The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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Bellaria,
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
Bellaria,
at her Spinnet.
Sweetly confus'd, with scarce consenting will,
Thoughtless of charms, and diffident of skill;
See! with what blushful bend, the doubting fair
Props the rais'd lid—then sits, with sparkling air,
Tries the touch'd notes—and, hast'ning light along,
Calls out a short complaint, that speaks their wrong.
Now backn'ning, aweful, nerv'd, erect, serene,
Asserted musick swells her heighten'd mien.
Fearless, with face oblique, her formful hand
Flies o'er the ivory plain, with stretch'd command;
Plunges, with bold neglect, amidst the keys,
And sweeps the sounding range, with magic ease.
Thoughtless of charms, and diffident of skill;
See! with what blushful bend, the doubting fair
Props the rais'd lid—then sits, with sparkling air,
Tries the touch'd notes—and, hast'ning light along,
Calls out a short complaint, that speaks their wrong.
142
Asserted musick swells her heighten'd mien.
Fearless, with face oblique, her formful hand
Flies o'er the ivory plain, with stretch'd command;
Plunges, with bold neglect, amidst the keys,
And sweeps the sounding range, with magic ease.
Now, two contending senses—ear, and eye,
In pride of feasted taste, for transport, vye;
But what avails two destin'd slaves debate,—
When both are sure to fall, and share one fate?
Whether the god, within, evolving round,
Strikes in her notes, and flows, dissolv'd, in sound;
Or, silent, in her eyes, enthron'd, in light,
Blazes, confess'd to view, and wounds our sight.
This way, or that, alike, his pow'r we try,
To see, but kills us—and, to hear, we die.
In pride of feasted taste, for transport, vye;
But what avails two destin'd slaves debate,—
When both are sure to fall, and share one fate?
Whether the god, within, evolving round,
Strikes in her notes, and flows, dissolv'd, in sound;
Or, silent, in her eyes, enthron'd, in light,
Blazes, confess'd to view, and wounds our sight.
This way, or that, alike, his pow'r we try,
To see, but kills us—and, to hear, we die.
Oh! far-felt influence of the speaking string!
Prompt, at thy call, the mounting soul takes wing;
Waves, in the gale, fore-runs th' harmonious breeze,
And sinks, and rises, to the changeful keys.
Prompt, at thy call, the mounting soul takes wing;
Waves, in the gale, fore-runs th' harmonious breeze,
And sinks, and rises, to the changeful keys.
143
But, hark! what length'ning softness, thrilling new,
Steals, 'twixt the solemn swells, and threads 'em through:
'Tis her transporting voice!—she sings—be still,
Sweet strings, forbear!—ye hurt her sweeter skill.
Yet, no—sound on—the strong, and sweet, should join;
With double pow'r, mix'd opposites combine.
'Tis plain! my captive senses feel it true;
Ah, what dire mischiefs may not union do!
Cou'd she not save delight, from half this strain?
Heard, and beheld, at once!—'tis hopeless pain.
Fly, and escape—let one press'd sense retire;
The rais'd hat shades it, from the darted fire.
Alas! vain screen!—the soul's unclouded ray
Sees, from within, by a new blaze of day:
Sees the spread roof, with op'ning glories, crown'd,
And radiant deities descending round!
Throng'd, in bright lines, or wing'd, in ambient air,
Spirits, in fairy forms, inclose the fair.
Steals, 'twixt the solemn swells, and threads 'em through:
'Tis her transporting voice!—she sings—be still,
Sweet strings, forbear!—ye hurt her sweeter skill.
Yet, no—sound on—the strong, and sweet, should join;
With double pow'r, mix'd opposites combine.
'Tis plain! my captive senses feel it true;
Ah, what dire mischiefs may not union do!
Cou'd she not save delight, from half this strain?
Heard, and beheld, at once!—'tis hopeless pain.
Fly, and escape—let one press'd sense retire;
The rais'd hat shades it, from the darted fire.
Alas! vain screen!—the soul's unclouded ray
Sees, from within, by a new blaze of day:
Sees the spread roof, with op'ning glories, crown'd,
And radiant deities descending round!
Throng'd, in bright lines, or wing'd, in ambient air,
Spirits, in fairy forms, inclose the fair.
144
Some, on the keys, in am'rous ambush, lie,
And kiss the tune-tipt fingers, dancing by.
Some, hov'ring wide, expiring shakes prolong,
And pour 'em back, to swell the rising song.
Gods, in abridgment, crowd their needless aid,
And Pow'rs, and Vertues, guard th' unconscious maid.
Pity, with tears of joy, stands, weeping, near;
Kneeling devotion hangs her list'ning ear,
Candor, and truth, firm-fix'd on either hand,
Propping her chair, two sure supporters stand!
Round her, while wrong'd belief imbibes new strength,
And hugs th' instructive notes, and aids their length,
Love, and his train of Cupids craftier cares
Scatter, with plumy fans, the dreaded airs.
Pride, from a distant corner, glooms a leer,
And longs, yet hopes not, to be call'd more near:
But Charity sits close—a well known guest,
Bold, and domestic—and domands her breast.
High, o'er her cheeks, to shade their tempting glow,
Shame, and soft modesty, their mantles throw:
While, from her brow, majestic wisdom, seen,
Tempers her glory, and inspires her mien.
And kiss the tune-tipt fingers, dancing by.
Some, hov'ring wide, expiring shakes prolong,
And pour 'em back, to swell the rising song.
Gods, in abridgment, crowd their needless aid,
And Pow'rs, and Vertues, guard th' unconscious maid.
Pity, with tears of joy, stands, weeping, near;
Kneeling devotion hangs her list'ning ear,
Candor, and truth, firm-fix'd on either hand,
Propping her chair, two sure supporters stand!
Round her, while wrong'd belief imbibes new strength,
And hugs th' instructive notes, and aids their length,
Love, and his train of Cupids craftier cares
Scatter, with plumy fans, the dreaded airs.
Pride, from a distant corner, glooms a leer,
And longs, yet hopes not, to be call'd more near:
But Charity sits close—a well known guest,
Bold, and domestic—and domands her breast.
High, o'er her cheeks, to shade their tempting glow,
Shame, and soft modesty, their mantles throw:
145
Tempers her glory, and inspires her mien.
Such, and, perhaps, more sweet, those sounds shall rise,
Which wake rewarded saints, when nature dies:
When heavn's heard blast shall shake the stubborn mind,
And one mix'd melody unite mankind!
When time's last wreck shall sink, in seas of flame.
And void eternity resumes its name,
Which wake rewarded saints, when nature dies:
When heavn's heard blast shall shake the stubborn mind,
And one mix'd melody unite mankind!
When time's last wreck shall sink, in seas of flame.
And void eternity resumes its name,
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |