_POWER OF MUSIC_.
An Orpheus! An Orpheus!--yes, Faith may grow bold,
And take to herself all the wonders of old;--
Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same,
In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.
His station is there;--and he works on the crowd,
He sways them with harmony merry and loud;
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim--
Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him!
What an eager assembly! what an empire is this!
The weary have life and the hungry have bliss; 10
The mourner is cheared, and the anxious have rest;
And the guilt-burthened Soul is no longer opprest.
As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,
So he where he stands is a center of light;
It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-faced Jack,
And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.
That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste--
What matter! he's caught--and his time runs to waste--
The News-man is stopped, though he stops on the fret,
And the half-breathless Lamp-lighter he's in the net! 20
The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore;
The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store;--
If a Thief could be here he might pilfer at ease;
She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees!
He stands, back'd by the Wall;--he abates not his din;
His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping in,
From the Old and the Young, from the Poorest; and there!
The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare.
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