Must I be doom'd whole ages to deplore,
And think of transports I must taste no more?
O dreadful thought! whose endless view contains
Grief foll'wing grief, and pains succeeding pains!
Each joy is blasted, and each comfort fled!
Ye dreary sisters, cut the fatal thread!

Ah! whither fly'st thou? to some dreary plain,
Where frozen Chastity and Horrour reign;
And Melancholy, daughter of Despair,
With pale Contrition, and with gloomy Care;
To spend thy youth in superstitious fears,
In needless penance, penitence, and tears!
Let those dwell there whose bosoms guilt reprove,
But thou hast none, if 'tis no sin to love.
For what is deem'd a half extorted vow
Too dull for lovers, and forgotten now?
Religious cheat! impos'd by fear on man,
And priests continue what the fool began.

O stay, for absence never can destroy,
No dis ance quell my visionary joy;
In vain you still endeavour to remove
The beauteous cause of my unhappy love:
Imagination foll wing close behind,
Presents afresh past pleasures to my mind;
The rebel m'nd forbidden passion knows,
With welcome flames the guilty bosom glows,
Again th' ecstatic soul dissolves away,
In brightest visions of eternal day;
There sees thy fatal form, or seems to see,
For Heav'n it loses, when it loses thee.

Worn by my sorrows, see this wretched frame; Innocent object of thy fatal flame!

See! round my lips a deadly paleness spread;
Where roses bloom'd, the canker grief has fed;
From my cold cheeks the with'ring lily flies,
And light extinguish'd leaves my weeping eyes.
O count again the pleasures we have prov'd,
Promoting mutual what the other lov'd;
Recall in thought each am'rous moment gone,
Think each soft circumstance, and still think on;
But chief that day destructive to my rest,
For ever fatal, yet for ever blest,
When 1, assisting, at the sacred shrine,
My aged father in the rights divine,
Beheld thee first, celestial as thou art,
And felt thy image sink into my heart;
Ere I could think I found myself undone,
For but to see thee and to love are one..

No more the pomp ands olemn splendour pleas'd,
Devotion's flames within my bosom ceas'd;
Thy fairer form expell'd the Deity,
And all the mighty space was fill'd with thee.
I fear'd 'twas errour, and to Wisdom fled
To call her rigid doctrine to my aid:
But such the passion, Wisdom must approve,
She saw the object, and she bade me love.
The pleasing paths of Venus I retrod,
No more a mortal, but an am'rous god.
O pow'rful weakness of th' ecstatic mind!
Celestial gleams to human failings join'd!

But me, alas! far other cares employ, To reap the harvest of unlawful joy; Pensive I wander'd on the lonely shore, Where breaking billows at a distance roar; The sighs that issued from my lab'ring breast, Woke Echo from her inmost cave of rest; | On thee I thought, on thee I call'd alone, The soften'd rocks re-echo'd to my moan, The sympathizing streams ran mournful by, And tun'd their plaintive bubblings to my cry.

Thrice had the Moon her silver mantle spread, As oft I wander'd from my sleepless bed; As oft I travers'd o'er the neighb'ring plain, As oft I sought thee, but I sought in vain; At last arriv'd the long-expected hour, I found thee musing in a lonely bow'r; The time and place invited to impart The faithful language of my love-sick heart; With agonizing sighs I gain'd belief, And each pathetic circumstance of grief; A war unequal in thy breast ensu'd, Stern duty fail'd, and gentle pity woo'd, Pity admitted, all disdain remov'd, And soon what mercy spar'd, the woman lov'd. A crimson blush o'er all thy face was spread, Then lilies pale, and all the roses fled; Each look more faithful, to thy heart reveal'd The fatal secret that thy tongue conceal'd. The happy omen of success I view'd, Embrac'd th' advantage, and th' attack pursu'd. Honour's first guard of wakeful scruples o'er, Love found a breach, and fears contend no more; Each other's arms each other's body prest, We spoke much pleasure, and we felt the rest; The rest, which only can the faithful feel; The rest, which none had ever pow'r to tell; The rest, which feels unutterably sweet, In the first intercourse when lovers meet; The modest diffidence, and bold desires, Soft thrilling cold, and quick-returning fires, The glowing blushes, and the joyful tears, The flatt'ring wishes, and th' alarming fears, The gentle breathings, and the mutual sighs, And all the silent eloquence of eyes.

Pleas'd with the first delight, my raptures rove To seize at once the last recess of love; Till flying swiftly on from joy to joy,

I sunk at last in heav'nly ecstasy.

The secret progress thus we first began,
Then soon round pleasure's flow'ry circle ran;
How oft we met, dull reason frown'd in vain,
How oft we parted but to meet again!

O blessed moments, and divinest dreams!
Enchanting transports, and celestial gleams!
Fly quick, my fancy, bring 'em back to view,
In retrospection let me love anew;
And once in thought enjoy the bliss again,
Even cheaply purchas'd by an age of pain.
O sacred queen of silent night, advance,
And cast thy sable mantle o'er th' expanse,

sails,

To lands of Paradise with gentle gales,
Love makes the sister soul for ever even;
Love can do all, for love itself is Heav'n.

The tedious bus'ness of the day was done;
Our off'rings ended with the parting Sun;
The night advanc'd, the shepherds homeward
sped

To the sweet comforts of the nuptial bed;

Give to my arms what hateful day denies,
For vain, alas! those dulcet wishes roll,
When sov'reign reason awes the wakeful soul;
Sleep sets it free to all its native fires,
And gives a grateful loose to soft desires.
At that calm hour, when Peace her requium sings,
And pleasing slumbers spread their airy wings;
Thy beauteous image comes before my sight:
(My theme by day, my constant dream by night;)

THE HARMONY OF MUSIC, POETRY, AND THE
IMITATIVE ARTS.

OF Harmony, and her celestial pow'r
O'er the responsive soul, and whence arise
Those sweet sensations, whether from the lays
Of melting music, and impassion'd verse,
From mimic scenes of emulative art,
Or nature's bcauteous objects, which affect
The moral pow'rs with sympathetic charms,
The Muse congenial sings.-Descend, ye Nine,
Who guard th' Aonian mount, whilst I unfold
The deep recesses of your tuneful haunts,
And from your inmost bow'rs select a bay
To deck the fav'rite theme. Do thou attend,
Thou, whom Lucretius to his great design
Invok'd; and with thee bring thy darling son,
Who tun'd Anacreon's lyre, to guide my hand,
Advent'rous rais'd to sweep harmonious chords.
Come all ye sons of liberty, who wake
From dreams of superstition, where the soul
Thro' mists of forc'd belief, but dimly views
Its own great Maker; come, and I will guide,
Uninterrupted by the jargon shrill

Of peevish priests, your footsteps to the throne
Where pleasure reigns with reason, to behold
His majesty celestial, and adore
Him thro' each object of proportion fair,
The source of virtue, harmony, and bliss!

Ere this delightful face of things adorn'd
The great expanse of day, dark Chaos reign'd,
And elemental Discord; in the womb
Of ancient Night, the war of atoms rag'd
Incessant; Anarchy, Confusion wild,
Harsh Dissonance, and Uproar fill'd the whole;
Till that Eternal One, who from the first
Existed, sent his plastic word abroad
Throughout the vast abyss: created worlds
Felt the sweet impulse, and obedient fled
To stations ascertain'd; there to perform
Their various motions, corresponding all
To one harmonious plan, which fablers feign
The mystic music of the distant spheres.

All this the Samian sage' had seen at large,

It is very evident that Pythagoras, who is justly esteemed in one respect the inventor of music, had a clear notion of the present astronomical system, though the honour of the discovery was

Thus all the pow'r of music from the spheres
Descends to wake the tardy soul of man
From dreams terrestrial; ever to its charms
Obsequious, ever by its dulcet strains
Smooth'd from the passions of tempestuous life,
And taught to pre-enjoy its native Heav'n.
Whilst thro' this vale of errour we pursue
Ideal joys, where Fancy leads us on
Thro' scenes of paradise in fairy forms
Of ease, of pleasure, or extensive pow'r;
And when we think full fairly we possess
The promis'd Heav'n, Disease, or wrinkled Care,
Fill with their loath'd embrace our eager grasp,
And leave us in a wilderness of woe

To weep at large; where shall we seek relief,
Where ease th' oppressive anguish of the mind,
When Retrospection glows with conscious shame
By grey Experience in the wholesome school
Of Sorrow tutor'd? Whither shall we fly?
To wilds and woods, and leave the busy world
For solitude? Ah! thither still pursue
Th'intruding fiends, attend our evening walk,
Breathe in each breeze, and murmur in each rill;
Where Peace, protected by the turtle wing
Of Innocence, expands the lovely bloom
Of
gay Content, no more to be enjoy'd,
But lost for ever! Yet benignant Heav'n,
Correcting with parental pity, sent
This friendly siren from the groves of Joy,
To temper with mellifluent strains the voicę
Of mental Anguish, and attune the groans
Of young Impatience, to the softer sound
Of grateful Pæans to its Maker's praise.

Alike, if ills external, made our own,
Mix in the cup of life the bitter drop
Of sorrow; when the childless father sighs
From the remembrance of his dying son;
When Death has sever'd, with a long farewel,
The lover from the object of desire,

In the full bloom of youth, and leaves the wretch,
To sooth affliction in the well-known scenes
Of blameless rapture once; uncouth Advice
In vain intrudes with sacerdotal frown,
And Superstition's jargon, to expel
The sweet distress; the gen'rous soul disdains,
Deaf to such monkish precepts, all constraint,
And gives a loose to grief; but straight apply
The lenient force of numbers, they'll assuage
By calm degrees the sympathetic pain,
Til lull'd at length, the intellectual pow'rs

reserved for Copernicus so many ages after. Nor was this sentiment of his unknown to the rest of the philosophers: for the Stagyrite, in the 15th chapter of the 2d book wp: Opave, speaks of it in these terms. "Those philosophers, who are called Pythagoreans, affirm, that the Sun is in the middie; and that the Earth, like the rest of the planets, rolls round it upon its own axis, and so forms the day and night."

The number of the planets.

Παντες δ' επίαπονοιο λύρης φθογίοισι συνωδόν
Αρμονίην προσέχεσι διαςας αλλος απ' αλλα.

Alex. Ephes. apud Heracl. de Hom.

Sink to divine repose, and rage no more.
So when descended rains from Alpine rocks
Burst forth in diff'rent torrents, down they rush
Precipitate, and o'er the craggy steep
Hoarse roaring bear the parted soil away;
Anon, collected on the smoother plains,
Glide to the channel of some ancient flood,
And flow one silent stream. This oft I felt,
When, wand'ring thro' the unfrequented woods,
Mourning for poor Ardelia's hapless fate,
Thee, my belov'd. Melodius, I have heard
In silent rapture all the live-long day.
Tho' black Despair sate brooding o'er my thoughts
Pregnant with horror, thy Platonic lay
Dispell'd th' unmanly sorrows, and again
Led forth my vagrant fancy thro' the plan
Of Nature, studious to explore with thee
Each beauteous scene of musical delight,
Which bears fraternal likeness to the soul.

Is there a passion3, whose impetuous force
Disturbs the human breast, and breaking forth
With sad eruptions, deals destruction round,
Like flames convulsive from th' Etnean mole,
But by the magic strains of some soft air
Is harmoniz'd to peace? As tempests cease
Their elemental fury, when the queen

Of Heav'n, descending on a Zephyr's plume,
Smiles on th'enamel'd landscape of the spring.
Say, at that solemn hour, the noon of night,
When nought but plaintive Philomela wakes,
Say, whilst she warbles forth her tragic tale,
Whilst grief melodious charms the Sylvan pow'rs,
And Echo from her inmost cave of rest
Joins in her wailing, dost not thou partake
A melancholy pleasure? And tho' rage
Did lead thee forth beneath the silent gloom
To meditate on horrour and revenge,
Thy soften'd soul is gently sooth'd within,
And, humaniz'd again by Pity's voice,
Becomes as tender as the gall-less dove.

Nor is the tuneful blessing here confin'd
To cure distemper'd passions, and allay
By its persuasive notes convulsive throbs

Of soul alone; but (strange!) with subtle pow'r
Acts on the grosser matter of the frame
By riot shatter'd, or the casual lot

Breathesam'rous airs, touch'd by the love-sick swain,
Mute is each hill and dale; the list'ning herds s
Express their joy irrational (as erst
When Fauns and Dryads follow'd ancient Pan
In festive dance.) Ask you, from whence arise
These grateful signs of pleasure in the gaze
Of list'ning flocks at music's dulcet lore?
From whence, but from responsive notes within
Of Harmony celestial, which inspires

Each animal, thro' all the spacious tracts
Of earth, and air, and water, from the large
Unwieldly elephant, to th' unseen mote,
That flutters in the Sun's meridian beam,
See! roundthat fragrantrose, whose sweets perfume
The tinctur'd pinions of the passing breeze,
How bees laborious gather! from each hive
The dusky myriads swarm, to taste the dew,
Just sprinkled from Aurora's golden plumes,
Ambrosializ'd within its dulcet leaves,
And sweets distilling like Arabian gums
From medicinal groves-homeward they bear
The liquid spoil, exulting, all intent
T'enrich the waxen empire; till anon
Luxurious plenty sows the fatal seed
Of dire dissention; sudden rage ensues,
And fight domestic; to the fields of air
The winged hosts resort; the signals sound,
And civil slaughter strews the plains below
But e'en amidst
With many a little corpse.
The thickest war, let but the tuneful rod
On brazen cymbal strike, the lenient strains,
Quick undulating thro' the silent air,
Recal harmonious love and gentle peace
Back to their ancient seats; the friendly swarms
Sudden in reunited clusters join,
Pendent on neighb'ring sallows; nought is heard
But notes reciprocal of bliss sincere,
Soft breathing thro' each amicable hive.

Their grateful influence, in sequester'd bow'rs
The pow'r of Art resides: Reflection firm,
And vagrant Fancy at her sov'reign nod
Attendant wait; behind th' ideal train
Of Memory, with retrospective eye

Supports her throne, whilst Contemplation guides
Her trophied car. Thro' Nature's various paths,
Alike, where glows the blossom'd pride of May,
Or where bleak Winter from the widow'd shrubs
Strips the gay verdure, and invests the boughs
With snowy horrour; where delicious streams
Thro' flow'ry meadows seek their wanton course;
Or where on Afric's unfrequented coasts
The dreary desert burns; where e'er the ray
Of beauty gilds the scene, or where the cloud
Of horrour casts its shade; she unrestrain'd
Explores, and in her faithful mirror bears
The sweet resemblance, to revive the soul,
When absence from the sight for ever tears

5 For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, &o.
Shakesp. Merchant of Venice.

The source of rapture. Hence the tablet glows
With charms exotic; hence the sculptur'd bust,
As o'er the rock the plastic chissel moves,
Breathes by degrees, till straight returns afresh
The lov'd idea to the ravish'd eye,
And calls up every passion from its source.

Is love the object of thy glowing thoughts?
Or dream'st thou of a bliss exceeding far
Elysian pleasures? Would'st thou taste again
The heart-enfeebling transports, when the soul,
Big with celestial triumph, thro' the vales
Of am'rous Fancy led the sportive Hours
To soft Idalian airs, whilst wanton Loves
Strew'd round thee roses of eternal bloom,
And fann'd the sultry breeze with golden plumes?
See! where, beneath a myrtle bow'r reclin'd,
Which on the canvas casts its cooling shade,
Encircled in each other's arms, yon beauteous pair
In dulcet dalliance lie; the rigid frown
Of Care ne'er low'rs, but ever cheerful smiles
Effuse, like vernal suns, their genial beams
To warm their mutual hearts; whilst rapt'rous sighs,
Sweeter than aromatic winds which blow
O'er spicy groves in intermingled gales,
Are wafted to th' impending queen of love.

But burns thy heart with more refin'd delight? And would'st thou thro' the faithful colours view Calm Chastity and Justice blend their charms Like gleams of opening Heav'n? Yon radiant throne Presents great Cyrus, as the Magi feign'd The snowy-vested Mithres, from the east Descending in effulgent rays of light, To guide the virtuous to th' etherial plains, Where joy for ever dwells. Before him stands A trembling captive, with dejected looks, As conscious of her form: upon her cheeks The rose of beauty fades, with paler hue The lily sickens, and each flow'r declines Its drooping head. But see! how he revives With unexpected hopes her tortur'd breast, And joy's soft blush appears! So the bless'd wings Of western zephyrs, o'er Arabian coasts Sprinkle their heav'nly dew; the wither'd plants Incline their sun-parch'd bosoms to imbibe The renovating moisture, till anon The pristine bloom thro' vegetative pores Returning, smiles in ev'ry flow'ry vale, And decks the neighb'ring hills with verdant pride. Such groups as these instruct th' unbiass'd mind With real wisdom, when with Beauty's garb Virtue invested, and ne'er fading charms, Fills with desire the soul; here Art employs To worthy ends her pencil as of old, And calls the hero to receive the wreath Of public honour, whilst his sacred bust Is still preserv'd for nations yet unborn To view with adoration; every breast Feels emulative spirits burn within, And longs to join the honour'd list of fame. Yet still her influence is not less confess'd In other forms, to raise abhorrence fierce, To paint in hideous shapes the crew of Vice, And all her train of sure-attending woes. These objects have their diff'rent graces too, And glow, if faithful, thro' the mimic scenes With charms peculiar. For perfection sits,

6 See the reason in Aristotle assigned, why the mind is as much delighted with aptness of description to excite the image, as with the image in de

As the known imitation shall succeed,
With equal lustre on a tyrant's frown,
As on the dimple of Pancaste's check,
Or Delia's iv'ry neck. The melting tear
Drops from th'afflicted parent's joyless eye,
Not less delightful to th'attentive gaze
Of fixt examination, than the smiles
Of infant Cupids sporting thro' the groves,
Where Venus sleeping lies. From nature form'd,
The just resemblance from consenting thought
Applause demands; and Fancy's ravish'd eye
Sports o'er the painted surge, whose billows roll
Tempestuous to the sky, with equal bliss,
As o'er the marble surface of the deep,
When mild Favonius from the western isles,
With youthful Spring flies gladsome o'er the main,
To seek his gentle May; while Proteus rests
Deep in his ouzy bed, and halcyons call,
Secure of peace, their new-fledg'd young abroad.
External matter thus by art is wrought,
Or with the pencil or the chissel's touch,
To give us back the image of the mind,
Which smiles to find its own conceptions there.
But can she draw the tenderness of thought?
Can she depict the beauty of the soul,
And all th' internal train of sweet distress,
When friendship o'er the recent grave declines
Its sick'ning head, as ev'ry action dear,
And ev'ry circumstance of mutual love
Returns afresh; while from the streaming eyes
Bursts forth a flood of unavailing tears,
Of parting tears, ere yet they close the tomb?
Or, can she from the colours that adorn
The wat'ry bow; from all the splendid store
That Flora lavishes in vernal hours

On wanton Zephyr; from the blazing mine
Where Plutus reigns; can she select a bloom
To emulate the patriot's bosom, when the wealth
Of nations, all imperial pomp is scorn'd,
And tyrants frown in vain, yet to the last
He breathes the social sigh, and even in death
With blessing on his native country calls!-
That only to the Muse belongs, to show
How charms each moral beauty, how the scene
Of goodness pleases the responsive soul,
And sooths within the intellectual pow'rs
With sympathetic order. For at first,
This emanation of the source of life
Unsullied glows, till o'er th' etherial rays
Opinion casts a tincture, and infects
The mental optics with a jaundice hue;
Then, like the domes beneath a wizard's wand,
Each object, as the hellish artist wills,

A shape fallacious wears.-O throng, ye youth,
Around the poet's song, whose sacred lays
Breathe no infectious vapours from the coasts,
Where Indolence supinely nods at ease,
And offers to the passing crowd her couch
Of down, whilst infant vices lull the mind
To fatal slumbers; other themes invite
My faithful hand to strike the votive lyre.
Lo! Virtue comes in more effulgent pomp,
Than what the great impostor promis'd oft
To cheated crowds of Mussulmen, beside
The winey rivers and refreshing shades
Of Paradise; and lo! the dastard train
Of pleasure disappears. So fleet the shades,

scription. Arist. de Poet, cap. 4. So Plutarch de Aud. Poet. See his Symp. lib. 5.