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| MUSE! Rise, and plume thy feet, and let’s converse | |
| This morn together: let’s rehearse | |
| Last evening’s sweets; and run one heat in full-speed verse. | |
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| Prank not thyself in metaphors; but pound | |
| Thy ranging tropes, that they may sound | 5 |
| Nothing but what our Paradise did then surround. | |
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| Throned first Parthenian heav’n-bred beauties were | |
| Near crystal casements’ Eastern sphere; | |
| Who like to Venus sparkled, yet more chaste than fair. | |
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| ’Mongst which, one radiant star so largely shone, | 10 |
| She seem’d a constellation; | |
| Her front ’bove lily-white, cheek ’bove rose-red, full blown. | |
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| Yet be not planet-struck, like some that gaze | |
| Too eagerly on Beauty’s blaze; | |
| There’s none like thine, dear Muse! theirs are but meteor-rays. | 15 |
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| Suitors to idols offer idle suits, | |
| Which hold their presence more recruits | |
| Their broken hopes, than viols, pedals, organs, lutes. | |
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| But, whist! The masculine sweet planets met, | |
| Their instruments in tune have set, | 20 |
| And now begin to ransack Music’s cabinet. | |
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| Sol! Thou pure fountain of this streaming Noise! | |
| Patron of Sweetness! Soul of Joys! | |
| How were we ravish’d with thy viol’s warbling voice! | |
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| Thy nectar-dropping joints so played their part, | 25 |
| They forced the fibres of our heart | |
| To dance: thy bow’s swift lightning made the tears to start. | |
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| Thou didst ev’n saw the grumbling catlines still, | |
| And tortured’st the base, until | |
| His roaring diapasons did the whole room fill. | 30 |
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| Luna the pedal richly did adorn; | |
| If ’twixt the cedar and the thorn | |
| There’s ought harmonious, ’twas from this sweet fir-tree born. | |
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| As Philomel, Night’s minstrel, jugs her tides | |
| Of rolling melody; she rides | 35 |
| On surges down to th’ deep; and, when she lifts, up glides. | |
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| Jove cataracts of liquid gold did pour, | |
| More precious than his Danaë’s show’r; | |
| From pedal-drops to organ-deluge swell’d the stour. | |
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| Mars twang’d a violin (his fierce drums for fight | 40 |
| Turn’d to brisk Almans) with what sprite | |
| His treble shrill’d forth marches, which he strain’d to the height! | |
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| His active bow, arm’d with a war-like tone, | |
| Rallied his troops of strings, as one, | |
| Which volleys gave i’ th’ chase of swift division. | 45 |
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| So the Pelean youth was vanquish’d still | |
| By his renown’d musician’s skill, | |
| Which could disarm, and arm the conqueror at will. | |
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| Last Mercury with ravishing strains fell on, | |
| Whose violin seem’d the chymic-stone, | 50 |
| For every melting touch was pure projection. | |
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| Chair’d midst the spheres of Music’s Heav’n, I hear, | |
| I gaze: charm’d all to eye and ear; | |
| Both which, with objects too intense, even martyr’d were. | |
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| Th’ excess of fairs, distill’d through sweets, did woo | 55 |
| My wav’ring soul, maz’d what to do, | |
| Or to quit eyes for ears, or ears for eyes forego. | |
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| Giddy i’ th’ change which sex to crown with praise; | |
| Time swore he never was with lays | |
| More sweetly spent; nor Beauty ever beam’d such rays. | 60 |
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| ’Twixt these extremes mine eyes and ears did stray, | |
| And sure it was no time to pray; | |
| The Deities themselves then being all at play. | |
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| The full-throng’d room its ruin quite defies: | |
| Nor fairs, nor airs are pond’rous; skies | 65 |
| Do scorn to shrink, though pil’d with stars and harmonies. | |
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| Form, Beauty, Sweetness, all did here conspire, | |
| Combin’d in one Celestial Quire, | |
| To charm the enthusiastic soul with enthean fire: | |
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| These buoy up care-sunk thoughts; their power endues | 70 |
| A castril brain with eagle-muse: | |
| When Saints would highest soar they Music’s pinions use. | |
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| Music! thy med’cines can our grief allay, | |
| And re-inspire our lumpish clay: | |
| Muse! Thou transcend’st; thou without instruments canst play. | 75 |
| Blandulis Longum Vale Cantilenis. | |
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