LVII. MUSIC. IKE the gale, that fighs along Is the grateful breath of fong, That once was heard in happier hours; Filled with balm, the gale fighs on, So, when pleasure's dream is gone, Mufic! oh how faint, how weak, Why should Feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her foul fo well? Friendship's balmy words may feign, Love's are e'en more falfe than they; Oh! 'tis only Mufic's ftrain Can fweetly foothe, and not betray! Moore. LVIII. MUSIC. HERE the bright Seraphim, in burning row, Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow; And the Cherubick hoft, in thousand quires, Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, Singing everlastingly. MILTON. A LIX. MUSIC. ND ftoried windows, richly dight, And bring all heaven before mine eyes. MILTON. A LX. ST. IGNATIUS. S, one by one, ftars on the Eastern space And greet each other to their heavenly Thus, while death's deepening fhades Darken around thy fteps in ftranger lands, Sweet awful memories of thine own St. John Given through his hands; upon the self-fame road, The Saviour laid thy body in the duft. That thou might'ft rule thy flock a priest on high, And teach thy children to afcend the sky. SYNESIUS. LXII. ST. AUGUSTINE. HE child of tears, the child of tears, Think not that nought is well below, Defpair not of thy wayward fon, He cannot, muft not, fhall not die; Grief-wafted Mother, go thy way, MACKENZIE. *The above lines are a fort of paraphrafe from the confeffions of St. Augustine, 1. iii. c. ult. by the late F. Mackenzie. R LXIII. MELANCTHON. IS fun went down in cloudless skies, But not like earth's declining light, No bound, no fetting beam can know— LXIV. LYCIDAS. EEP no more, woful fhepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your forrow is not dead, flood; So finks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore, So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves. MILTON. |