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VI.

But foon, too foon, the lover turns his eyes:
Again the falls, again fhe dies, the dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal fifters move?

No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,

Befide the falls of fountains,

Or where Hebrus wanders,

Rolling in Mæanders,
All alone,

Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever loft!
Now with Furies furrounded,
Defpairing, confounded,

1 He trembles, he glows,

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Amidst Rhodope's fnows:

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See, wild as the winds, o'er the defert he flies; Hark! Hæmus refounds with the Bacchanals cries

Ah fee, he dies!

Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he fung,

Eurydice ftill trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,

Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.

III

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VII.

Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,
And fate's feverest rage difarm:

Mufic can foften pain to ease,

And make defpair and madness please :
Our joys below it can improve,

And antedate the blifs above.

This the divine Cecilia found,

And to her Maker's praise confin'd the found.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,

Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear;
Borne on the swelling notes our fouls aspire,
While folemn airs improve the facred fire;

And Angels lean from, heav'n to hear. Of Orpheus now no more let Poets tell, To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv'n; His numbers rais'd a fhade from hell, Hers lift the foul to heav'n.

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TWO

CHORUS'S

ΤΟ THE

Tragedy of BRUTUS'.

CHORUS of ATHENIANS.

STROPHE I.

E fhades, where facred truth is fought;

YE Groves, where immortal Sages taught:

Where heav'nly vifions Plato fir'd,
And Epicurus lay infpir'd!

In vain your guiltless laurels ftood
Unfpotted long with human blood.

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,
And steel now glitters in the Muses shades.

ANTIS TROPHE I.

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Oh heav'n-born fifters fource of art!
Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart; 10

a Altered from Shakespear by the Duke of Buckingham, at whofe defire these two Chorus's were compofed to fupply as many, wanting in his play. They were fet many years afterwards by the famous Bononcini, and performed at Buckinghamhoufe, P.

Who lead fair Virtue's train along,
Moral Truth, and mystic Song !
To what new clime, what distant sky,
Forfaken, friendless, shall ye fly?
Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore ?
Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

STROPHE II.

When Athens finks by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians fpurn her duft;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall ceafe to blush with ftranger's gore,
See Arts her favage fons controul,

And Athens rifing near the pole !

"Till some new Tyrant lifts his purple hand, And civil madness tears them from the land.

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ANTIS TROPHE

II.

Ye Gods! what juftice rules the ball!

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Freedom and Arts together fall;

Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are flaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,

In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state!

Still, when the luft of tyrant pow'r fucceeds,
Some Athens perifhes, fome Tully bleeds.

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CHORUS of YOUTHS and VIRGINS.

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SEMICHORUS.

H Tyrant Love! haft thou poffeft

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breaft? Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,

And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame.
Love, foft intruder, enters here,
But entring learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.

Why, Virtue, doft thou blame defire,
Which Nature has imprest?

Why, Nature, doft thou fooneft fire
The mild and gen'rous breast?

CHORUS.

5

Love's flames the Gods approve;

purer

The Gods and Brutus bend to love:

Brutus for abfent Porcia fighs,

And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes,
What is loose love? a tranfient guft,
Spent in a fudden storm of luft,
A vapour fed from wild defire,
A wand'ring, felf-confuming fire.

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