ODES ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1708, DESCEND, ye Nine! descend and sing; Let the warbling lute complain; The shrill echoes rebound; While in more lengthen'd notes and slow The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow. Gently steal upon the ear; Now louder, and yet louder rise, And fill with spreading sounds the skies: 10 15 Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes, In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats; Till by degrees, remote and small, The strains decay, And melt away In a dying, dying fall. By music minds an equal temper know, Warriors she fires with animated sounds; Morpheus rouses from his bed, Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes, List'ning envy drops her snakes; 20 25 30 Intestine war no more our passions wage, But when our country's cause provokes to arms, But when through all th' infernal bounds, What scenes appear'd, O'er all the dreary coasts! Dismal screams, Shrieks of woe, Sullen moans, Hollow groans, And cries of tortur'd ghosts! But, hark! he strikes the golden lyre; See shady forms advance! Thy stone, O Sisyphus! stands still, Ixion rests upon his wheel, And the pale spectres dance; The furies sink upon their iron beds, And snakes uncurl'd hang listening round their heads. By the streams that ever flow, By the heroes' armed shades, Glittering through the gloomy glades; By the youths that died for love, Restore, restore Eurydice to life; Oh, take the husband, or return the wife ! He sung, and hell consented To hear the poet's pray'r: Stern Proserpine relented, And gave him back the fair. A conquest how hard and how glorious! But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes; Beside the fall of fountains, Or where Hebrus wanders, Rolling in meanders, All alone, Unheard, unknown, See, wild as the winds o'er the desert he flies; 110 Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanal's cries Ah see, he dies! Yet ev❜n in death Eurydice he sung, Eurydice still trembled on his tongue; Eurydice the woods, Eurydice the floods, Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung. Music the fiercest grief can charm, 115 And fate's severest rage disarm: Music can soften pain to ease, 120 And make despair and madness please: Our joys below it can improve, And antedate the bliss above. This the divine Cecilia found, And to her maker's praise confin'd the sound. 125 When the full organ joins the tuneful quire, ODE ON SOLITUDE. 130 134 WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS ABOUT TWELVE YEARS OLD. HAPPY the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breath his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter file. Bless'd, who can unconcern'dly find Quiet by day: Sound sleep by night; study and ease 10 15 VITAL THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. ITAL spark of heavenly flame! Quit, O quit this mortal frame! Steals my senses, shuts my sight, The world recedes: it disappears! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O death! where is thy sting? 5 10 15 |