Paint the proud arch so lively to the sight, Hence to the garden should your fancy fly, Let the tall tulip with your Iris vie; With a mix'd glory crown its radiant head, And in poetic measure scale the wall, While the sharp sheers return a clipping sound, And the green leaves fall quivering to the ground. Here in the bower of beauty newly shorn, The little wanton into Cupid grew; Then arm'd his hand with glittering sparks of fire, Observe, how Sappho paints the lover's pain, Her weak tongue faulters, and her voice is lost; Tost, as the sea, by passions, let the soul Like the brine sparkle, like the billows roll; Then anger kindles in the warrior's eyes, And earth usurps the thunder of the skies: See how they mount upon the groaning car, Shake the long lance, and overtake the war; Aloft in air resounds the whirling thong, The horses fly, the chariot smokes along; The foaming coursers press upon their heels, Back run the lines beneath the whirling wheels: Fleeter than light they flash along the fields, And suns by thousands blaze upon their shields: The twisted serpents, round their helmets roll'd, Must hiss in verse, and bite in burnish'd gold: The wars break in-now millions are no more, And a long groan pursues the gushing gore; Spears, darts, and javelins, launch along the sky, Plunge into blood, or into shivers fly : Thus let your heroes rage, by Mars possest, And feel an Iliad rising in your breast; But soon cement those wounds, let discord cease, And warring worlds unite in friendly peace. Hence sounds in softer notes must learn to move, And melting music rise the voice of love! Let Tubal's lute in skilful hands appear, And pour new numbers on the listening ear; With the full organ let them sweetly swell, With the loud trumpet languishingly shrill; Or in soft concord let the concert suit, The sprightly clarion with the Dorian flute : Then wake to vocal airs the warbling wire, Let the strings run beneath the poet's fire; While sorrow sighs, ah! never let them cool, But melt melodious on the soften'd soul: So may the passions wait upon your hand, Move as you move, and act as you command. And here Arion's harp may swell the strain, Or smooth your numbers as it smooth'd the main ; When wondering Sirens to its sounds advanc'd, And bounding dolphins o'er the billows danc'd; Admiring Tritons round the music play, And angry seas in measure roll away : A tide of rapture rose as he requir'd, White work'd the waves, and foam'd as he inspir'd; The billows beat upon the sounding string, And through the hollow harp the waters ring. As on a moon-light night, when Neptune calls His finny coursers from their coral stalls, From some white cliff, whose brow reflects the deep, With joy confess the sovereign of the main : On land Amphion swells the magic song, Hear how Timotheus wraps the soul in sounds, Down the broad brass his bold hands brush the tones, And all his soul seems starting from his eyes! But chief the music of the spheres must please, When the three Parcae, Fate's fair offspring born, Round which eight spheres in beauteous order run, Whose motions all things upon earth ordain, As from the wheel the fatal thread she flings; To Titian turn, to Raphael praises give, Hence picture rose, and shadows seem'd to live; On Guido look, to Rubens rear thine eye, Where each bold figure seems a stander-by; |