ODE V.

ON

ST. CECILIA's DAY.

BY THEOPHILUS PARSONS. 1693.

CECILIA, look, look down, and see
A tribute paid to Harmony,

A tribute paid to Heaven and Thee:
And while we Music's praise rehearse,
In lower notes and fainter verse,

Warm you, great Saint, your willing choir,
With your own celestial fire.

May you move on every string,
Warble sweets in every voice,

In every note your grateful influence sing,
And by your aid confirm our happy choice.
Eldest of arts, and universal spring
Of every thing!

When beings in a dark confusion lay,

Thy voice the sullen gloom did chase,
Matter did its form embrace,

And Chaos fled before the new-born day.
Heaven look'd, and all good things did see,
And all that good arose from Harmony.

Parent of all! thou still dost

sway,

And o'er this lower world preside;
Man and his passions thee obey,
As meaner waters the commanding tide,
Or that, the moon's imperious ray.
Beauty may wound th' unguarded eyes,
And slowly creep into the heart:

But Music quick as lightning flies;
The pleasure dances with the smart,
And melts and trills through every part.
Without the magic of the Fair,

We love, we sigh, and we despair,

We catch at sounds, and grasp the fleeting air. Hark! hark! the trumpet calls to arm;

What vein so drowsy feels not the alarm,
And wakes not at th' inspiring charm?
The warlike horse already paws,
And neighs aloud his warm applause.
In vain is now the softening flute,
In vain the warbling of the lute,

Or the gay violin's persuading airs,

The philtre glides successless through our ears. Ev'n Cecilia's voice no more can tame

The forward hero's lust of fame.

A charm might vanquish, if apply'd,
A madman's frenzy, or a woman's pride:
Temper with hope the lover's fears,
(An April-shine to gild his tears)
The weather of our happiness abate,

Softer than Love, yet absolute as Fate.
But, oh! more subtle virtue flows,

Such jarring passions to compose.

Still, still the work, O sacred Harmony, is thine!
We hear, and straight the ruffled soul
Is still; the billows cease to roll,
The swelling streams decline,
And every wounded faculty is whole.
Thus, at the shepherd's tuneful cry
Divided flocks together fly :

The rivulets their murmurs cease;
Without a breath of wind the trees,
And smiling Nature's all around at peace.

GRAND CHORUS.

Tune all your instruments aloud,

Glad voices mingling with the cheerful croud;

Sacred to Cecilia's praise.

Thus we'll grateful offerings bring,

Yearly thus her praises sing:

Till, join'd in chorus with our Saint above,

We take a nobler theme, to prove

By endless Harmony immortal Love.

ODE VI.

ON

ST. CECILIA's DAY.

BY THOMAS YALDEN. D.D. 1693.

I.

BEGIN, and strike th' harmonious lyre!
Let the loud instruments prepare

To raise our souls, and charm the ear,
With joys which Music only can inspire:
Hark, how the willing strings obey!
To consecrate this happy day,

Sacred to Music, Love, and blest Cecilia.
In lofty numbers, tuneful lays,
We'll celebrate the virgin's praise:

Her skilful hand first taught our strings to move:
To her the sacred harp we owe,

Who first anticipated heaven below,

And play'd the hymns on earth, that she now sings

above.

11.

What moving charms his tuneful voice contains!

Charms that through the willing ear

A tide of pleasing raptures bear,

And, with diffusive joys, run thrilling thro' our veins,

The listening soul does sympathize,
And with each varied note complies,
While gay and sprightly airs delight,

Then free from cares, and unconfir'd,
It takes, in pleasing ecstacies, its flight:
With mournful sounds, a sadder garb it wears,
Indulges grief, and gives aloose to tears.

III.

Music's the language of the blest above,
No voice but Music's can express
The joys that happy souls possess.

Nor in just raptures tell the wondrous power of Love. 'Tis Nature's dialect, design'd

To charm, and to instruct the mind.

Music's an universal good!

That does dispense its joys around,

In all the elegance of sound,

To be by men admir'd, by angels understood.

IV.

Let every restless passion cease to move!
And each tumultuous thought obey
The happy influence of this day,
For Music's unity and love.
Music's the soft indulger of the mind,

The kind diverter of our care,

The surest refuge mournful grief can find,
A cordial to the breast, and charm to every ear.
Thus, when the prophet struck his tuneful lyre,
Saul's evil genius did retire: