The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng’d around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess’d beyond the Muse’s painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind,
Disturb’d, delighted, rais’d, refin’d,
Till once, ’tis said, when all were fir’d,
Fill’d with fury, rapt, inspir’d,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch’d her instruments of sound,