Classic Poem

How foolish they, who music's pow'r
Employ'd t'adorn the festive hour,
And sought by its inchanting art
To add new pleasures to the heart!
But none e'er taught the notes to flow
To soothe the bitterness of woe,
The tempest of the mind controul,
And calm the discord of the soul:
These to allay, might well require
The softest music of the lyre.
Why, when the heart is tun'd to joy,
The useless melody employ?
Enough the joyous feast can please,
Nor needs the aid of arts like these.