--J. W. Mackail
ORPHEUS WITH HIS LUTE
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To his music, plants and flowers
Ever sprung: as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep or hearing, die.
--William Shakespeare
A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE
Of Neptune's empire let us sing
At whose command the waves obey;
To whom the rivers tribute pay,
Down the high mountains sliding:
To whom the scaly nation yields
Homage for the crystal fields
Wherein they dwell:
And every sea-god pays a gem
Yearly out of his wat'ry cell
To deck great Neptune's diadem.
The Tritons dancing in a ring
Before his palace gates do make
The waters with their echoes quake,
Like the great thunder sounding:
The sea-nymphs chant their accents shrill,
And the sirens, taught to kill
With their sweet voice,
Make every echoing rock reply
Unto their gentle murmuring noise
The praise of Neptune's empery.
--Thomas Campion
HORACE'S PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
Book II, Ode 16
(In part, only)
He lives on little, and is blest,
On whose plain board the bright
Salt-cellar shines, which was his sire's delight,
Nor terrors, nor cupidity's unrest,
Disturb his slumbers light.
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