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 advanç'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,
He leads them forth, and bids the billows sleep,
The waves obey; so still a silence reigns,
That not a wrinkle curls the watery plains;
Like floating mercury the waves appear,
And the sea whitens with a heaven so clear:
Before him Triton blows his twisted shell,
And distant sea-nymphs know the signal well;
In long procession the caerulean train

With joy confess the sovereign of the main :
Such were the raptures of the sea-green race,
When sweet Arion cross'd the watery space;
When first his fingers felt the music rise,
And mix'd in melody the seas and skies.

On land Amphion swells the magic song,
And round his fingers moving mountains throng;
At every stroke he sees fair Thebes aspire,
Walls rise on walls, and temples soaring higher:
At ever stroke new wonders deck the strain,
The big creation of a poet's brain !

Hear how Timotheus wraps the soul in sounds, And drops the notes like balm upon her wounds; The moulded measures querulous decay, Till a swift tremor sweeps the sounds away : By sweet degrees again they gather near, Recover fast, and thunder on the ear ;

Down the broad brass his bold hands brush the tones,

The long string leaps, and vibrates into groans;
Let furious Saul be figur'd to thy mind,

So mad-as not to be by verse confin'd;
With music arm'd the sweet musician stands,
And o'er the golden cordage spreads his hands;
The monarch's looks are fix'd upon the strings,
And his eyes languish as young David sings;
His fury falls, as that begins to rise,

And all his soul seems starting from his eyes!

But chief the music of the spheres must please,
If sounds celestial warble in thy lays;

When the three Parcae, Fate's fair offspring born,
The world's great spindle as its axle turn;

Round which eight spheres in beauteous order run,
And as they turn revolving time is spun:
Whose motions all things upon earth ordain,
Whence revolutions date their fickle reign;
These, rob'd in white, at equal distance thron'd,
Sit o'er the spheres, and twirl the spindle round,
On each of which a Siren loudly sings,

As from the wheel the fatal thread she flings;
The Parcae answer, in the choir agree,
And all those voices make one harmony.

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;

Trophies and triumphs by Mantegna's hand
In martial order on the canvas stand;
With hints of glory fire the warlike soul,
And bid like motions in our bosoms roll:
Here Verrio's colors glow expos'd to sight,
And sky-dipp'd pencils stream with liquid light;
Thy art, O Kneller! asks a sister's praise,
So may thy paintings beautify my lays;
Whether young blushes ripen in thy lines,
Or verdant landskips wave in green designs,
Through which the sun, emerging from the main,
In floods of purple drowns the leafy scene,
A mimic visto stretches wide between,
Where gold appears diversified with green;
Shades rise on shades, on colors colors flow,
And transient shadows undulate below.

So when Aurora mounts the rosy East, And Light's warm blushes redden o'er her breast; A thousand suns her orient rays unfold,

And every leaf is sprinkled o'er with gold;
The glittering spangles burn the woodland shade,
Tree, stream, and bush, in Nature's gold array'd:
The burnish'd rills in softer silver show,
And, dash'd with purple, glance their waves below;
Ten thousand shadows skim the color'd stream,
And o'er the silver shoots the crimson gleam.

Next let Prometheus boast his godlike art,

And let a wonder from his fingers start;

An angel's form by every poet sung,

Love in her looks, and music in her tongue.

So when the sun with all-enlivening ray
On Memnon's lips first strikes the golden day;
The hard flint utters melancholy sounds,
And from the stone sweet harmony rebounds.

Before Lysippus' courser neighs the steed,
And fond Pygmalion clasps his ivory maid;
Where Niobe, in beauteous sorrow shown,
Melts into tears, and hardens into stone.
Beside his chisel let Mount Athos stand,
Heave into form, and groan beneath his hand,
While on one spacious palm he pours the sea,
And his broad fingers form an ample bay;
The other grasps a wide-extended town,
Whose regal walls unnumber'd turrets crown:
Thus was this son of earth suppos'd to rise,
O'er-look the globe, and climb into the skies,
To scare the Gods with his enormous height,
A second Titan soaring out of sight.

So near proud Rhodes, across the sounding main', The world's just wonder brav'd the winds and rain, While round his head the rattling tempests blow, And watery mountains break in foam below; On Neptune's back, the proud Colossus rides, Deaf to the roarings of the winds and tides.