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When back to city follies flying,
"Midst custom's slaves he liv'd resign'd,

His face, array'd in smiles, denying
The true complexion of his mind.

For seriously around surveying
Each character, in youth and age,

Of fools betray'd, and knaves betraying,
That play’d upon this human stage.

(Peaceful himself and undesigning)
He loath'd the scenes of guile and strife,

And felt each secret wish inclining
To leave this fretful farce of life.

Yet to whate'er above was fated,
Obediently he bow'd his soul,

For, what all-bounteous Heaven created,
He thought Heaven only should control.

THE PASSIONS. AN ODE. B Y Co L L IN S. When Music, heavenly maid! was young, While yet in early Greece she sung,

The PAssions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muses’ painting.
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.
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 sound,
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness rul'd the hour)
Would prove his own expressive pow'r,

First, FEAR his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;

And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
F'en at the sound himself had made.

Next, ANGER rush'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 sullen sounds his grief beguil'd;

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 through all her song:
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;
And Hope, enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden

And longer had she sung—but, with a frown,
Rev ENGE impatient rose.
He threw his blood-stain'd 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 sound so full of woe.
And ever and anon he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat:
And though sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected Pity, at his side,
Her soul-subduing voice apply'd,
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien;
While each strain’d ball of sight—seem'd bursting
from his head.


Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state:

Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d;
And now it courted Love; now, raving,call'd on Hate.

With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd,
Pale MELAN choly sat retir’d;
And from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes, by distance, made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul:
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,
(Round a holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing,)
In hollow murmurs died away.

But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone,
When CHEER ful Ness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known;
The oak-crown'd Sisters and theirchaste-ey'd Queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen
Peeping from forth their alleys green:
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;
And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand addrest,
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,
Amid the festal-sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing;
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth 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 2
As in that lov’d Athenian bower
You learn'd an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd
Can well recal 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 !

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