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; 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. Oh! had he been content to serve the crown, 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, 200 A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 22ND NOVEMBER, 1687 I. The tuneful voice was heard from high, From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began: When nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, "Arise, ye more than dead." 5 Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, And Music's power obey. 10 From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began; 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 20 Less than a God they thought there could not dwell That spoke so sweetly, and so well. III. The trumpet's loud clangour Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double, double, double beat Cries, hark! the foes come: 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 Fury, frantic indignation, 25 30 35 Their jealous pangs and desperation, 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; GRAND CHORUS As from the power of sacred lays 50 UN 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.) The lovely Thaís, by his side, Sate like a blooming eastern bride, In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 5 10 |