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To Him that sits thereon,
With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee ;
Where the bright seraphim in burning row
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just spirits that wear victorious

palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms
Singing everlastingly:
That we on Earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh

din Broke the fair music that all creatures made To their great Lord; whose love their motion

sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. O may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere

long To His celestial consort us unite, To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light!

John Milton.

TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER

Charm me asleep, and melt me so,

With thy delicious numbers, That being ravisht, hence I goe Away in easie slumbers.

Ease my sick head,

And make my bed,
Thou Power that canst sever

From me this ill,
And quickly still,
Though thou not kill,

My fever.

Thou sweetly canst convert the same

From a consuming fire, Into a gentle-licking flame And make it thus expire.

Then make me weep

My paines asleep,
And give me such reposes,

That I, poor I,
May think thereby
I live and die

'Mongst roses.

Fall on me like a silent dew,

Or like those maiden show'rs,
Which, by the peepe of day, doe strew
A baptisme o'er the flowers.

Melt, melt my paines,

With thy soft straines,
That having ease me given,

With full delight,
I leave this light,
And take my fight
For heaven.

Robert Herrick.

O MUSIC! SPHERE - DESCENDED

MAID

(From "The Passions")

O Music! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid !
Why, goddess, why, to us denied,
Layst thou thy ancient lyre aside ?
As in that loved Athenian bower
You learn'd an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd!
Can well recall what then it heard.

Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime !
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording Sister's page; -
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age,
Ev'n all at once together found
Cecilia's mingled world of sound:-
O bid our vain endeavors cease:
Revive the just designs of Greece:
Return in all thy simple state !
Confirm the tales her sons relate!

William Collins.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE

POWER OF MUSIC

'Twas at the 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 plac'd around;
Their brows with roses and with myrtles

bound
(So should desert in arms be crown'd);
The lovely Thais, by his side,
Sate like a blooming Eastern bride
In flower of youth and beauty's pride :-
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the fair!

Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove Who left his blissful seats above Such is the power of mighty love! A dragon's fiery form belied the god; Sublime on radiant spires he rode, When he to fair Olympia prest, And while he sought her snowy breast; Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign

of the world.

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