Thy tragic muse gives smiles, thy comic sleep. With whate'er gall thou setst itself to write, 200 Thy inoffensive satires never bite; In thy felonious heart though venom lies, 205 Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command, Some peaceful province in Acrostic land. There thou may'st wings display, and altars raise, And torture one poor word ten thousand ways; Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit, 210 Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute." He said: but his last words were scarcely heard; For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepared, 150 ACHITOPHEL (From Absalom and Achitophel, 1681) Of these the false Achitophel was first; Restless, unfixed in principles and place; And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. 160 Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms; but for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit. And thin partitions do their bounds divide; 165 Else, why should he, with wealth and honour blest, Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? And all to leave what with his toil he won, Then, seized with fear, yet still affecting fame, 180 So easy still it proves in factious times, Where none can sin against the people's will, Where crowds can wink, and no offence be known, 185 Since in another's guilt they find their own? Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge; The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abbethdin With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean, 190 Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress; Swift of despatch, and easy of access. Oh! had he been content to serve the crown, With virtue only proper to the gown; Or had the rankness of the soil been freed 195 From cockle, that oppressed the noble seed; David for him his tuneful harp had strung, And heaven had wanted one immortal song. A lawful fame, and lazy happiness, Disdained the golden fruit to gather free, 200 A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 22ND NOVEMBER, 1687 I. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, When nature underneath a heap And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, And Music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 15 II. 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: 20 25 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? III. The trumpet's loud clangour Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double, double, double beat Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat. IV. The soft complaining flute, The woes of hopeless lovers; Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. V. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion, 40 For the fair, disdainful dame. VI. But, oh! what art can teach, What human voice can reach, The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, 45 Notes that wend their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above. VII. Orpheus could lead the savage race; 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 So when the last and dreadful hour 50 55 60 ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR THE POWER OF MUSIC; AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1697 I. "Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son: The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne. His valiant peers were placed around; Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: (So should desert in arms be crowned.) 5 The lovely Thais, by his side, Sate like a blooming eastern bride, 10 In flower of youth and beauty's pride. |