John Dryden
¶[16^1-iyoo]
¶262 Ode
¶To the Pious Memory of the accomplished young lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew, excellent in the two sister arts of Poesy and Painting Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, Made in the last promotion of the blest;
¶Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise,
p. 385¶In spreading branches more sublimely rise,Rich with immortal green above the rest:Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star,Thou roll'st above us, in thy wandering race,Or, in procession fix'd and regular,Moved with the heaven's majestic pace;Or , call'd to more superior bliss,Thou tread'st with seraphims the vast abyss:Whatever happy region be thy place,Cease thy celestial song a little space;Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,Since Heaven's eternal year is thine.Hear, then, a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse,In no ignoble verse;But such as thy own voice did practise here,When thy first-fruits of Poesy were given,To make thyself a welcome inmate there;While yet a young probationer,And candidate of heaven.
¶If by traduction came thy mind,Our wonder is the less, to findA soul so charming from a stock so good;Thy father was transfused into thy blood:So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,An early, rich, and inexhausted vein.But if thy pre-existing soulWas form'd at first with myriads more,It did through all the mighty poets rollWho Greek or Latin laurels wore,And was that Sappho last, which once it was before.If so, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind!Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore:Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find,Than was the beauteous frame she left behind:Return, to fill or mend the quire of thy celestial kind .
¶May we presume to say, that, at thy birth,New joy was sprung in heaven as well as here onearth?[386]For sure the milder planets did combineOn thy auspicious horoscope to shine,And even the most malicious were in trine.Thy brother-angels at thy birthStrung each his lyre, and tuned it high,That all the people of the skyMight know a poetess was born on earth;And then, if ever, mortal earsHad heard the music of the spheres.And if no clustering swarm of beesOn thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew,' T was that such vulgar miraclesHeaven had not leisure to renew:For all the blest fraternity of loveSolemnized there thy birth, and kept thy holiday above.
¶O gracious God ! how far have weProfaned thy heavenly gift of Poesy!Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,Debased to each obscene and impious use,Whose harmony was first ordain'd above,For tongues of angels and for hymns of love!O wretched we ! why were we hurried downThis lubrique and adulterate age( Nay , added fat pollutions of our own ) ,To increase the streaming ordures of the stage?What can we say to excuse our second fall?Let this thy Vestal, Heaven, atone for all!Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd,U n mix ' d with foreign filth, and undefiled;Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.
¶Art she had none, yet wanted none,For Nature did that want supply:So rich in treasures of her own,She might our boasted stores defy:Such noble vigour did her verse adorn,That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.Her morals, too, were in her bosom bred,By great examples daily fed,[387]What in the best of books, her father's life, she read.And to be read herself she need not fear;Each test, and every light, her Muse will bear,Though Epictetus with his lamp were there.Even love (for love sometimes her Muse exprest)Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her breast,Light as the vapours of a morning dream;So cold herself, whilst she such warmth exprest,' T was Cupid bathing in Diana's stream. . . .
¶Now all those charms, that blooming grace,The well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous face,Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes;In earth the much-lamented virgin lies.Not wit, nor piety could fate prevent;Nor was the cruel destiny contentTo finish all the murder at a blow,To sweep at once her life and beauty too;But, like a harden'd felon, took a prideTo work more mischievously slow,And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd.O double sacrilege on things divine,To rob the relic, and deface the shrine!But thus Orinda died:Heaven, by the same disease did both translate;As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate.
¶Meantime, her warlike brother on the seasHis waving streamers to the winds displays,And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays.Ah , generous youth! that wish forbear,The winds too soon will waft thee here!Slack all thy sails, and fear to come,Alas! thou know'st not, thou art wreck'd at home!No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face,Thou hast already had her last embrace.But look aloft, and if thou kenn'st from far,Among the Pleiads anew kindled star,If any sparkles than the rest more bright,'Tis she that shines in that propitious light.[388]When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound,To raise the nations under ground;When , in the Valley of Jehoshaphat,The judging God shall close the book of Fate,And there the last assizes keepFor those who wake and those who sleep;When rattling bones together flyFrom the four corners of the sky;When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread,Those clothed with flesh, and life inspires the dead;The sacred poets first shall hear the sound,And foremost from the tomb shall bound,For they are cover'd with the lightest ground;And straight, with inborn vigour, on the wing ,Like mounting larks, to the new morning sing.There thou, sweet Saint, before the quire shall go,As harbinger of Heaven , the way to show,The way which thou so well hast learn'd below.
Song to a Fair Young Lady, Going Out of theTown in the Spring
¶ASK not the cause why sullen SpringSo long delays her flowers to bear;Why warbling birds forget to sing,And winter storms invert the year:Chloris is gone; and fate providesTo make it Spring where she resides.
¶Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;She cast not back a pitying eye:But left her lover in despairTo sigh, to languish, and to die:Ah ! how can those fair eyes endureTo give the wounds they will not cure?
¶Great God of Love , why hast thou madeA face that can all hearts command,That all religions can invade,And change the laws of every land?Where thou hadst placed such power before,Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.[389]When Chloris to the temple comes,Adoring crowds before her fall;She can restore the dead from tombsAnd every life but mine recall.I only am by Love design'dTo be the victim for mankind.
Song for St. Cecilia's Day[1687]
¶FROM Harmony , from heavenly HarmonyThis universal frame began:When Nature underneath a heapOf jarring atoms layAnd could not heave her head,The tuneful voice was heard from high,'Arise, ye more than dead!'Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dryIn order to their stations leap,And Music's power obey.
¶From harmony, from heavenly harmonyThis universal frame began:From harmony to harmonyThrough 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 shellHis listening brethren stood around,And , wondering, on their faces fellTo worship that celestial sound.Less than a god they thought there could notWithin the hollow of that shellThat spoke so sweetly and so well.What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
¶The trumpet's loud clangorExcites us to arms,With shrill notes of angerAnd mortal alarms.[390]The double double double beatOf the thundering drumCries 'Hark! the foes come;Charge , charge, 'tis too late to retreat!'
¶The soft complaining fluteIn dying notes discoversThe woes of hopeless lovers,Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.
¶Sharp violins proclaimTheir jealous pangs and desperation,Fury, frantic indignation,Depth of pains, and height of passionFor the fair disdainful dame.
¶But oh! what art can teach,What human voice can reachThe sacred organ's praise?Notes inspiring holy love,Notes that wing their heavenly waysTo mend the choirs above.
¶Orpheus could lead the savage race,And trees unrooted left their placeSequacious of the lyre:But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher;When to her Organ vocal breath was givenAn Angel heard, and straight appear'd—Mistaking Earth for Heaven.
Grand Chorus
¶As from the power of sacred laysThe spheres began to move,And sung the great Creator's praiseTo all the blest above;So when the last and dreadful hourThis 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 FeastOr the Power of Music; an Ode in HonorOf St. Cecilia's DayI
¶T WAS at the royal feast, for Persia wonBy Philip's warlike son:Aloft in awful stateThe godlike hero sateOn his imperial throne:His valiant peers were plac'd around;Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound:(So should desert in arms be crown'd.)The lovely Thais, by his side,Sate like a blooming Eastern brideIn flow'r 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!
Chorus
None but the brave deserves the fair!ir
¶Timotheus, plac'd on highAmid the tuneful choir,With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:The trembling notes ascend the sky,And heav'nly joys inspire.The song began from Jove,Who left his blissful seats above,Such is the pow'r of mighty love.A dragon's fiery form belied the god:Sublime on radiant spires he rode,When he to fair Olympia press'd;[392]And while he sought her snowy breast:Then , round her slender waist he curl'd,And stamp'd an image of himself, a sov'reign of theworld.The list'ning crowd admire the lofty sound;" A present deity," they shout around;" A present deity," the vaulted roofs rebound:With ravish'd earsThe monarch hears,Assumes the god,Affects to nod,And seems to shake the spheres.
Chorus
And seems to shake the spheres.in
¶The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musiciansung,Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:The jolly god in triumph comes;Sound the trumpets; beat the drums;Flush'd with a purple graceHe shews 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.
ChorusBacchus' blessings are a treasure,Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
¶IVSooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain;Fought all his battles o'er again;And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice heslew the slain.The master saw the madness rise;His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;And , while he heav'n and earth defied,Chang ' d 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 welt'ring in his blood;Deserted, at his utmost need,By those his former bounty fed;On the bare earth expos'd he lies,With not a friend to close his eyes.
¶— With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,Revolving in his alter'd soulThe various turns of chance below;And , now and then, a sigh he stole;And tears began to flow.
Chorus
¶Revolving in his alter'd soul
The various turns of chance below;And, now and then, a sigh he stole;
¶And tears began to flow.
¶vThe mighty master smil'd, to seeThat love was in the next degree:[394]' T was but a kindred-sound to move,For pity melts the mind to love.Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures."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 Thais 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,G a z ' d on the fairWho caus'd 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.
ChorusThe prince, unable to conceal his pain,
And sigh'd and loo\'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.VI
¶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 soundHas rais'd up his head:[395]As awak'd from the dead,And amaz'd, 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 remainInglorious on the plain:Give the vengeance dueTo the valiant crew.Behold how they toss their torches on high,How they point to the Persian abodes,And glitt'ring temples of their hostile gods!"— The princes applaud, with a furious joy;And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy;Thais led the way,To light him to his prey,And , like another Helen, fir'd another Troy .
ChorusAnd the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy;
¶vn
¶— Thus , long ago,Ere 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,
Matthew Prior
¶Enlarg'd 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 rais'd a mortal to the skies;She drew an angel down .
Grand ChorusAt last, divine Cecilia came,Inventress of the vocal frame;The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,Enlarg'd 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 rais'd a mortal to the s\ies;She drew an angel down.On Milton
¶THREE poets, in three distant ages born,Greece, Italy and England did adorn.The first in loftiness of thought surpassed;The next in majesty; in both the last.The force of nature could no further go;To make a third, she joined the former two.