II.

ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN.

WRITTEN IN 1680.

1

1 CLARENDON had law and sense,
Clifford was fierce and brave;
Bennet's grave look was a pretence,
And Danby's matchless impudence
Help'd to support the knave.

2 But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory 1,
These will appear such chits in story,
"Twill turn all politics to jests,

To be repeated like John Dory,
When fiddlers sing at feasts.

3 Protect us, mighty Providence!

What would these madmen have?
First, they would bribe us without pence,
Deceive us without common sense,

And without power enslave.

4 Shall free-born men, in humble awe, Submit to servile shame ;

Lory.

Who from consent and custom draw

The same right to be ruled by law,

Which kings pretend to reign?

Laurence Hyde,' afterwards Earl of Rochester, is the person here called

5 The duke shall wield his conquering sword,
The chancellor make a speech,

The king shall pass his honest word,
The pawn'd revenue sums afford,

And then, come kiss my breech.

6 So have I seen a king on chess

His

(His rooks and knights withdrawn,
queen and bishops in distress)
Shifting about, grow less and less,
With here and there a pawn.

III.

A SONG FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY,1 1687.

1 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

1St Cecilia's Day: 22d November-birthday of St Cecilia, the patron saint of music-a Roman lady martyred in the third century, said to have been taught music by an angel.

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

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

3

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?

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.

5

The woes of hopeless lovers,

Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

Sharp violins proclaim

Their jealous pangs, and desperation,

Fury, frantic indignation,

Depth of pains, and height of passion,

For the fair, disdainful dame.

6 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.

7 Orpheus could lead the savage race ; And trees uprooted 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 appear'd, 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 bless'd 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.

IV.

THE TEARS OF AMYNTA, FOR THE DEATH OF DAMON.

A SONG.

1 ON a bank, beside a willow,

Heaven her covering, earth her pillow,

Sad Amynta sigh'd alone :

From the cheerless dawn of morning

Till the dews of night returning,
Singing thus she made her moan:
Hope is banish'd,

Joys are vanish'd,

Damon, my beloved, is gone!

2 Time, I dare thee to discover
Such a youth and such a lover;
Oh, so true, so kind was he!
Damon was the pride of nature,
Charming in his every feature;
Damon lived alone for me;
Melting kisses,

Murmuring blisses :

Who so lived and loved as we?

3 Never shall we curse the morning,
Never bless the night returning,
Sweet embraces to restore :
Never shall we both lie dying,
Nature failing, Love supplying
All the joys he drain'd before :