当音乐，天上的少女，还年轻的时候，在希腊早期，她唱着《激情之歌》，来聆听她的贝壳，聚集在她的魔室周围，兴高采烈，颤抖，愤怒，昏厥，占据了缪斯的绘画之外。直到有一次，据说，当所有的人都被点燃了，充满了愤怒，全神贯注，灵感迸发，他们从周围支撑着的桃金娘那里抢走了她的乐器，就像他们经常单独听到她强有力的艺术的甜美课程一样，每个人(因为疯狂统治了时间)都要证明自己的表现力。首先是害怕他的手，它的技巧是尝试，在和弦中困惑地放置，后退，他不知道为什么，即使是自己发出的声音。接着，愤怒冲了过来，他的眼睛像着了火，在闪电中抓住了他的秘密刺:在一次粗鲁的碰撞中，他拨动了七弦琴，用匆忙的手扫过琴弦。用悲哀的手段，忧郁的声音，迷惑了他的悲伤;这是一种庄严、奇怪、混杂的气氛，时而悲伤，时而狂乱。但是你，希望啊，你的眼睛如此美丽，你的快乐尺度是什么?它仍然低声许诺给你快乐，向远处美丽的景色致敬!她仍然要触摸那拉长的张力;她在岩石上、树林里、山谷里，在所有的歌声中呼唤着回声，在她选择最甜美的主题的地方，每一个角落都能听到温柔的声音; And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung;—but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down; And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And though sometimes each dreary pause between Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed: Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; And now it courted Love, now raving called on Hate. With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; And from her wild sequestered seat, In notes, by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul; And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of Peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But Oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known! The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen, Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best: They would have thought who heard the strain They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids Amidst the festal-sounding shades To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. O Music, sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! Why, goddess, why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? As, in that loved Athenian bower, You learned an all-commanding power, Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endeared, Can well recall what then it heard; Where is thy native simple heart, Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! Thy wonders, in that godlike age, Fill thy recording Sister's page— 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age; E'en all at once together found Cecilia's mingled world of sound— O! bid our vain endeavours cease: Revive the just designs of Greece: Return in all thy simple state! Confirm the tales her sons relate!