[1] The Soul according to the Platonists.  So Virgil:  Aurai simplicis ig, nem.

    But when He yielded to deluding Charms,
  Th’Harmonious Goddess shun’d His empty Arms. 
  The Muse no more his sacred Breast inspir’d,
  But to the Skies, her Ancient Seat, retir’d. 
  Yet here and there Celestial Seeds She threw,
  And rain’d melodious Blessings as She flew. 
  Which some receiv’d, whom Gracious Heav’n design’d
  For high Employments, and their Clay resin’d. 
  Who, of a Species more sublime, can tame
  The rushing God, and stem the rapid Flame. 
  When in their breasts th’impetuous Numen rowls,
  And with uncommon heaves swells their Diviner Souls.

    Thus the Companion of the Godhead [Moses] sung,
  And wrote upon those Reeds from whence he Sprung. 
  He, first of Poets, told how Infant Light,
  Unknown before, dawn’d from the Womb of Night. 
  How Sin and Shame th’ Unhappy Couple knew,
  And thro’ affrighted Eden, more affrighted, flew. 
  How God advanc’d his Darling Abram’s fame,
  In the sure Promise of his lengthen’d Name. 
  On Horeb’s Top, or Sinah’s flaming Hill
  Familiar Heav’n reveal’d his Sacred Will. 
  Unshaken then Seth’s stony Column stood,
  Surviving the Destruction of the Flood. 
  His Father’s Fall was letter’d on the Stone,
  Thence Arts, Inventions, Sciences were Known. 
  Thence Divine Moses, with exalted thought,
  In Hebrew Lines the Worlds Beginning wrote.

[The Progress of Poetry.]

    The Gift of Verse descended to the Jews,
  Inspir’d with something nobler than a Muse. 
  Here Deborah in fiery rapture sings,
  The Rout of Armies, and the Fall of Kings. 
  Thy Torrent, Kison, shall for ever flow,
  Which trampled o’er the Dead, and swept away the Foe.

    With Songs of Triumph, and the Maker’s praise,
  With Sounding Numbers, and united Lays,
  The Seed of Judah to the Battle flew,
  And Orders of Destroying Angels drew
  To their Victorious side:  Who marching round
  Their Foes, touch’d Myriads at the signal Sound,
  By Harmony they fell, and dy’d without a Wound. 
  So strong is Verse Divine, when we Proclaim
  Thy Power, Eternal Light, and Sing thy Name!

[Orpheus.]

    Nor does it here alone it’s Magick show,
  But works in Hell, and binds the Fiends below. 
  So powerful is the Muse!  When David plaid,
  The Frantick Daemon heard him, and obey’d. 
  No Noise, no Hiss:  the dumb Apostate lay
  Sunk in soft silence, and dissolv’d away. 
  Nor was this Miracle of Verse confin’d
  To Jews alone:  For in a Heathen mind
  Some strokes appear:  Thus Orpheus was inspir’d,
  Inchanting Syrens at his Song retir’d. 
  To Rocks and Seas he the curst Maids pursu’d,
  And their strong Charms, by stronger Charms subdu’d.