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
Of the thundering drum,
Cries, hark! the foes come:
Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat.

IV.

The soft complaining flute,
In dying notes, discovers
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,
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,

Notes that wend their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.

VII.

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 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 HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1697

I.

'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft, in awful state,

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 Thais, by his side,

Sate like a blooming eastern bride,

In flower 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

Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deserves the fair.

II.

Timotheus, placed on high
Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touched 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 spires he rode;
When he to fair Olympia pressed,

And while he sought her snowy breast;

Then, round her slender waist he curled,

And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the

world.

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound,

A present deity! they shout around;

A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound.
With ravished ears,

The monarch hears;

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

CHORUS

With ravished ears,
The monarch hears;
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

III.

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung;
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young.

The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;
Flushed with a purple grace

He shows 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.

CHORUS

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure;
Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure,

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

IV.

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

The master saw the madness rise,
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heaven and earth defied,
Changed his hand, and checked 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 weltering in his blood:
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate,
Revolving, in his altered soul,

The various turns of chance below;
And, now and then, a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow.

CHORUS

Revolving, in his altered soul,
The various turns of chance below;
And, now and then, a sigh he stole;
And tears began to flow.

V.

The mighty master smiled, to see
That love was in the next degree;
'Twas but a kindred-sound to move,
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures:
War, he sung, is toil and trouble;
Honour, but an empty bubble;