Would prove his own expressive power.First Fear, his hand, its skill to try,Amid the chords bewilder’d laid,And back recoil’d, he knew not why,Even at the sound himself had made.Next Anger rush’d his eyes on fire,In lightnings own’d his secret stings,In one rude clash he struck the lyre,And swept with hurried hand the strings.With woful measures wan DespairLow sullen sounds his grief beguil’d,A sullen, strange, and mingled air,’Twas sad by fits, by starts ’twas wild.But thou, OHope! with eyes so fair,What was thy delighted measure?Still it whisper’d promis’d pleasure,And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!Still would her touch the strain prolong,And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,She call’d onEchostill through all the song;And where her sweetest theme she chose,A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,And Hope enchanted smil’d, and wav’d her golden hair.And longer had she sung,—but, with a frown,Revengeimpatient rose,He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down,And, with a withering look,The war-denouncing trumpet took,And blew a blast so loud and dread,Were ne’er prophetic sounds so full of woe.And ever and anon he beatThe doubling drum with furious heat;And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,DejectedPityat his sideHer soul-subduing voice applied;Yet still he kept his wild unalter’d mien,While each strain’d ball of sight seem’d bursting from his head,Thy numbers,Jealousy, to nought were fix’d,Sad proof of thy distressful state!Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d,And now it courtedLove, now raving call’d onHate.With eyes upraised, as one inspir’d,PaleMelancholysat retir’d,And from her wild sequester’d seat,In notes by distance made more sweet,Pour’d through the mellow horn her pensive soul:And dashing soft from rocks around,Bubbling runnels join’d the sound;Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,Or o’er some haunted streams with fond delay,Round a holy calm diffusing,Love of peace and lonely musing,In hollow murmurs died away.But oh! how alter’d was its sprightlier tone!WhenCheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,Her bow across her shoulders flung,Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew,Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung,The hunter’s call to Faun and Dryad known;The oak-crown’d Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen,Satyrs and Sylvan boys were seen,Peeping from forth their alleys green;BrownExerciserejoic’d to hear,AndSportleapt up, and seized his beechen spear.Last cameJoy’secstatic trial;He with viny crown advancing,First to the lively pipe his hand address’d;But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov’d the best.They would have thought who heard the strain,They saw in Tempe’s vale her native maids,Amidst the festal sounding shades,To some unwearied minstrel dancing:While, as his flying fingers kiss’d the strings,Loveframed withMirtha gay fantastic round,Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound:And he, amidst his frolic play.As if he would the charming air repay,Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.OMusic! sphere-descended maid,Friend ofPleasure,Wisdom’said,Why, goddess, why to us denied,Lay’st thou thy ancient lyre aside?As in that lov’d Athenian bower,You learn’d an all-commanding power,Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear’d,Can well recall what then it heard.Where is thy native simple heart,Devote to virtue, fancy, art?Arise, as in that elder time,Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!Thy wonders, in that god-like age,Fill thy recording Sister’s page.’Tis said, and I believe the tale,Thy humblest reed could more prevail,Had more of strength, diviner rage,Than all which charms this laggard age,E’en all at once together foundCecilia’s mingled world of sound.O bid our vain endeavours cease,Revive the just designs of Greece;Return in all thy simple state!Confirm the tales her sons relate.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,

While yet in early Greece she sung,

The Passions oft, to hear her shell,

Throng’d around her magic cell,

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,

Possess’d beyond the Muse’s painting;

By turns they felt the glowing mind,

Disturb’d, delighted, rais’d, refin’d,

Till once, ’tis said, when all were fir’d,

Fill’d with fury, rapt, inspir’d,

From the supporting myrtles round

They snatch’d her instruments of sound,

And, as they oft had heard apart

Sweet lessons of her forceful art,

Each, for Madness ruled the hour,

Would prove his own expressive power.

First Fear, his hand, its skill to try,Amid the chords bewilder’d laid,And back recoil’d, he knew not why,Even at the sound himself had made.

First Fear, his hand, its skill to try,

Amid the chords bewilder’d laid,

And back recoil’d, he knew not why,

Even at the sound himself had made.

Next Anger rush’d his eyes on fire,In lightnings own’d his secret stings,In one rude clash he struck the lyre,And swept with hurried hand the strings.

Next Anger rush’d his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own’d his secret stings,

In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woful measures wan DespairLow sullen sounds his grief beguil’d,A sullen, strange, and mingled air,’Twas sad by fits, by starts ’twas wild.

With woful measures wan Despair

Low sullen sounds his grief beguil’d,

A sullen, strange, and mingled air,

’Twas sad by fits, by starts ’twas wild.

But thou, OHope! with eyes so fair,What was thy delighted measure?Still it whisper’d promis’d pleasure,And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!Still would her touch the strain prolong,And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,She call’d onEchostill through all the song;And where her sweetest theme she chose,A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,And Hope enchanted smil’d, and wav’d her golden hair.

But thou, OHope! with eyes so fair,

What was thy delighted measure?

Still it whisper’d promis’d pleasure,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

Still would her touch the strain prolong,

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,

She call’d onEchostill through all the song;

And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,

And Hope enchanted smil’d, and wav’d her golden hair.

And longer had she sung,—but, with a frown,Revengeimpatient rose,He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down,And, with a withering look,The war-denouncing trumpet took,And blew a blast so loud and dread,Were ne’er prophetic sounds so full of woe.And ever and anon he beatThe doubling drum with furious heat;And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,DejectedPityat his sideHer soul-subduing voice applied;Yet still he kept his wild unalter’d mien,While each strain’d ball of sight seem’d bursting from his head,

And longer had she sung,—but, with a frown,

Revengeimpatient rose,

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down,

And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne’er prophetic sounds so full of woe.

And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat;

And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,

DejectedPityat his side

Her soul-subduing voice applied;

Yet still he kept his wild unalter’d mien,

While each strain’d ball of sight seem’d bursting from his head,

Thy numbers,Jealousy, to nought were fix’d,Sad proof of thy distressful state!Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d,And now it courtedLove, now raving call’d onHate.With eyes upraised, as one inspir’d,PaleMelancholysat retir’d,And from her wild sequester’d seat,In notes by distance made more sweet,Pour’d through the mellow horn her pensive soul:And dashing soft from rocks around,Bubbling runnels join’d the sound;Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,Or o’er some haunted streams with fond delay,Round a holy calm diffusing,Love of peace and lonely musing,In hollow murmurs died away.

Thy numbers,Jealousy, to nought were fix’d,

Sad proof of thy distressful state!

Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d,

And now it courtedLove, now raving call’d onHate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspir’d,

PaleMelancholysat retir’d,

And from her wild sequester’d seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,

Pour’d through the mellow horn her pensive soul:

And dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join’d the sound;

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,

Or o’er some haunted streams with fond delay,

Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs died away.

But oh! how alter’d was its sprightlier tone!WhenCheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,Her bow across her shoulders flung,Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew,Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung,The hunter’s call to Faun and Dryad known;The oak-crown’d Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen,Satyrs and Sylvan boys were seen,Peeping from forth their alleys green;BrownExerciserejoic’d to hear,AndSportleapt up, and seized his beechen spear.

But oh! how alter’d was its sprightlier tone!

WhenCheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulders flung,

Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter’s call to Faun and Dryad known;

The oak-crown’d Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen,

Satyrs and Sylvan boys were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

BrownExerciserejoic’d to hear,

AndSportleapt up, and seized his beechen spear.

Last cameJoy’secstatic trial;He with viny crown advancing,First to the lively pipe his hand address’d;But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov’d the best.They would have thought who heard the strain,They saw in Tempe’s vale her native maids,Amidst the festal sounding shades,To some unwearied minstrel dancing:While, as his flying fingers kiss’d the strings,Loveframed withMirtha gay fantastic round,Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound:And he, amidst his frolic play.As if he would the charming air repay,Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

Last cameJoy’secstatic trial;

He with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address’d;

But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,

Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov’d the best.

They would have thought who heard the strain,

They saw in Tempe’s vale her native maids,

Amidst the festal sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing:

While, as his flying fingers kiss’d the strings,

Loveframed withMirtha gay fantastic round,

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound:

And he, amidst his frolic play.

As if he would the charming air repay,

Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

OMusic! sphere-descended maid,Friend ofPleasure,Wisdom’said,Why, goddess, why to us denied,Lay’st thou thy ancient lyre aside?As in that lov’d Athenian bower,You learn’d an all-commanding power,Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear’d,Can well recall what then it heard.Where is thy native simple heart,Devote to virtue, fancy, art?Arise, as in that elder time,Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!Thy wonders, in that god-like age,Fill thy recording Sister’s page.’Tis said, and I believe the tale,Thy humblest reed could more prevail,Had more of strength, diviner rage,Than all which charms this laggard age,E’en all at once together foundCecilia’s mingled world of sound.O bid our vain endeavours cease,Revive the just designs of Greece;Return in all thy simple state!Confirm the tales her sons relate.

OMusic! sphere-descended maid,

Friend ofPleasure,Wisdom’said,

Why, goddess, why to us denied,

Lay’st thou thy ancient lyre aside?

As in that lov’d Athenian bower,

You learn’d an all-commanding power,

Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear’d,

Can well recall what then it heard.

Where is thy native simple heart,

Devote to virtue, fancy, art?

Arise, as in that elder time,

Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!

Thy wonders, in that god-like age,

Fill thy recording Sister’s page.

’Tis said, and I believe the tale,

Thy humblest reed could more prevail,

Had more of strength, diviner rage,

Than all which charms this laggard age,

E’en all at once together found

Cecilia’s mingled world of sound.

O bid our vain endeavours cease,

Revive the just designs of Greece;

Return in all thy simple state!

Confirm the tales her sons relate.

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