JOHN DRYDEN.

[1631-1701.]

SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY, 1687.
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.

The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whispered 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.

But O, 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.

To sixty more, but that he lived too fast, Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense, And made almost a sin of abstinence. Yet had his aspect nothing of severe, But such a face as promised him sincere. Nothing reserved or sullen was to see; But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity. Mild was his accent, and his action free. With eloquence innate his tongue was armed;

Though harsh the precept, yet the people charmed. For, letting down the golden chain from

high,

He drew his audience upward to the sky: And oft with holy hymns he charmed their ears

(A music more melodious than the spheres);

For David left him, when he went to rest, His lyre; and after him he sung the best.

He bore his great commission in his look; But sweetly tempered awe, and softened all he spoke.

He preached the joys of heaven and pains of hell,

He taught the gospel rather than the law; And forced himself to drive; but loved to draw.

For fear but freezes minds; but love, like heat,

Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat.

And warned the sinner with becoming zeal;

But on eternal mercy loved to dwell.

To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard, Wrapped in his crimes, against the storm prepared ; But when the milder beams of mercy play,

He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.

Lightning and thunder (heaven's artillery)

As harbingers before the Almighty fly: Those but proclaim his style, and disappear;

The stiller sounds succeed, and God is there.

REASON.