An Irregular Ode on Music

Cease, gentle sounds, nor kill me quite,
With such excess of sweet delight!
Each trembling note invades my heart,
And thrills through ev'ry vital part;
A soft—a pleasing pain
Pursues my heated blood thro' ev'ry vein;
What—what does the enchantment mean?
Ah! give the charming magic o'er,
My beating heart can bear no more.

Now wild with fierce desire,
My breast is all on fire!
In soften'd raptures, now, I die!
Can empty sound such joys impart;
Can music thus transport the heart,
With melting extasy!
O art divine! exalted blessing!
Each celestial charm expressing!
Kindest gift the gods bestow!
Sweetest good that mortals know!

When seated in a verdant shade
(Like tuneful Thyrsis) Orpheus play'd;
The distant trees forsake the wood;
The list'ning beasts neglect their food
To hear the heav'nly sound;
The Dryads leave the mountains,
The Naiades quit the fountains,
And in a sprightly chorus dance around.

To raise the stately walls of ancient Troy,
Sweet Phoebus did his tuneful harp employ;
See what soft harmony can do!
The moving rocks the sound pursue,
Till in a large collected mass they grew:
Had Thyrsis liv'd in these remoter days,
His were the chaplet of immortal bays!
Apollo's harp unknown!
The shepherd had remain'd of song
The Deity alone.