The opposing valve forbids the backward race.
Fast to the swelling bag, two reeds combin’d
Receive the blasts of the melodious wind.
Round from the turning loom, with skill divine,
Embossed, the joints in silver circles shine;
In secret prison pent, the accents lie
Until his arm the lab’ring artist ply;
Then, duteous, they forsake their dark abode,
Fellows no more, and wing a separate road.
These upwards thro’ the narrow channel glide,