Deceitful Traytor! first to seize that Hand
Which did obsequious Harmony command;
Harmonia blush'd, to be excell'd,
Yet duteous Homage paid,
And chearfully obey'd,
Each dark Recess, each wond'rous Path reveal'd,
Nor secret Grace, or Charm conceal'd;
But own'd her Sov'reign of the tuneful Land.
Her artful Hand ne'er touch'd the Lyre,
But soft Enchantment spread around;
Each Breast she did with Joy inspire,
And ev'ry list'ning Ear was ravish'd with the Sound.
Slow Disease, and tort'ring Pain,
Try'd their Force, but try'd in Vain,
For while she play'd, afflicted Sense
Charm'd by the thrilling Excellence,
Nor Sickness felt, nor Pain.
Fierce Passions at her Notes were Mute,
And fled the Heav'nly Sound,
Like David, she but touch'd the Lute,
And all was Peace around.
For with a skilful, absolute Controul,
She Rul'd each secret Spring that agitates the Soul.