 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
Strophe I.
Gentle lyre, begin the strain;Wake the string to voice again.
Music rules the world above;
Music is the food of love.
Soft'ned by the pow'r of sound,
Human passions melt away:
Melancholy feels no wound,
Envy sleeps, and fears decay.
Entranc'd in pleasure Jove's dread eagle lies,
Nor grasps the bolt, nor darts his fiery eyes.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |