Thus, first traditions were a proof alone, Could we be certain such they were, so known: But since some flaws in long descent may be, They make not truth but probability. Even Arius and Pelagius durst provoke To what the centuries preceding spoke. Such difference is there in an oft-told tale, But truth by its own sinews will prevail. Tradition written, therefore, more commends Authority than what from voice descends: And this, as perfect as its kind can be, Rolls down to us the sacred history: Which, from the Universal Church received, Is tried, and after for its self believed. THE SECTS. PRIVATE JUDGMENT. [From The Hind and the Panther, Part I.; April, 1687.] PANTING and pensive now she ranged alone, And wandered in the kingdoms once her own. The common hunt, though from their rage restrained By sovereign power, her company disdained, Grinned as they passed, and with a glaring eye Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity. 'Tis true she bounded by and tripped so light, They had not time to take a steady sight; For truth has such a face and such a mien As to be loved needs only to be seen. The bloody Bear an independent beast, Unlicked to form, in groans her hate expressed. Among the timorous kind the quaking Hare Professed neutrality, but would not swear. Next her the buffoon Ape, as atheists use, Mimicked all sects and had his own to choose; Still, when the Lion looked, his knees he bent, And paid at church a courtier's compliment. The bristled baptist Boar, impure as he, But whitened with the foam of sanctity, With fat pollutions filled the sacred place And mountains levelled in his furious race; So first rebellion founded was in grace. But, since the mighty ravage which he made In German forests1 had his guilt betrayed, With broken tusks and with a borrowed name, With greater He shunned the vengeance and concealed the shame, So lurked in sects unseen. guile False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil; The graceless beast by Athanasius first Was chased from Nice, then by Socinus nursed, His impious race their blasphemy renewed, And Nature's King through Nature's optics viewed; Reversed they viewed him lessened to their eye, Nor in an infant could a God descry. New swarming sects to this obliquely tend, Hence they began, and here they all will end. What weight of ancient witness can prevail, If private reason hold the public scale? But, gracious God, how well dost Thou provide For erring judgments an unerring guide! Thy throne of darkness is the abyss of light, A blaze of glory that forbids the sight. O teach me to believe Thee thus concealed, And search no farther than Thyself revealed; But her alone for my director take, Whom Thou hast promised never to forsake! The allusion is more especially to the Ana 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 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, you: One is the Church, and must be to be true, One central principle of unity; 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, 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. A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony 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 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, The trumpet's loud clangor With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double, double, double beat Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, Depth of pains and height of passion, But oh! what art can teach, The sacred organ's praise? 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: With ravish'd ears And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung: Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: He shows his honest face; Now give the hautboys breath: he comes! he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 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 He chose a mournful Muse, He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, And weltering in his blood; Revolving in his alter'd soul, The various turns of chance be- And now and then a sigh he stole, The mighty master smiled to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, ures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Never ending, still beginning, Lovely Thais sits beside thee, thee! The many rend the skies with loud ap plause; 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: thunder. Hark, hark, the norrid sound Has raised up his nead! As awaked from the dead, See the snakes that they rear, 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 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. While organs yet were mute; 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 re ceive What the first sprightly running could not give. VENI CREATOR SPIRITUSĂ CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid O source of uncreated light, Plenteous of grace, descend from high, Proceeding Spirit, our defence, Refine and purge our earthly parts: Chase from our minds the infernal foe, Make us eternal truths receive, 1 This paraphrase of the Latin hymn, popularly attributed to Charlemagne, was first printed in Tonson's folio edition of Dryden's Poems, 1701. |
