ODE XVIII. ΤΟ MR. HANDEL, ON HIS PLAYING UPON THE ORGAN, 1722. BY THE REV. DANIEL PRAT, M. A. How shall the Muse attempt to teach, What voice with equal thought can reach With joy and wonder fill'd, we seem Like Jacob in his blissful dream, All Heaven approaching to descry! Now in more lengthen'd notes, and slow, The deep majestic Organ blow, Symbol of sounds that rouse the dead! A pleasing horror fills the dome ! The statues o'er each antique tomb, Attentive look! while we like them become ! A solemn pause ensues— All things are hush'd, and every breath That round th' Eternal sing! for surely here Again we hear! and silence now is drown'd Fix'd in one solid sted fast gaze, The rustic hind, a human brute, Devours the sounds in deep amaze, Entranc'd, immoveable, and mute. His wakening soul begins to guess Some God within that frame must dwell, Now full convinc'd that nothing less Could speak so sweet, so wondrous well. What sacred rage their breast alarms, Of Music, which the savage tames? Such they that tore the Thracian Bard, Ev'n me, untaught my voice to raise, Thy notes provoke to sing their praise, But as th' unheeded numbers flow, Thus the fond bird whom shade and silence cheers, She sings alternate as the artist plays: Till tir'd, her weak wings droop,and griev'd, she dies! But sweeter Philips in our ruder tongue. While blest with thy celestial airs, How vain we count the views of life, The miser's hopes, the lover's cares, Domestic feuds, and public strife! No more amus'd with gaudy sights, The world seems now to disappear, While sound alone the soul delights, Which ravish'd would for ever hear! Thy music, like the sacred page, Th'obdurate melts, inflames the saint! Each now refin'd from low desires, But who can paint the Poet's fires? How are life's feeble strings oppress'd With the strong rage thy touch inspires, While glowing transports swell his breast? Rising with thy exalted strain, His labouring soul now fain would fly, Fain would shake off this mortal chain, And reascend its native sky! Thus led by Maro's Muse to Cuma's cave, With heighten'd features, and wild glaring eyes, cries: The voice not hers, and more than mortal sound, From vault to vault like thunder echoes round! Hark! Cornet and Cremona join, Blest emblem of seraphic joys! Where various forms and powers combine In harmony of thought and voice, While all to hymn their Sovereign join! But man, unhappy man, whose mind In the same Heaven was fram'd for peace, Varies discordant, like the wind, Whom God nor Sovereign long can please. |