Full Lyrics
Hark! heard ye not that strange tumultuous sound,
That grates discordant on the startled ear?
Too faithful echo of a jarring world,
Where all the passions most degrading man
Are gendered, and break forth in insults, broils,
Loud uproar, rage infuriate, dire revenge.
But oh! thou lovely Peace, daughter of Heaven!
With look benign, and soul assuaging smile,
And clad in robes of purest white, descend,
And guide, oh guide me to some calm retreat.
Some high embowering shade, or sacred grove,
Like that of old, where oft, as poets tell,
Apollo to th'enraptured Muses played.
