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may be,

Thus, first traditions were a proof alone, Still, when the Lion looked, his knees Could we be certain such they were, so

he bent, known:

And paid at church a courtier's comBut since some flaws in long descent pliment.

The bristled baptist Boar, impure as he, They make not truth but probability. But whitened with the foam of sanctity, Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke With fat pollutions filled the sacred place To what the centuries preceding spoke. And mountains levelled in his furious Such difference is there in an oft-told tale, race; But truth by its own sinews will prevail. So first rebellion founded was in grace. Tradition written, therefore, more com- But, since the mighty ravage which he mends

made Authority than what from voice descends: In German forests had his guilt betrayed, And this, as perfect as its kind can be, With broken tusks and with a borrowed Rolls down to us the sacred history:

name, Which, from the Universal Church re- He shunned the vengeance and conceived,

cealed the shame, Is tried, and after for its self believed. So lurked in sects unseen. With greater

guile False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil;

The graceless beast by Athanasius first THE SECTS.

Was chased from Nice, then by Socinus PRIVATE JUDGMENT.

nursed,

His impious race their blasphemy ro(From The Hind and the Panther, Part I.; newed, April, 1687.)

And Nature's King through Nature's PANTING and pensive now she ranged optics viewed; alone,

Reversed they viewed him lessened to And wandered in the kingdoms once her own.

Nor in an infant could a God descry. The common hunt, though from their New swarming sects to this obliquely rage restrained

tend, By sovereign power, her company dis- Hence they began, and here they all dained,

will end. Grinned as they passed, and with a What weight of ancient witness can glaring eye

prevail, Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity. If private reason hold the public scale? Tis true she bounded by and tripped so But, gracious God, how well dost Thou light,

provide They had not time to take a steady sight; For erring judgments an unerring guide ! For truth has such a face and such a Thy throne of darkness is the abyss of mien

light, As to be loved needs only to be seen. A blaze of glory that forbids the sight. The bloody Bear an independent beast,

O teach me to believe Thee thus conL’nlicked to form, in groans her hate ex- cealed, pressed.

And search no farther than Thyself reAmong the timorous kind the quaking vealed; Hare

But her alone for my director take, Professed neutrality, but would not swear. Whom Thou hast promised never to Next her the buffoon Ape, as atheists use, forsake! Mimicked all sects and had his own to

The allusion is more especially to the Ana choose;

baptist doings at Münster.

their eye,

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

shame!

Themselves they could not cure of the

dishonest sore. "Thus one, thus pure, behold her

largely spread, Like the fair ocean from her mother-bed; From east to west triumphantly she rides, All shores are watered by her wealthy

tides. The gospel-sound, diffused from pole te

pole, Where winds can carry and where waves

can roll, The self-same doctrine of the sacred page Conveyed to every clime, in every age.

own.

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,

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S

DAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1637. 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 ubey. 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 chorded

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

arms

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 warb

ling 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.

Aloft in awful state
The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne :
His valiant peers were placed

around; Their brows with roses and with myrtle

bound,
(So should desert in

be crown'd): The lovely Thaïs, by his side, Sate, like a blooming Eastern bride, In flower of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair !
None but the brave,
None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair. Timotheus, placed on high

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling nutes 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 rebound :

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;

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:

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure :

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure; Sweet is pleasure after pain.

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Soothed with the sound, the king

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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 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

oppressid, 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 norrid 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;

Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fired another
Troy.

Thus, long ago,
Eis heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

ures.

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 pleasWar, 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, () think it worth enjoying !

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

thee!

While organs yet were mute; And from the dregs of life think to reTimotheus to his breathing flute

ceive And sounding lyre,

What the first sprightly running could Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle not give.

soft desire.
At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred

VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS.1 store, Enlarged the former narrow bounds, CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid

And added length to solemn sounds, The world's foundations first were laid, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts in

Come, visit every pious mind; known before.

Come, pour Thy joys on human kind; Let old Timotheus yield the prize, From sin and sorrow set us free, Or both divide the crown;

And make Thy temples worthy Thee.
He raised a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.

O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,

Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
MANKIND.

Come, and Thy sacred unction bring, (From All

for Love, Act IV.] To sanctify us while we sing. Men are but children of a larger growth; Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, Plenteous of grace, descend from high, And full as craving too, and full as vain;

Rich in Thy sevenfold energy! And yet the soul shut up in her dark

Thou strength of His Almighty hand, room,

Whose power does heaven and earth Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees command; nothing;

Proceeding Spirit, our defence, But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind,

Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense, Works all her folly up, and casts it out

And crown'st Thy gifts with eloquence! ward

Retine and purge our earthly parts:
To the world's open view.

But oh, inflame and fire our hearts !
Our frailties help, our vice control,

Submit the senses to the soul;
HUMAN LIFE.

And when rebellious they are grown, (From Aureng Zebe, Act IV.)

Then lay Thine hand, and hold them

down. WHEN I consider lise, 'tis all a cheat; Yet, fool'd with hope, men favor the Chase from our minds the infernal foe, deceit;

And peace, the fruit of love, bestow; Trust on, and think to-morrow will re- And, lest our feet should step astray,

Protect and guide us in the way.
To-morrow's falser than the former day;
Lies worse; and while it says we shall Make us eternal truths receive,
be blest

And practise all that we believe : With some new joys, cuts off what we Give us Thyself, that we may see possessed.

The Father, and the Son, by Thee. Strange cozenage! None would live past years again;

1 This paraphrase of the Latin hymn, popularly attributed to Charlemagne, was

first Yet all hope pleasure in what yet re

printed in Tonson's folio edition of Dryden's main;

Poems, 1701.

pay:

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