Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub

Cecilia's name through all the notes we fing,
The work of ev'ry skilful tongue,

The found of ev'ry trembling ftring,

The found and triumph of our fong.

III.

For ever confecrate the day,

To mufic and Cecilia;

Mufic, the greateft good that mortals know,

And all of heav'n we have below.
Mufic can noble hints impart,

Engender fury, kindle love;

With unfufpected eloquence can move,
And manage all the man with fecret art.
When Orpheus frikes the trembling lyre,
The ftreams ftand ftill, the ftones admire ;
The lift'ning favages advance,

The wolf and lamb around him trip,
The bears in aukward meafures leap,
And tigers mingle in the dance.

The moving woods attended as he play'd,
A Rhodope was left without a fhade.

IV.

Mufic religious heats infpires,

It wakes the foul, and lifts it high,
And wings it with fublime defires,
And fits it to befpeak the Deity.

[blocks in formation]

Th' Almighty liftens to a tuneful tongue,

And feems well-pleas'd and courted with a fong.

Soft moving founds and heav'nly airs

Give force for ev'ry word, and recommend our pray❜rs.
When time itself shall be no more,

And all things in confufion hurl'd,
Music fhall then exert its pow'r,

And found furvive the ruins of the world:
Then faints and angels fhall agree

In one eternal jubilee:

All heav'n fhall echo with their hymns divine,

And God himself with pleasure fee The whole creation in a chorus join.

CHORU S.

Confecrate the place and day,

To mufic and Cecilia.

Let no rough winds approach, nor dare

Invade the hallow'd bounds,

Nor rudely fhake the tuneful air,

Nor fpoil the fleeting sounds.

Nor mournful figh nor groan be heard,

But gladness dwell on ev'ry tongue; Whilft all, with voice and ftrings prepar'd,

Keep up the loud harmonious fong.

And imitate the bleft above,

In joy, and harmony, and love.

Ал

An ACCOUNT of the Greatest English POETS.

To Mr. Henry Sacheverell, April 3, 1694.

INCE, dearest Harry, you will needs request
A fhort account of all the Mufe-poffeft,
That down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's times,
Have spent their noble rage in British rhimes;
Without more preface, writ in forinal length,
To fpeak the undertaker's want of ftrength,
I'll try to make their fev'ral beauties known,
And show their verfes worth, tho' not my own.
Long had our dull forefathers slept fupine,
Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful nine;
'Till Chaucer firft, a merry bard, arose,
And many a story told in rhime, and profe.
But age has rufted what the Poet writ,
Worn out his language, and obfcur'd his wit:
In vain he jests in his unpolish'd ftrain,

And tries to make his readers laugh in vain.

Old Spenfer next, warm'd with poetic rage,

In ancient tales amus'd a barb'rous age;

An age that yet uncultivate and rude,

Where-e'er the poet's fancy led, purfu'd
Thro' pathlefs fields, and unfrequented floods,
To dens of dragons, and enchanted woods.
But now the myftic tale, that pleas'd of yore,
Can charm an understanding age no more;
The long-fpun allegories fulfom grow,
While the dull moral lies too plain below.
We view well-pleas'd at diftance all the fights
Of arms and palfries, battles, fields and fights,
And damfels in diftrefs, and courteous knights.
But when we look too near, the fhades decay,
And all the pleafing landskip fades away.

Great Corley then (a mighty genius) wrote,
O'er-run with wit, and lavish of his thought:
His turns too clofely on the reader prefs:

In more had pleas'd us, had he pleas'd us lefs.
Co glittering thought no fooner ftrikes our eyes
With fient wonder, but new wonders rife.
As in the milky-way a fhining white
C'erflows the heav'ns with one continued light;
That not a fingle ftar can fhew its rays,
Whilft jointly all promote the common blaze.
Pardon, great Poet, that I dare to name

Th' unnumber'd beauties of thy verfe with blame
Thy fault is only wit in its excess:

But wit like thine in any fhape will pleasé.

}

What

What Mufe but thine can equal hints infpire,
And fit the deep-mouth'd Pindar to thy lyre:
Pindar, whom others in a labour'd ftrain,
And forc'd expreflion imitate in vain?

Well-pleas'd in thee he foars with new delight, [flight.
And plays in more unbounded verfe, and takes a nobler
Bleft man! whofe fpotlefs life and charming lays
Employ'd the tuneful prelate in thy praise;

Bleft man! who now shall be for ever known,
In Sprat's fuccefsful labours and thy own.

But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks,
Unfetter'd in majeftic numbers walks:

No vulgar hero can his Mufe engage;

;

Nor earth's wide fcene confine his hallow'd rage.
See! fee! he upwards fprings, and tow'ring high
Spurns the dull province of mortality,

Shakes heav'n's eternal throne with dire alarms,
And fets th' Almighty thunderer in arms.
What-e'er his pen defcribes I more than fee, ·
Whilft ev'ry verfe, array'd in majefty,
Bold, and fublime, my whole attention draws,
And feems above the critics nicer laws.
How are you ftruck with terror and delight,
When angel with arch-angel copes in fight!
When great Mefliah's out-fpread banner fines,
How does the chariot rattle in his lines!
D-5

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

What

« PředchozíPokračovat »