STILL sing, bright Maid, nor cease the pleasing Charm,
Each Soul subdue, each tender Bosom warm;
Such magick Sweetness to thy Voice is giv'n,
We hear a Seraph, and we taste of Heav'n:
Strange force of Harmony, whose Power controuls,
The warring Passions, and informs our Souls,
Soft soothing Sounds, by whose enchantment blest,
Anger and Grief forsake the tranquil Breast;
While soft Ideas rising in the Mind,
Bids us in Love a gentle Tyrant find,
And to his Sway the softned Soul's resign'd.
Thus sung the  Bard, while all around,
The list'ning Beasts confess'd the magick Sound:
Less sweet the Harmony  made,
When dancing Stones mov'd to the Notes he play'd;
Or him, who bore by Dolphins to the Shore,
Made Winds and Waves confess his magick Pow'r:
Thou no less pow'rful o'er the Human Mind,
As great a Triumph from thy Songs can find;
Love and its pleasing Pains at once inspire,
And fix in ev'ry Breast the latent Fire.