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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.
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.
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
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.
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
A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S
DAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1637. From harmony, from heavenly harmony
This universal frame began;
Of jarring atoms lay,
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
could not dwell
That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and
Excites us to arms
With shrill notes of anger
And mortal alarms.
Of the thundering drum
Cries, hark! the foes come; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.
The soft complaining flute
The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whispered by the warb
For the fair, disdainful dame.
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.
The spheres began to move,
To all the blessed above;
Aloft in awful state
On his imperial throne :
around; Their brows with roses and with myrtle
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 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
Affects to nod,
The jolly god in triumph comes;
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.
Soothed with the sound, the king
Fought all his battles o'er again; And thrice he routed all his foes, and
thrice he slew the slain.
Soft pity to infuse :
By too severe a fate,
And weltering in his blood;
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,
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
Has raised up his head !
As awaked from the dead,
And amazed, he stares around. Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise;
How they hiss in their hair,
Each a torch in his hand!
And unburied remain
To the valiant crew!
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,
Thus, long ago,
The mighty master smiled to see
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,
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.
Inventress of the vocal frame;
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.
O source of uncreated light,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
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:
But oh, inflame and fire our hearts !
Submit the senses to the soul;
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.
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;