By Music, minds an equal temper know,
  Nor swell too high, nor sink too low.
  If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
  Music her soft, assuasive voice applies;
    Or, when the soul is press'd with cares,
    Exalts her in enlivening airs.
  Warriors she fires with animated sounds;
  Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;
      Melancholy lifts her head,
      Morpheus rouses from his bed,
      Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
      Listening Envy drops her snakes;
  Intestine war no more our passions wage,
  And giddy factions hear away their rage.