While Argo saw her kindred trees

40

Descend from Pelion to the main :
Transported demigods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Inflam'd with Glory's charms:
Each chief his sev❜nfold shield display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade;
And seas, and rocks, and skies, rebound,
To arms, to arms, to arms!

IV.

But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds,
Love, strong as Death, the Poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What sounds were heard,
What scenes appear'd,

O'er all the dreary coasts!

Dreadful gleams,

Dismal screams,

Fires that glow,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghosts!

45

50.

55

60

But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre,
And, see! the tortur'd ghosts respire;
See shady forms advance!

Thy stone, O Sisyphus! stands still,

Ixion rests upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance;

The Furies sink upon their iron beds,

And snakes uncurl'd hang list'ning round their heads.

Oh, take the husband, or return the wife!

He sung, and Hell consented

To hear the poet's pray'r;

Stern Proserpine relented,

And gave

him back the fair.

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Thus song could prevail

O'er death and o'er hell,

A conquest how hard and how glorious!

Tho' Fate had fast bound her,

90

With Styx nine times round her,

Yet music and love were victorious.

VI.

But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes;
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies!
How wilt thou now the Fatal sisters move?

95

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

See, wild as the winds o'er the desert he flies;

110

Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals' criesAh see, he dies!

Yet ev❜n in death Eurydice he sung,

And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear;
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire,
And angels lean from heav'n to hear.

125

130

Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell;
To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv'n :

His numbers rais'd a shade from hell,

Her's lift the soul to heav'n.

134

ODE ON SOLITUDE.

Written when the Author was about twelve Years old.

HAPPY the man whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air

In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.

Bless'd, who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years, slide soft away,

10

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation;

And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

15

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,

Thus unlamented let me die;

Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.