Whom no delights from thee divide) In laughter loos'd attends thy side! By old Miletus* who so long Has ceas'd his love-inwoven song: By all you taught the Tuscan maids, In chang'd Italia's modern shades: By him †, whose Knight's distinguish’d name, Refin'd a nation's lust of fame; * Alluding to the Milesian Tales, some of the earliest romances. + Cervantes. Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1745. O Nature boon, from whom proceed Each forceful thought, each prompted deed; If but from thee I hope to feel, On all my heart imprint thy seal! Let some retreating Cynic find Those oft-turn'd scrolls I leave behind, The Sports and I this hour agree, To rove thy scene-ful world with thee! THE PASSIONS. AN ODE FOR MUSIC. WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 'Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, G 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 Despair Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd, A sullen, strange, and mingled air, But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, She call'd on Echo still thro' 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. |