Unfortunately brave to buoy the state;
But sinking underneath his master's fate:
In exile with his godlike prince he mourned;
For him he suffered, and with him returned.
The court he practised, not the courtier's art:
Large was his wealth, but larger was his heart,
Which well the noblest objects knew to choose,
The fighting warrior, and recording muse.
His bed could once a fruitful issue boast;
Now more than half a father's name is lost.

825

830

His eldest hope, with every grace adorned,

By me, so heaven will have it, always mourned,

And always honoured, snatched in manhood's prime
By unequal fates, and providence's crime:

Yet not before the goal of honour won,

835

All parts fulfilled of subject and of son:

Swift was the race, but short the time to run.

Oh narrow circle, but of power divine,

Scanted in space, and perfect in thy line!

By sea, by land, thy matchless worth was known,
Arms thy delight, and war was all thy own:
Thy force infused the fainting Tyrians propped,
And haughty Pharaoh found his fortune stopped.
Oh ancient honour! Oh unconquered hand,
Whom foes unpunished never could withstand!
But Israel was unworthy of thy name:
Short is the date of all immoderate fame.
It looks as heaven our ruin had designed,

840

845

And durst not trust thy fortune and thy mind. 850 Now, free from earth, thy disencumbered soul Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and starry pole: From thence thy kindred legions may'st thou bring, To aid the guardian angel of thy king.

Here stop, my muse; here cease thy painful flight; 855 No pinions can pursue immortal height: Tell good Barzillai thou canst sing no more, And tell thy soul she should have fled before: Or fled she with his life, and left this verse To hang on her departed patron's hearse? 860 Now take thy steepy flight from heaven, and see If thou canst find on earth another he:

Another he would be too hard to find;

See then whom thou canst see not far behind.

5

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY

1687

I

FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:

When nature underneath a heap

Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head,

The tuneful voice was heard from high,

"Arise, ye more than dead."

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,

In order to their stations leap,

And Music's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,

This universal frame began;

From harmony to harmony

Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in man.

II

What passion cannot music raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell

To worship that celestial sound:

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?

10

15

20

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.

25

30

35

40

45

50

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 wing 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.

55

60

ALEXANDER'S FEAST

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC

I

'Twas at a 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.)

C

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