Page images
PDF
EPUB

ON THE YOUNG STATESMAN.

1680.

CLARENDON had law and sense,
Clifford was fierce and brave;
Bennet's grave look was a pretence,
And Danby's matchless impudence
Help'd to support the knave.
But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory,
These will appear such chits in story,
"Twill turn all politics to jests,
To be repeated like John Dory,
When fiddlers sing at feasts.
Protect us, mighty Providence!

What would these madmen have?
First they would bribe us without pence,
Deceive us without common sense,
And without power enslave.

Shall free-born men, in humble awe,
Submit to servile shame,

Who from consent and custom draw
The same right to be ruled by law,
Which kings pretend to reign?

The Duke shall wield his conquering sword,
The Chancellor make a speech,

The King shall pass his honest word,
The pawn'd revenue sums afford,
And then, Come kiss my breech.
So have I seen a king on chess

(His rooks and knights withdrawn, His queen and bishops in distress) Shifting about, grow less and less,

With here and there a pawn.

FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

1687.

FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
When Nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
Arise, ye more than dead!
Then cold and hot, and moist and dry,
In order to their stations leap,
And Music's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:

From harmony to harmony,

Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell!
When Jubal struck the corded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell

To worship that celestial sound.

Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell

That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell!

The Trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms;
With shrill notes of anger,
And mortal alarms;

[ocr errors]

The double, double, double beat
Of the thundering drum

Cries, Hark! the foes come;
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.

The soft complaining Flute

In dying notes discovers

The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling Lute.

Sharp Violins proclaim

Their jealous pangs, and desperation,

Fury, frantic indignation,

Depth of pains, and height of passion,

For the fair disdainful dame.

But, oh! what art can teach,
What human voice can reach,
The sacred Organ's praise?

Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.

Orpheus could lead the savage race,
And trees uprooted left their place,
Sequacious of the Lyre;

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher,
When to her Organ vocal breath was given;
An angel heard, and straight appear'd,
Mistaking earth for Heaven.

GRAND CHORUS.

As from the power of sacred lays

The spheres began to move,

And sung the great

Creator's praise

To all the bless'd above;

19.

B B

« PreviousContinue »