The Beaux and Belles were gone, the Concert o’er, And Kelly’s sprightly strains were heard no more; Thro’ the deserted room dead silence reign’d, And still and dumb each tuneful string remain’d; When from the case in which a Fiddle lay Arose a voice that said or seem’d to say: “Basses and Tenors, Kettledrums and Flutes, Trumpets, and Horns, Fiddles, Flageolets, From you that solemn groan to you that squeak, Patient attend and hear a brother speak: Oft have I mused with sorrow and regret, Since here confined I mourn’d my captive state, That tho’ from Harmony our being rose, We unconnected live, nor friends nor foes; Nor know society, till in the band We yield our music to the master’s hand; Those happy moments o’er, confined again, Silent and un-united we remain: Let us for mutual interest then combine; To each his different share of power assign; And from our choice that no dissension spring, Speak, all, and let the worthiest be our King, Under whose reign, by man when unemploy’d, Peace, harmony and bliss may be enjoy’d.” He spoke, thro’ all melodious accents ran, And the slow solemn Organ thus began: “Much I approve my four string’d brother’s scheme, And own it oft has been my silent theme, And since harmonic merit mounts the throne, I claim the royal title as my own. Observe me well when glorious here I stand, And with a look alone respect command. On me has man bestow’d his utmost care, And as he found me great he found me fair; My front with pipes of radiant gold array’d Above the painter’s utmost art display’d; This made a thousand instruments combine And all in one great, glorious whole conjoin: Nor do I boast of outward form alone, For Harmony has mark’d me as her own; Has taught my sweetly solemn sounds to flow In all the pomp and majesty of woe; Has taught my notes on seraph’s wings to fly, And raise the ravish’d soul above the sky; Has made in Heaven’s own that voice rever’d, And kings to kneel whenever it is heard. To whom then but to me shall pow’r be given, Who rule on earth and lead the way to heaven?” The Organ spoke majestically slow, And thus the brazen Trumpet ’gan to blow: “Were size enormous or were colours bright To strike the judgment as they strike the sight, The world’s great empire would disputed lie ’Twixt the huge whale and gilded butterfly; But the gay peacock vainly strives to sing, In vain the unwieldy ostrich spreads his wing, While music swells the homely linnet’s throat, And on the yielding air the little swallows float. I boast no beauty then, I boast no size, Since nought but merit true can gain the prize: If so, I boldly call that prize my own, And claim, whoe’er oppose that claim, the throne. If warlike feats, if deeds of high renown,