There must be harmony to crown their love.

Dirges with sorrow still inspire

The doleful and lamenting choir,
With swelling hearts and flowing eyes
They solemnize their obsequies;

For grief they frequent discords chuse,
Long bindings and chromatics use.
Organs and viols sadly groan

To the voice's dismal tone.

If Love's gentle passions we
Express, there must be harmony:
We touch the soft and tender flute,
The sprinkling and melodious lute,
When we describe the tickling smart
Which does invade a love-sick heart:
Sweet nymphs in pretty murmurs plain,
All chill and panting with the pleasing pain,
Which can be eas'd by nothing but the swain.

If poets, in a lofty epic strain,

Some ancient noble history recite, How heroes love, and puissant conquerors fight, Or how of cruel fortune they complain;

Or if the Muse the fate of empires sings,

The change of crowns, the rise and fall of kings

CHORUS.

'Tis sacred Music does impart

Life and vigor to the art;

It makes the dumb poetic pictures breathe,

Victors' and Poets' names it saves from death.
How does the thund'ring martial song

Provoke the military throng!

The haut-boys and the warlike fife,
With clamors of the deafening drum,
Make peasants bravely hazard life,
And quicken those whom fears benumb!
The clangor of the trumpet's sound
Fills all the dusty place around,

And does from neighbouring hills rebound;
Iö triumph when we sing,

We make the trembling valleys ring.

GRAND GHORUS.

All instruments and voices fit the choir,
While we enchanting harmony admire.
What mighty wonders by our arts are taught,
What miracles by sacred numbers wrought
On earth! in Heaven, no joys are perfect found,
Till by celestial harmony they're crown'd.

ODE IV.

ON

ST. CECILIA's DAY.

BY NICHOLAS BRADY, D. D. 1692.

HAIL! bright Cecilia, hail! fill every heart
With love of thee and thy celestial art;

That thine and Music's sacred love
May make the British forest prove

As famous as Dodona's vocal grove :

Hark! hark! each tree its silence breaks,
The box and fir to talk begin!

This in the sprightly violin,

"That in the flute distinctly speaks!

'Twas sympathy their listening brethren drew, When to the Thracian lyre with leafy wings they flew 'Tis Nature's voice; by all the moving wood Of creatures understood:

'The universal tongue to none

Of all her numerous race unknown!
From her it learn'd the mighty art

To court the ear, and strike the heart:

At once the passions to express and move;

We hear, and straight we grieve or hate, rejoice or love: In unseen chains it does the fancy bind;

At once it charms the sense, and captivates the mind.
Soul of the world! inspir'd by thee,

The jarring seeds of matter did agree;
Thou didst the scatter'd atoms bind,

Which, by thy laws of true proportion join'd,
Made up of various parts one perfect harmony.
Thou tun'dst this world below, the spheres above,

Which in the heavenly round to their own music move.
With that sublime celestial lay

Dare any earthly sounds compare?
If any earthly music dare,

The noble organ may.

From Heaven its wondrous notes were given,

(Cecilia oft convers'd with Heaven,)

Some Angel of the sacred choir

Did with his breath the pipes inspire;

And of their notes above the just resemblance gave, Brisk without lightness, without dullness grave. Wondrous machine!

To thee the warbling lute,

Though us'd to conquest, must be forc'd to yield: With thee unable to dispute,

The airy violin

And lofty viol quit the field;

In vain they tune their speaking strings,

To court the cruel Fair, or praise victorious Kings.
Vol. XVIII.

C

Whilst all thy consecrated lays
Are to more noble uses bent;

And every grateful note to Heaven repays,
The melody it lent.

In vain the amorous flute and soft guittar
Jointly labor to inspire

Wanton heat and loose desire;
Whilst thy chaste airs do gently move
Seraphic flame, and heavenly love.
The fife and all the harmony of war

In vain attempt the passions to alarm, Which thy commanding sounds compose and charm. Let these among themselves contest, Which can discharge its single duty best.

Thou summ'st their differing graces up in one, And art a concert of them all within thyself alone.

GRAND CHORUS.

Hail! bright Cecilia, hail to thee!
Great Patroness of Us and Harmony!
Who, whilst amongst the choir above
Thou dost thy former skill improve,
With rapture of delight dost see
Thy favourite art

Make up a part

Of infinite felicity.

Hail! bright Cecilia, hail to thee!

Great Patroness of Us and Harmony!