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By her th' unfetter'd Ister's states are free,
And taste the sweets of English liberty.
But who can tell the joys of those that lie
Beneath the constant influence of her eye!
Whilst in diffufive show'rs her bounties fall,
Like Heav'n's indulgence, and descend on all ;
Secure the happy, fuccour the distress'd,
Make ev'ry subject glad, and a whole people bless'd.

Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse,
In the smooth records of a faithful verse ;
That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,
May tell pofterity the wondrous tale.
When actions, unadorn'd, are faint and weak,
Cities and countries must be taught to speak;
Gods
may

descend in factions from the lies,
And rivers from their oozy beds arise ;
Fiction may deck the truth with fpurious rays,
And round the hero cast a borrow'd blaze :
Marlbrô's exploits appear divinely bright,
And proudly shine in their own native light;
Rais'd of themselves, their genuine charms they boaft,
And thołe who paint 'em trueft-praise 'em moft.

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HEN Musick, heavenly maid, was young;

While yet in early Greece fhe sung ;
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thxong'd around her magick cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Posless'd beyond the Muse's painting :
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.

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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 found:
And as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness ruld the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power.
First, Fear, his hand, it's skill to try,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoild, he knew not why,

E'en at the found himself had made.

Next, Anger rulh'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 woeful measures, wan Despair,

Low fullen sounds his grief beguild: A solemn, strange, and mingled air ;

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

But thou, O Hope, 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 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 war'a her golden hair.

And longer had he sung-but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rose :
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;

And,

And, with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetick sounds so full of woe.

And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat:
And tho' sometimes, each dreary pause between,

Dejected Pity, at his fide,
Her foul-fubduing

voice applied ; Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain’d ball of-fight seem'd bursting from his heada

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;

Sad proof of thy distressful ftate!
Of differing themes the veering song was mixd:
And now it courted Love--now, raving, called on Hatex

With eyes up-rais’d, as one inspir'd,
Pale Melancholy fat retir'd;
And from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes, by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul &

And dashing soft from-rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the found';
Thro'glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Or o'er some-haunted-streams with fond delay,

Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely mufings
In hollow murmurs died away.

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But O, how alter'd was it's fprightlier tone!
When Chearfölness, a' nymph of healthieft hue,

Her bow across: her shoulder flung,

Her busins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung!

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known.

The

The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-ey'd Queen,

Satyrs and Sylvan boys were feen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green ;

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,
And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen (pear.

Last came Joy's extatick 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 feftal sounding shades,
To fome unwearied minstrel dancing.

While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love, fram'd with Mirth, a gay fantastick round,
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound;

And he, amidit his frolick play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Mufick, sphere-descended maid,
Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid,
Why, Goddess, why to us denied ?
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre afide ?
As in that lov'd Athenian bower,
You learn'd an all-commanding power,
Thy mimick foul, 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, energick, chaste, sublime !
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording fifter's page

By her th' unfetter'd Ister's states are free,
And taste the sweets of English liberty.
But who can tell the joys of those that lie
Beneath the constant influence of her

eye

!
Whilst in diffufive show'rs her bounties fall,
Like Heav'n's indulgence, and descend on all ;
Secure the happy, succour the distress'd,
Make ev'ry subject glad, and a whole people bless'd.

Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse,
In the smooth records of a faithful verse;
That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,
May tell posterity the wondrous tale.
When actions, unadorn'd, are faint and weak,
Cities and countries must be taught to speak;
Gods may descend in factions from the lies,
And rivers from their oozy beds arise ;
Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays,
And round the hero cast a borrow'd blaze :
Marlbrô's exploits appear divinely bright,
And proudly shine in their own native light;
Rais'd of themselves, their genuine charms they boaft,
And thole who paint 'em trueft-praise 'em most.

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HEN Musick, heavenly maid, was young;

While yet in early Greece fhe sung ;
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thsong'd around her magick cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Poffefs'd beyond the Muse's painting :
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.

Till

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