Musica incantans, or, The power of music written originally in Latin by Dr. South, translated ; with a preface concerning the natural effects of musick upon the mind.

Musica Incantans: OR, The POWER of MUSICK.

The ARGUMENT.

A Young Man having, at his own Request, heard a Performance in MUSICK, growing thereby Distracted, drowns himself in the Sea: The Musician there∣upon Apprehended, and Accused of Ho∣micide, undertakes to Plead, Defends himself, and is Acquitted.

NO Royal Fight, No Hero's conquering Arms, But nobler Vict'ries by Harmonious Charms We Sing: Th〈…〉〈…〉od, that animates the Lyre Will our bold Song, in its just Praise, inspire. But what nice Hand can Sounds pretend to paint, And to our Eyes soft Ecchos represent.

On some great Themes did Antient Poets wish An Hundred Voices to inform; on This As many Ears and Tongues we want, t' express A Song, like Musick, justly various.

A Lyrist in Arcadia liv'd, so skill'd, His Fame and Musick all the Country fill'd; Him some great Neighbours Nuptial Feast invites, With other Youth, to celebrate the Rites, The mirthful Entertainments to pertake, And the Reward of Those his Art could make: Such was their Custom: Thus the Nuptial Ioys The Muse, tho still a Virgin, love to Solemnize: And should she not assist▪ the Festival Of Love and Wine would soon grow Dull and pall. And who but Lyrists should those Rites attend. Whose Art o're Birds and Beasts has such Command, That they the Treat not only can advance, But the whole Feast supply by their Attractive Strains.

The Nuptials done, when Night 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Day invades, Returning homeward ore the Verdant Meads; (Like Orpheus Walking in th' Elysian Shades,)

He sees a Youth, who in a Neighbouring Field, Lookt, as the Evening was, sedate and mild: Walking towards him, ignorant of his Fate: (Thus who does not Misfortunes sometimes meet) Much pleas'd to See him, whose Harmonious Art Could to his Ears such soft Delights impart: Unconscious, that this Orpheus with his Lyre, Could Life destroy, as well as Life Inspire.

They meet; and after Salutation past, The Youth his love of Musick strait exprest, To hear its Charms employs his Eloquence; And from the Lyrist for Rewards obtains His future Damage in the Fatal Strains.

The Artist takes his Lyre, and strait begins With broken Strokes, to Tune the trembling Strings, Thus All he does with their just Sound supply He tries, and knows when sweetly they agree, Tho' diff'rent each, in universal Harmony. Then with a careless Touch, his Fingers fly O're the just Order of some tuneful Key, And unawares he joins his Chanting Voice, And thus unthinkingly his Art betrays.

Thus he at once explores his Lyre, and shows That from most skilful Hands th' Harmonious Prelude flows▪ And while the Strings, and his own Nerves he strains, Both for the future Song become intense. By Artful Methods thus his Art he trys; Then boldly strikes, and equally his Voice Does, like the mounting Lark, with Singing rise. No sooner thus the Strings began to move, But the Youth's trembling Heart within him strove, With tunelike Pulses to compose a Dance, As if its Fibres felt th' affecting Strains. Such Pow'r has MVSICK, that with slender Threads▪ It thus the noblest Minds, as Captive▪ leads. O're the Charm'd Youth the Lyrist thus begins At once his Conquest, and the Triumph Sings. The speaking Strings confess the powerful Hand That, making those soft Melodies ascend, Did even the Tongue it self in Vocal Skill transcend.

Such Harmonies the Youth not only heard, But they are to each alter'd Limb transfer'd: He Blushes, then turns pale again, and thus His Colour, as the Sound, grows various:

His Feet would in Harmonious Measures move, But that they more th' attentive Station love: His sparkling Blood within his glowing Vei••s Strives to ferment into a Circ'lar Dance: And tho' the Limbs cannot the Musick hear, Their Parts of Passion all in Consort bear: Such universal Transports he receiv'd, As if new Life he from that Harmony deriv'd.

Thus, wondring at the strange and powerful Skill▪ With trembling, like the Strings, he seems to feel Each Stroke the Artist plays; and every Sound, As by some Magick, seems t' inflict a Wound: And yet so pleasant all appear, that still His sooth'd tho' suff'ring Mind, at once they wound and heal.

The Song was various, which, if told, might please: In gentle Warblings first the Strings express The sad Affecting Fate of Philomel, More mournful than her Needle could reveal. Then of the Gods the Rapes he sung, and Ioves Innumerable and lascivious Loves: But still unmov'd, the Youth's Harmonious Breast No Love, but that of the soft Lyre, possest:

He feels its charming Violence within, And thinks no other Rape can be Divine: With th' Artist's Hand, his Heart in Consort Beats, And with a timely Pulse each Stroke repeats. And thus the Eyrist does his Passion raise, And thro' his Listning Ears his Soul decoys: But when th' Effects, his Art produc'd, he spy'd, He rais'd his Voice, and bolder strains essay'd, Uniting Nature's Powers with those his Art supply'd.

O're various Notes the Lyre and Lyrist run, While in soft Groans the Youth strikes only One: And when such Harmonies in Consort joyn, To bear the powerful Sounds he strives invain: While Vocal Skill conspires with Artful strains, A quick Distraction o're his Senses gains: And with such Force the Artist rais'd his Breath, That with soft Air it Wounds, and Speaks resistless Death: As if within his Mouth there did ferment Contagious Fury, such as Dogs in Madness vent, And with such Artful Rage the Notes invade, Th' Attentive Youth grows Emulously Mad; While to his Brain his vanquish'd Sense transfers Sounds that too much oppress his ravisht Ears:

And such strong Charms attend the Powerful Lays, As mov'd the Brain out of its proper place.

Now Madness in odd Freaks begins to play; His Blushes, swimming Eyes, and Looks betray Confusion in his Mind: his Senses quit, In a disorder'd Flight, their tott'ring seat. Sometimes he shakes his Head, as if his Brain Th' Ideas of those lasting Sounds within Labour'd to Eccho out—sometimes Eyes To Heaven he lifts, and, in wild Blasphemies, Those lofty Regions rashly he forswears, Where MUSICK reigns in vast revolving Spheres. Thus he in Passion—starting then in haste With furious Rage towards the Sea he past, While all its Labours strive within his Breast: Like Stormy Waves, his Thoughts tumultuous rise, His Face with Foam grows White as raging Seas: To the vast Main at length approaching near, Which happen'd then in Ebbing to retire, Thus, in its usual Course did Trembling seem, As Careful to decline the future Crime. Here stopping, in his looks his Madness lowrs, (As Ajax frown'd on the Sigean Shoars)

And since the Sounds invain he would forget, Invain to Lethe's dormant Pool commit, He in the spacious Main resolves to try The pertinacious Notes to wash away, And hopes eternal Peace amongst the Silent Fry.

He views the Waves, and to the troubled Seas Compares his Mind—Now for strange Voyages He'd fain Embark, and give the Wind his Cares, Nor any Danger of the Deep he fears, Secure from Harmony—Now his Disease Ferments so high, he knows not where he is: In Frenzy's Whirlpool hurry'd round he seems, And his Head swims at sight of distant Streams— Now Death he fears—now wishes for; and thus Like Waves, his doubtful Mind still ebbs and flows— At length he on a sudden leaps away, And plung'd himself in the less raving Sea: And thus the Waves now swell with double Rage, While adverse Floods the striving Youth engage; Who, tho' he tempted his untimely Death, Now struggles to preserve his fleeting Breath: But he invain resists th' o'rewhelming Seas, Then Farewel, Fatal, Charming Lyre, he cries:

Sinking the bubbling Waves his Ears drink in, And in this Death his Eye-balls truly swim.

As fam'd Nancissus did from Eccho fly, And in the flatt'ring Flood distracted Dy, This Youth more charm'd an equal Fortnne had, Striving those Softer Ecchoes to evade; Like His, the Fate that did this Youth engage, Equally strange was his destructive Rage: And while he gaz'd on the Tempestuous Flood, Narcissus ne're his juster Image view'd.

And thus he fell, whose Birth the Birds of Fate With inauspicious Songs did celebrate. Severely sweet the Muses tun'd the Lyre, And thus the Nine did all against One Youth conspire. The Lyrist thus display'd his Siren Art, Not only that he did such Sounds impart, But that, by force of powerful Harmony, He to the fatal Waves did the fond Youth decoy.

And thus the Artist did such Skill express As equall'd great Amphion's charming Lays, And as He sooth'd wild Beasts, did fiercer Passions raise.

Ah Grief! to think that such sweet Strains as these Should Mortal prove, and the Three Destinies Should String with Fatal Threads the warbling Lyre! But if such gentle Notes can Death inspire, How Dreadful then is every Tuneful Sound, That can with Softness pierce, and Trembling wound.

Then let Apollo quit his Shafts and Bow, The String alone can all their force out do. The Trumpet seems, while MUSICK thus Destroys, It self to Conquer: And no wonder 'tis, The Lion trembles at the Cock's shrill Voice.

O Cruel Breath! to Speak the Mortal Blow Was more than Barbarous Nero e're could do: He in such Tuneful Strains his Tyrannies Might Celebrate: But this Destructive Voice Ev'n in the Fatal Act it self employs.

If e're Empedocles had heard those Strains, He ne're had perisht in th' Etnean Flames; But might reverse his Fate, escape the Fire, And in the Watry Element expire.

Or had this Lyrist been a Rural Swain, Thus o're the Listning Herd his Notes would gain, And they'd be forc'd into the Waves to stray By tuneful Charms, And Phrixus might survey Whole Flocks of Sheep all swimming in the Sea.

If when the World was from the Flood retriev'd, This Lyrist had the Common Fate surviv'd, And for Deucalion had this Song prepar'd, To sooth his Cares, when He those Sounds had heard▪ He too would hasten to the Ebbing Sea, And even in th' expiring Deluge Dye.

Apollo thus, without Celestial Fire, Bold Icarus, that did too high expire, Might sooner plunge by his more powerful Lyre.

If Sounds can Kill, and Notes the Sword supply, Achilles, when he ceas'd to war with Troy, Consulting the sweet Force of Lyrick Charms▪ Did only change, not truly quit his Arms.

But now Loquacious Fame the News had spread Of the strange Fatal Notes, the Lyrist play'd, As Eccho would those Notes reiterate, She did the aggravated Crimes repeat Both of the Lyrist, and his Murd'rous Strains; And to the Magistrate at length complains.

And now a Council does himself apply, With Bawling, to condemn the Charms of Harmony: And first he does for the great Cause prepare, Then turns himself to the Tremendous Bar, And thus against the Lyrist does Declare.

The Council against the Lyrist.

My Lord, I move, that a few things You'd hear, Before the Criminal's Voice enchants your Ear, Who here stands Charg'd with a strange Murd'ring Skill In Musick: 'Tis no more with him to Kill, Than play a Tune; and thus on Land have we A Syren-Monster greater than the Sea. Musick is sweet— but Murder louder cries, Nor with the Sounds their Crime can quickly cease.

And he himself by his own Words betrays, While this Harmonious Art he durst profess, For which we see Amphion justly fear'd, And Orpheus was compell'd with Brutes to herd. If Birds were thus Harmonious, soon would they Ev'n to each other's Song become a Prey. Now this Infernal Orpheus, with his Lyre, Charm'd an unhappy Youth ev'n to admire The Sea, as That some Venus did contain, And now ev'n sweet he thinks the Briny Main. What should he do, whose Sense was thus engag'd? Ev'n Daedalus, with such soft Notes enrag'd, Had plung'd, unless with Wax he'd stopt his Ears: But here with Land the Criminal Sea conspires, And while the guilty Waves are stain'd with Blood, They spread their Crime o're all the weeping Flood: Invain they strive to Sink the Fatal Deed, Which in their Blushing Face too plain we read: The Watry God begins to rage and Foam, That no just Punishments the Crime attone, Murm'ring to see Vindictive Iustice slow— But if sweet sounds can Drown, I wonder how Arion o're the Sea so safely past: And when the Lyrist plung'd the Youth, at least

His Art might there for him a Dolphin Draw, But now he no Defence can make, the Law Proclaims him Guilty; Statutes all agree, And that of Iustice is the Legal Harmony.

He said. And all the Court, with silent Fear, Did of the Criminal's Answer strait dispair. But 'twould be strange should MUSICK silent be In its own Cause, should Eccho ne'er reply.

The Cryer having Proclamation made, The unharmonious Voice the Lyrist strait obey'd, With fault'ring speech and trembling he begins; And yet ev'n Musical that Trembling seems, For artfully he shook, as when he sung, His charming Lyre o're his Left Shoulder hung, While for his Life he Speaks a good Defence, Which he had almost lost by Vocal Strains. As Learned Gracchus, when he was to plead, Instructed by his Harp the Lyrist made A Various Speech: The silent Court attends, While thus he Answers, and himself Defends.

The Lyrist in his own Defence.

My Tuneful Voice, charg'd with another's Fate, I beg, my self from Death may vindicate. Invain I would the Fatal Strains recant, Or if with Tears I should the Youth lament, I should but add vain Waters to the Main: The Fact I may defend, but would recall in vain. With Songs the Dying Youth to celebrate, Was to Bewail, but could not Cause his Fate. And having seen the God of Harmony. Each Ev'ning safely plunge the willing Sea, Where thus each Night the Lord of Song remain'd, I thought, that this Harmonious Youth might find Himself with equal Favour entertain'd. Suppose he flung himself into the Seas, Charm'd by my Strains, there's no Great Crime in this: Who e're for Hellebore to cure his Brain, Could without ventring thus explore the Main: Besides, since I've oft heard the Learned say, Our Souls are all made up of Harmony, If this Youth Dy'd by the too charming Lyre, 'Twas with Excess of Life he did expire.

But how could the soft Notes of Musick Kill? Since Death with empty Sounds alone could ne'er prevail. The Criminal Seas their self-attoning Fault With Lustral Water soon may expiate, And thus the Waves, that caus'd, will purge from Guilt the Fate. And let those Cruel over-whelming Seas Now also drown my Crime in endless Peace. But if I Dye, who shall my Death attone? If my Charm'd Trees should fatal Spears become, Invain they'd strive thus to revenge my Fate, As Vengeance oft o'ertakes the Crime too late. Or shall the Stones, once softned by my Lyre, Rudely involve me in a Sepulcher. If MUSICK be the Crime for which I dye, How well the Tuneful Swan resembles me, Since thus I sung my own prophetick Elegy. The Crime, that's charg'd, does still unprov'd remain: For the Youth's Drowning must I plunge the Main? Was I the Cause, that while I sung, he drown'd? If at that time a Star fell to the Ground, Would You then think my Strains the Stars from Heav'n drew down. 'Tis Madness, thus to charge me with his Rage, Or think the Muse could with blind Fate engage

Against the Youth, or that by Art he dy'd; No guiltless Blood my Voice did ever shed: Lords of the Law! 'tis your Sententious Breath, That can with Words alone speak certain Death. Thus he— Then justly grant a Wretch, he cry'd, Your Pardon. Pardon Eccho strait reply'd.

He said. The Iudge to Favour much inclines, And this the Criminal's Punishment enjoyns, That since in Skill thus Orpheus he exceeds, He shall descend to the Elysian Shades, And thence compel, by a like Artful Strain, The Youth, he thither sent, back to return again.

If Any ask, what could my Thoughts engage In this Mad Theme; 'Twas some Poetic Rage. Forbidding me the Heliconian Spring, That led me thus in Seas to Bath and Sing. Poets an Artful Fury must inspire, And thy True Sons, great Patron of the Lyre, May pass like Orpheus to th' Elysian Shades: Thy glorious Flight the lofty Skies invades. But I, without th' Harmonious Quil and Voice Of the Dircean Swan, can't sing thy Praise;

And those, tho' fam'd, can only cantivate Th' inferiour Wood, but Laurels on Thee wait: And justly thou doest thy own Fate Survive, Like Memnon's Vocal Status, still to give Thy self that Praise thou only canst make live. And hast inscrib'd, since thus thy Art was try'd, Soft MUSICK's lasting Praise ev'n in the fluid Tyde.

But while for thy just Praise, I thus prepare, In the vast Main, I dread to venture far, So large an Ocean does my thoughts engage, I must strike Sail, and check my forward Rage▪

FINIS.