CCVII.

SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY, 1687.

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 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,

That spoke so sweetly and so well.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

The trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to 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 whisper'd 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 unrooted 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 appear’d— 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 blest 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.—J. Dryden.

CCVIII.

MY LODGING IS ON THE COLD
GROUND.

My lodging it is on the cold ground,

And hard, very hard is my fare,

But that which grieves me most, love,

Is the unkindness of my dear.

Yet still I cry, Oh, turn, love,

I prithee, love, turn to me,
For thou art the only one, love,
That art adored by me!

I'll twine thee a garland of straw, love,—

I'll marry thee with a rush ring,

My frozen hopes shall thaw, love,

And merrily we will sing :

Then turn to me, my dear love,

I prithee, love, turn to me!

For thou art the only one, love,

That art adored by me!

Sir William D'Avenant.

CCIX.

SONG FROM "CLEOMENES."

No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour, Choose to sustain the smart rather than leave her;

My ravished eyes behold such charms about her,
I can die with her, but not live without her;
One tender sigh of hers to see me languish,

Will more than pay the price of my past anguish :
Beware, oh cruel fair, how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.
Love has in store for me one happy minute,
And she will end my pain who did begin it.
Then no day void of bliss, of pleasure, leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving.
Cupid shall guard the door, the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death when they would
seize us.

Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying,
Love has found out a way to live by dying.

CCX.

J. Dryden.

UNWITTING CONSTANCY.

NOT, Celia, that I juster am,

Or better than the rest,

For I would change each hour, like them,

Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee
By every thought I have;
Thy face I only care to see ;
Thy heart I only crave.
All that in woman is adored

In thy dear self I find

For the whole sex can but afford
The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek further store,
And still make love anew?

When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easy to be true.-Sir C. Sedley.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A SWEET disorder in the dress

Accurst be love, and they that trust his trains

Ah, Ben!

...

Ah, Chloris! could I now but sit

Ah! my dear angry Lord

PAGE

124

17

74

191

Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair

All ye woods, and trees, and bowers

As it fell upon a day

99

22

69

117

Ask me no more where Jove bestows

Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter'd saints, whose
bones

Away, delights, go seek some other dwelling.

Before I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe
Bid me to live, and I will live

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren
Can a maid that is well bred

...

Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes
Charm me asleep, and melt me so
Chloris! if ere May be done

Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me

57

Come live with me and be my love!

39

Come, my Celia, let us prove

Come, sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving

Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace

Come, spur away

...

Cupid and my Campaspe play'd

Do not, O do not prize thy beauty at too high

Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes

Drink to me only with thine eyes