Him shall our grateful songs declare

Ever to British shepherds dear.

DUET.

Him shall our grateful songs declare, Ever to British shepherds dear.

CANTATA VI.

THE RELIGIOUS.

RECITATIVE.

HERE, tyrant Superstition, ugly fiend,

Harpy with an angel's face,

Monster in Religion's dress,

Thy impious pray'rs and bloody visions end.

Hence, with thy sister Persecution, go-
Hence with all her pleasing dreans

Of martyrs' groans, and virgins' screams,
The stretching rack, and horrid wheel,
Slow fires, and consecrated steel,
And every priestly implement of woe,
And every threaten'd tool of hoodwink'd zeal,
Ingenious Rome can find, or tortur'd Nature feel.

AIR.

From Britain's happier clime repair
To southern suns and slavish air-

To empty halls,

To midnight bells,

To cloister'd walls,
To gloomy cells,

Where moping Melancholy dwells

WILLIAM's name shall reach you there, And sink your souls with black despair.

RECITATIVE.

The Hero comes, and with him brings
Fair Hope, that soars on Cherub's wings;
Firm Faith attends with stedfast eye,
Intent on things above the sky,
To mortal ken unknown; and she,
Meek and seemly, kind and free,
Ever hoping, still believing,
Still forbearing, still forgiving,
Greatest of the heavenly Three.

AIR.

Britons, join the godlike train,
Learn, that all but Truth is vain,

And to her lyre attune your joy:
No gifts so pure as those she brings,
No notes so sweet as those she sings,

To praise the heav'nly-favor'd Boy.

ODE XVIII.

FOR MUSIC.

ON OPENING THE NEW REGENT HOUSE AT THE PUBLIC COMMENCEMENT AT CAMBRIDGE.

BY JOHN TAYLOR, L.L.D. 1730.

GODDESS of the Brave and Wise,

On whose divided Empire wait
The martial triumphs of the Great,

And all the tuneful throng

That wake the vocal chord, and shape the flying song ! A while successive to thy trust

Let BRITAIN'S Genius, great and just, ·

The fate of Empires guard :
A while let Arts, thy other care,
To toils of Glory be preferr'd;
And say, amidst the waste of war,
Did ever to thy wondering eyes
A fairer scene of triumph rise ?

Then swell the verse, and let it be

Sacred to Science, Harmony, and Thee.

Let widow'd Empires speak thy sterner sway,
The mouldering arch, the ruin large,

The column faithless to its charge,

And bitter waste that marks the Conqueror's way:

But be thy softer, better praise,

Be thine, and Music's toil to raise,

To mend the soul, and melt the heart:

MUSIC! the Founder Art,

MUSIC! the soul of Verse, and friend of Peace.

Who pois'd the well-tun'd spheres,
And led the chorus of the circling years,
When Chaos held distemper'd sway,
And jarring atoms, Cold and Heat,
The Light, the Grave, the Dry, the Wet,
In sullen discord lay?

'Twas Harmony, 'twas Builder Harmony: 'Twas Harmony compos'd this concert frame, 'Twas Harmony which upwards flung the active flame, Prescrib'd the air in middle space to flow, And bade the wave and grosser earth subside below. Then all yon tuneful res:less Choir

Began their radiant journeys to advance,

And with unerring symphony to roll the central dance.

CHORUS.

Whilst we the measur'd song decree,

Builder Harmony, to thee,

Tune every chord, and every note inspire.

But hark! Amphion shakes the yielding strings,
And animated rocks around him throng,