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pope,

Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes,
In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats;
Till, by degrees, remote and small,

The

strains decay,
And melt away
In a dying, dying fall.

II.

By Music, minds an equal temper know,

Nor swell too high, 'nor fink too low, If in the breast tumultuous joys arise, Music her soft, afluasive voice applies;

Or, when the soul is press'd with cares,

Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors the fires with animating sounds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds:

Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouses from his bed,
Sloth unfold. his arms and wakes,

List'ning Envy drops her snakes:
Intestine war no more our passions wage;
And giddy factions hear away their rage.

III.

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But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
How martial Music ev'ry bosom warms!
So when the first bold vessel dar'd the seas,
High on the stern the Thracian rais'd his strain,

While Argo law her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi.gods stood round,
And men grew heroes to the found,

Inflam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his fev’nfold Thield display'd,
And half unsheath'd the shining blade :
And feas, and rocks, and skies, rebound:

To arms! to arms! to arms!

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But when through all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegeton 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,
Dilmal screams,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of

woe,
Sulen moans,

Hollow groans,
. And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
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 fink upon their iron beds,
And snakes uncurld hang lift'ning round their

heads.

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V.

By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow

O'er th' Elysian flow'rs;
By thofe happy fouls who dwell
In yellow meads of Afphodel,

Or amarantine bow'rs;
By the hero's armed shades,
Glitt'ring through the gloomy glades;
By the youths that died for love,

Wandring in the myrtle grove,
Restore, restore Eurydice to life;
O take the hulband, or return the wife!

He

NE

Dope. .

He fung, and hell.confented

To hear the poet's pray’r;
Sterne 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!

Though fate had faft bound lier,

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 fifters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.

Now under hanging mountains,
Beside the fall of fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in meanders,

All alone,
Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;

And cells her ghost,
For ever, ever loft!
Now with furies surrounded,
Despairing, confounded,
He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's Inows:
See, wild as winds, o'er the desert hé fies;
Hark! Haemus resounds with the Bacchanal's cries.

Ah! fee, he dies!
Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung,
Eurydice still trembles on his tongue;

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,
Eurydice, the rocks, and hollow mountains

rung

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Mufic the fierceft grief can charm,
And fate's feverest rage disarm:
Music can soften pain to eale,
And make despair and madness please.
Our joys below it can improve,

And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praile 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 souls aspire,
While folemn airs improve the sacred fire;

And angels leon 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 shade from hell;

Hers lift the foal to heav'n.

1

von Gerstenberg.

von Gerstens

berg.

Noch hatte ich keine Gelegenheit, dieses trefflichen, noch lebenden Dichters (geb. 1737.) zu gedenken, der die stårkste leidenschaftlichfte Darstellung eben su fehr, als die leichteste und gefälligste Anmuth der Poesie, in seiner Ges walt hat. Die folgende schöne stantate von ihm erschien zuerft mit des relig. Stapellm. Scheibens, ihrer nicht gang würdigen, Komposition, im J. 1767. Sie ist hernach mehrs mals, und, so viel ich weiß, julegt im Theaterjournal, mit einigen Veränderungen, abgedruckt. Diesen Abdruck aber habe ich nicht gleich zur Hand. Bei dieser Gelegenheit kann ich nicht umhin, des herrlichen, an Schönheiten der Erzählung, Schilderung, Empfindung und Versifikation ro reichen, Gedichts, Ariadne, von dem jångern Hrn. Schles gel, bei dieser Gelegenheit zn gedenken, welches im ersten Stücke von Hrn. Burger's Akademie der schönen Redes künfte befindlich ift. Wer es noch nicht kennt, verdankt mirs gewiß, ihn darauf hingewiesen zu haben.

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Sei mir gegrüsst auf Naxos Hohn,

Aurorens güldner Wagen!
Sei mir gegrüsst! Seit drei vergnügten Tagen
Har deine Göttin mich in Theseus Arm gesehn!
Errdthend sah sie mich; und nie so schön,

Aurora, nie so schön
Hab ich Errothende dein Antlik glühen sehn!
Bei mir gegrüsst auf Naxos Hdhn,

Aurorens güldner Wagen!
zwar hier, mein Theseus, glänzt fein stiller Sommers

tag,

;** Wie in den Kretischen Dådalschen Gången, Beisp. Samml. 6. B. B 6

RO

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