My thoughtless youth was winged with vain desires;

My manhood, long misled by wandering fires,

Followed false lights; and when their glimpse was gone,

My pride struck out new sparkles of her

own.

Such was I, such by nature still I am; Be Thine the glory and be mine the shame!

THE UNITY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

[From The Hind and the Panther, Part II.] "ONE in herself, not rent by schism, but sound,

Entire, one solid shining diamond, Not sparkles shattered into sects like you:

One is the Church, and must be to be true,

One central principle of unity;
As undivided, so from errors free;
As one in faith, so one in sanctity.
Thus she, and none but she, the insult-
ing rage

Of heretics opposed from age to age; Still when the giant-brood invades her throne,

She stoops from heaven and meets them half way down,

And with paternal thunder vindicates

her crown.

But like Egyptian sorcerers you stand, And vainly lift aloft your magic wand To sweep away the swarms of vermin from the land.

You could like them, with like infernal force,

Produce the plague, but not arrest the

course.

But when the boils and botches with

disgrace

And public scandal sat upon the face, Themselves attacked, the Magi strove

no more,

They saw God's finger, and their fate deplore,

With shrill notes of anger

And mortal alarms.

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 whispered 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 appeared, 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 blessed above;

So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC.

AN ODE IN HONOR OF ST. CECILIA'S

DAY, 1697. 'TWAS at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son:

Timotheus, placed on high

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above (Such is the power of mighty Love!). A dragon's fiery form belied the god, Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound,

A present deity! they shout around:
A present deity! the vaulted roofs re-
bound:

With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung:

Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: The jolly god in triumph comes; Sound the trumpets, beat the drums; Flush'd with a purple grace, He shows his honest face; Now give the hautboys breath: he comes! he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain;

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. The master saw the madness rise; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; And, while he heaven and earth defied,

Changed his hand, and check'd his
pride.

He chose a mournful Muse,
Soft pity to infuse :

He sung Darius great and good,

By too severe a fate,

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,

And weltering in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed:
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast looks the joyless victor
sate,

Revolving in his alter'd soul,

The various turns of chance be-
low;

And now and then a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.

The mighty master smiled to see
That love was in the next degree:
'Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he soothed his soul to pleas-

ures.

War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honor, but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying;
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying!

Lovely Thaïs sits beside thee,
Take the good the gods provide
thee!

The many rend the skies with loud applause;

So love was crown'd, but music won the

cause.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair,

Who caused his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,

Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd,

The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

Now strike the golden lyre again :

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.

Hark, hark, the horrid sound

Has raised up his head!

As awaked from the dead,
And amazed, he stares around.
Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise;

See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,

And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain :
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew!

Behold how they toss their torches on high,

How they point to the Persian abodes, And glittering temples of their hostile gods!

The princes applaud with a furious joy; And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy;

Thaïs led the way,

To light him to his prey,

And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.

Thus, long ago,

Er heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute;
Timotheus to his breathing flute
And sounding lyre,

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown;
He raised a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.

And from the dregs of life think to receive

What the first sprightly running could not give.

VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS1

CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come, visit every pious mind;
Come, pour Thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make Thy temples worthy Thee.

O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and Thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in Thy sevenfold energy!
Thou strength of His Almighty hand,
Whose power does heaven and earth
command;

Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense,
And crown'st Thy gifts with eloquence!

Refine and purge our earthly parts:
But oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay Thine hand, and hold them
down.

Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe :
Give us Thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by Thee.

1 This paraphrase of the Latin hymn, popularly attributed to Charlemagne, was first printed in Tonson's folio edition of Dryden's Poems, 1701.

Immortal honor, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name!
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died!
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee!

FREEDOM OF THE SAVAGE. [From The Conquest of Granada, Part I.] No man has more contempt than I of breath,

But whence hast thou the right to give me death?

I am as free as Nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage

ran.

UNDER MILTON'S PICTURE. THREE Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first, in loftiness of thought surpass'd;

The next, in majesty; in both, the last. The force of Nature could no further go; To make a third, she join'd the former

two.

THE CHARACTER OF A GOOD

PARSON.

A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim train;
An awful, reverend, and religious man.
His eyes diffused a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face.
Rich was his soul, though his attire was
poor

(As God hath clothed his own ambassador);

For such, on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore.

Of sixty years he seem'd; and well might last

To sixty more, but that he lived too fast; Refined himself to soul, to curb the

sense;

For, letting down the golden chain from high,

He drew his audience upward to the sky:

And oft with holy hymns he charm'd their ears,

(A music more melodious than the spheres :)

For David left him, when he went to rest, His lyre; and after him he sung the best. He bore his great commission in his look:

But sweetly tempered awe; and soften'd all he spoke.

He preach'd the joys of heaven, and pains of hell,

And warn'd the sinner with becoming zeal;

But, on eternal mercy loved to dwell.

He taught the gospel rather than the

law;

And forced himself to drive; but loved to draw.

For fear but freezes minds: but love, like heat,

Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat.

To threats the stubborn sinner oft is

hard,

Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm prepared;

But, when the milder beams of mercy play,

He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.

Lightning and thunder (heaven's artillery)

As harbingers before th' Almighty fly: Those but proclaim his style, and dis

appear;

The stiller sounds succeed, and God is there.