Bravely perform’d, on men bestow the crown, Like right is mine, who still am heard afar, The dreadful harbinger of glorious war; At whose loud voice, heroic ardour springs In the bold hearts of heroes and of kings. With them where’er they go, I brave my fate, With them victorious share their royal state; Till men whene’er my glorious voice they hear, Know that a hero or a prince is near. Such are my claims, let me your ruler be, Receive a hero and a King in me.” He ended, and the silver sounding Flute Thus strove the boaster’s title to confute: “Brothers of Harmony, whose breathings move The human soul to virtue, peace, and love, Shall we be ruled by one whose dreadful breath Spreads thro’ the world division, discord, death? Let kings for fame forget their people’s good, And butchering heroes wade in harmless blood, While we endeavour, as by Heaven design’d, To soothe and not inflame the human mind. In the sweet shade, and by the silent stream, I softly sing, and peace and love my theme. To my gay notes, beneath the checker’d shade, Dance the blithe shepherd and the harmless maid. Far from destroying war or faithless courts I seek the scenes where innocence resorts, There have I learnt betimes, in virtue’s school, The _art_, do you bestow the _power_ to rule.” Soon as the gentle Flute had spoke his claim From every corner mingling murmurs came: With loud commanding note the Fiddle swore Ne’er was _his_ preference denied before; ’Twas he that still employed the master’s hand, Follow’d obsequious by the list’ning Band; Nay swore, that _Kelly_ learnt from him the art To rule with magic sounds the human heart! The Harpsichord, the fav’rite of the fair, Talk’d much of _them_, and plac’d his merits there. Clamour on clamour grew, each prais’d his own, And strove his neighbour’s merits to run down; Till frightened Harmony forsook the room, And crashing Discord shook the lofty dome; Up rose at last a chief of little _fame_, Yet mighty _use_, and _Pitch pipe_ was his name; In steady unison he thus began, While wonder thro’ the place in murmur ran: “Brethren of melody, to whom ’tis given By man, first taught the glorious art by Heaven, The various passions of the human soul, To raise, to soothe, to heighten, to controul; To thrill with softest sounds the lover’s heart, To raise his transports, or to soothe his smart; To cheer the sinking soul with liveliest air, To soften madness or to calm despair; To rule the thousand sympathies that bind, With strongest, sweetest ties, the human mind. Such are your powers while Harmony _shall_ reign, By her forsaken, all those powers are vain. His hallow’d notes in vain the Organ blows, The Fiddle’s tone with sweet expression glows;