English poem
CANTAVA IV. The MUSICIAN
by Anonymous
O various pow'r of magick strains, To damp our joys and sooth our pains! Ev'ry movement of the will Obedient owns the artist's skill. Thus in gay notes, and boastful words The master of the tuneful chords; But soon he found his boast was air, His love still blasted with despair, And Chloe cold, or seeming cold To all the tuneful tales he told.
To love when he tun'd the soft lyre, It sigh'd and it trembled in vain; Tho' warm'd by his amorous fire, The fair one ne'er answer'd his strain.
Hear, cries the artist, pow'r divine, Great leader of the tuneful nine; Teach thy votary to swell With love inspiring strains the shell, Such as please my Chloe best, And easiest glide into her breast.
No more I woo in warbling strains, No more I sing the lover's pains To cold and careless ears: To warlike notes I tune the string, The song to WILLIAM's praise I sing— The nymph with rapture hears.