TO A LADY Singing. STILL sing, bright Maid, nor cease the pleasing Charm, Each Soul subdue, each tender Bosom warm; Such magick Sweetness to thy Voice is giv'n, We hear a Seraph, and we taste of Heav'n: Strange force of Harmony, whose Power controuls, The warring Passions, and informs our Souls, Soft soothing Sounds, by whose enchantment blest, Anger and Grief forsake the tranquil Breast; While soft Ideas rising in the Mind, Bids us in Love a gentle Tyrant find, And to his Sway the softned Soul's resign'd. Thus sung the Thracian Bard, while all around, The list'ning Beasts confess'd the magick Sound: Less sweet the Harmony Amphion made, When dancing Stones mov'd to the Notes he play'd; Or him, who bore by Dolphins to the Shore, Made Winds and Waves confess his magick Pow'r: Thou no less pow'rful o'er the Human Mind, As great a Triumph from thy Songs can find; Love and its pleasing Pains at once inspire, And fix in ev'ry Breast the latent Fire.