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An Ode for Music
WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, | |
| While yet in early Greece she sung, | |
| The Passions oft, to hear her shell, | |
| Thronged around her magic cell,— | |
| Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,— | 5 |
| Possessed beyond the muse’s painting; | |
| By turns they felt the glowing mind | |
| Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined; | |
| Till once, ’t is said, when all were fired, | |
| Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, | 10 |
| From the supporting myrtles round | |
| They snatched her instruments of sound; | |
| And, as they oft had heard apart | |
| Sweet lessons of her forceful art, | |
| Each (for madness ruled the hour) | 15 |
| Would prove his own expressive power. | |
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| First Fear his hand, its skill to try, | |
| Amid the chords bewildered laid, | |
| And back recoiled, he knew not why, | |
| E’en at the sound himself had made. | 20 |
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| Next Anger rushed; his eyes, on fire, | |
| In lightnings owned his secret stings: | |
| In one rude clash he struck the lyre, | |
| And swept with hurried hand the strings. | |
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| With woful measures wan Despair, | 25 |
| Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiled,— | |
| A solemn, strange, and mingled air; | |
| ’T was sad by fits, by starts ’t was wild. | |
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| But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,— | |
| What was thy delightful measure? | 30 |
| Still it whispered promised 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 called on Echo still, through all the song; | 35 |
| And where her sweetest theme she chose, | |
| A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; | |
| And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. | |
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| And longer had she sung—but, with a frown, | |
| Revenge impatient rose; | 40 |
| He threw his blood-stained 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 sounds so full of woe! | 45 |
| 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 applied, | 50 |
| Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien, | |
| While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. | |
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| Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed,— | |
| Sad proof of thy distressful state; | |
| Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; | 55 |
| And now it courted Love,—now, raving, called on Hate. | |
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| With eyes upraised, as one inspired, | |
| Pale Melancholy sate retired; | |
| And from her wild sequestered seat, | |
| In notes by distance made more sweet, | 60 |
| Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul: | |
| And, dashing soft from rocks around, | |
| Bubbling runnels joined the sound; | |
| Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole; | |
| Or o’er some haunted stream, with fond delay, | 65 |
| Round an holy calm diffusing, | |
| Love of peace, and lonely musing, | |
| In hollow murmurs died away. | |
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| But O, how altered was its sprightlier tone | |
| When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, | 70 |
| Her bow across her shoulder flung, | |
| Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, | |
| Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,— | |
| The hunter’s call, to faun and dryad known! | |
| The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, | 75 |
| Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen | |
| Peeping from forth their alleys green: | |
| Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; | |
| And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. | |
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| Last came Joy’s ecstatic trial: | 80 |
| 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 loved the best; | |
| They would have thought, who heard the strain, | 85 |
| They saw, in Tempe’s vale, her native maids | |
| Amidst the festal-sounding shades, | |
| To some unwearied minstrel dancing, | |
| While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, | |
| Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: | 90 |
| Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; | |
| And he, amidst his frolic play, | |
| As if he would the charming air repay, | |
| Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. | |
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| O Music! sphere-descended maid, | 95 |
| Friend of pleasure, wisdom’s aid! | |
| Why, goddess, why, to us denied, | |
| Lay’st thou thy ancient lyre aside? | |
| As, in that loved Athenian bower, | |
| You learned an all-commanding power, | 100 |
| Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared, | |
| Can well recall what then it heard. | |
| Where is thy native simple heart, | |
| Devote to virtue, fancy, art? | |
| Arise, as in that elder time, | 105 |
| Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! | |
| Thy wonders, in that godlike age, | |
| Fill thy recording sister’s page; | |
| ’T is said—and I believe the tale— | |
| Thy humblest reed could more prevail, | 110 |
| Had more of strength, diviner rage, | |
| Than all which charms this laggard age,— | |
| E’en all at once together found,— | |
| Cecilia’s mingled world of sound. | |
| O, bid our vain endeavors cease; | 115 |
| Revive the just designs of Greece! | |
| Return in all thy simple state,— | |
| Confirm the tales her sons relate! | |
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