Where, tangled round the jealous steep,
Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep,
And holy Genii guard the rock,

Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock,
While on its rich ambitious head,
An Eden, like his own,' lies spread,
I view that oak, the fancied glades among,
By which as Milton lay, his evening ear,
From many a cloud that dropped ethereal dew,

Nigh-sphered in heaven,2 its native strains could hear;
On which that ancient trump he reached was hung:
Thither oft, his glory greeting,

From Waller's myrtle shades retreating,3
With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue
My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue;
In vain-Such bliss to one alone,

Of all the sons of soul, was known;

And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers,
Have now o'erturned the inspiring bowers,
Or curtained close such scene from every future view.

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,
Thronged around her magic cell ;

Like his own, &c.—i. e. like that deseribed by Milton in "Paradise Lost," (see extract p. 331.)

2 Nigh-sphered, &c.-i. e. his evening ear nigh-sphered, &c., or more definitely, Milton's spirit listening as it were, in the calm of thought, would seem to be almost domiciled, "nigh-sphered," in heaven, and hearing only its own native strains. Milton says of himself, ("Paradise Lost," vii, 14.)

"Into the heaven of heavens I have presumed

An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air."

3 From Waller's myrtle shades, &c.—Disdaining the effeminate muse of Waller. 4 This has been by some eminent judges considered the finest lyric ode in our language. It is indeed difficult to exaggerate its merits, whether we regard the conception, the diction, or the apt management of the rhythm.

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt,3 inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each-for madness ruled the hour-
Would prove his own expressive power.

First FEAR his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewildered laid;
And back recoiled, he knew not why,
Even at the sound himself had made.

Next ANGER rushed; his eyes on fire
In lightnings owned his secret stings;
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woeful+ measures wan DESPAIR-
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled;
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 whispered promised pleasure,

1 Possessed, &c.-i. e. more affected or inspired than can be described in

verse.

2 Disturbed, &c.-A beautiful line, describing the successive steps of the process by which music acts upon the mental tastes.

3 Rapt-from the Latin rap-ere to seize, carry off-hurried away by elevated feeling, in an ecstacy.

4 With woeful, &c.-"It is observable," remarks Dr. Langhorne, "that though the measure is the same in which the musical efforts of Fear, Anger, and Despair, are described, yet by the variation of the cadence the character and operation of each is strongly expressed; this particularly of Despair, ' with woeful, &c.'"

And bade the lovely scenes at distance1 hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She called on Echo still through all the song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.
And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,
REVENGE impatient rose;

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down,
And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!

And, ever and anon, he beat

The double drum with furious heat;

And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected PITY, at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien,

While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to nought were fixed;
Sad proof of thy distressful state;

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed,
And now it courted Love, now raving called on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
Pale MELANCHOLY sat retired;
And, from her wild sequestered seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul;
And, dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels joined the sound;

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole ;

At distance, &c.-There are many beauties in this description of Hope. She hails the lovely scenes at a distance. nearly equivalent to Pope's expression. breast."

She prolongs the strain, a conception "Hope springs eternal in the human The introduction, too, of Echo as an associate of Hope, is most tastefully devised and executed.

Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,
Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs1 died away.

But, oh! how altered was its2 sprightlier tone,
When CHEERFULNESS,3 a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known!
The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear,

And Sport leaped up, and siezed his beechen spear.

Last came Jor's3 ecstatic trial:
He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed;
But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best.
They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw,
in Tempe's vale, her native maids,
Amidst the festal-sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing;
While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings,
Love framed with Mirth3 a gay fantastic round;
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound:
And he, amidst his frolic play,

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

O Music! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid,
Why, Goddess! why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ?

1 Hollow murmurs, &c.-In several parts of this Ode, as here, the sound is a very apt "echo of the sense."

2 Its the horn's; the same instrument being introduced.

3 Cheerfulness, joy, mirth-Cheerfulness is rather a habit, than a passion, of the mind; Joy is the outward revealing of inward happiness; Mirth is obstreperous joy.

As in that loved Athenian bower,
You learned an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared,
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, energetic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders in that godlike age
Fill thy recording sister's page-
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age;
Even all at once together found,
Cecilia's mingled world of sound—
O! bid our vain endeavours cease;
Revive the just designs of Greece;
Return in all thy simple state;
Confirm the tales3 her sons relate!

YOUNG.

PRINCIPAL EVENTS OF HIS LIFE.-Edward Young-the poet of the "Night Thoughts"—was born in 1614, at Upham, a village near Winchester. At the renowned school of that city, he received his early education, which was continued subsequently at New College, Oxford. His first profession was law, in which he graduated, but his success appearing doubtful, and his views undergoing a change, he, in 1727, took orders, and was appointed one of the royal chaplains. In 1731, he married Lady Elizabeth

1

Recording sister, &c.-History.

2 Even all, &c.-i. e. even when all the resources of the art are combined, as in the organ.

3 Confirm the tale, &c.-i. e. prove to our own experience the wonderful influence attributed by the ancients to music.