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 On thy sweet notes the damn'd rejoic'd to dwell, Thy strains suspended all the din of hell; Lull'd by the sound the furies rag'd no more, And hell's infernal porter ceas'd to roar. Thy pow'rs exalt us to the realms above, To feast with Gods, and sit the guests of Jove; Thy sov'reign presence softens ev'ry grief, And reconciles the bitter load of life; Hail thou bright comfort of these low abodes, Thou joy of men and darling of the Gods. As PreistPriest [sic] and Poet in these humble lays, I boldly labour to resound thy praise; To hang thy shrines this gift I bring along, And to thy altars guide the tender throng.

The End of the First BOOK.