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Transported demi-gods ftood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Enflam'd with glory's charms:

Each chief his fev'n-fold fhield display'd,
And half unfheath'd the shining blade:

And feas, and rocks, and skies rebound

To arms, to arms, to arms!

IV..

But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegeton furrounds,

Love, ftrong as Death, the Poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,

What founds were heard,

What scenes appear'd,

O'er all the dreary coafts!!

Dreadful gleams,
Difmal fcreams,

Fires that glow,,

Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortur'd ghofts!

But hark! he strikes the golden lyre ;:
And fee! the tortur'd ghofts refpire !
See, fhady forms advance!

Thy ftone, O Sifyphus, ftands ftill,
Ixion refts upon his wheel,

And the pale spectres dance!

The furies fink upon their iron beds,

And fnakes, uncurl'd, hang list'ning round their heads.

V.

By the ftreams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow
O'er th' Elyfian flow'rs;
By thofe happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,
Or Amaranthine bowers;
By the heros' armed fhades,
Glitt❜ring thro' the gloomy glades;
By the youths that dy'd for love,
Wand'ring in the myrtle grove,
Reftore, reftore Eurydice to life:
Oh take the husband, or return the wife!

He fung, and Hell confented

To hear the Poet's prayer;
Stern Proferpine relented,

And

gave him back the fair. Thus fong could prevail

O'er death, and o'er hell,

A conqueft how hard and how glorious?

Tho' fate had faft bound her

With Styx nine times round her, Yet mufic and love were victorious.

VI.

But foon, too soon, the lover turns his

eyes:

Again fhe falls, again fhe dies, the dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal fiflers move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.

Now

Now under hanging mountains,

Befide the falls of fountains,

Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in meanders,

All alone,

Unheard, unknown,

He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever loft!
Now with furies furrounded,
Defpairing, confounded,
He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's fnows:

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

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.

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This the divine Cecilia found,

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 fwelling notes our fouls afpire,
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 given ;
His numbers rais'd a shade from hell,
Her's lift the foul to Heav'n.

THE

THE

SHEPHERD's WEEK.

IN

SIX

PASTORALS.

These are Mr. Gay's principal performance. They were originally intended, I fuppofe, as a bur lefque on those of Philips; but, perhaps without defigning it, he has hit the true spirit of pastorals poetry. In fact, he more resembles Theocritus than any other English paftoral writer whatsoever. There runs through the whole a strain of ruftic pleasantry which should ever distinguish this fpecies of compofition; but how far the an tiquated expreffions used here may contribute to the humour, I will not determine; for my own part, I could wish the fimplicity were preserved,. without recurring to fuch obfolete antiquity for the manner of expreffing it..

MONDAY;

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