On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew, 'T was that such vulgar miracles Heav'n had not leisure to renew: For all the blest fraternity of love Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holiday above. IV O gracious God! how far have we Profan'd thy heav'nly gift of poesy! Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, Debas'd to each obscene and impious use, Whose harmony was first ordain'd above 60 For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love! O wretched we! why were we hurried down This lubric and adult'rate age, (Nay, added fat pollutions of our own,) T' increase the steaming ordures of the stage? What can we say t' excuse our second fall? Let this thy vestal, Heav'n, atone for all: Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd, Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefil'd; Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child! V 70 But when the peopled ark the whole creation bore. Now all those charms, that blooming grace, 150 The well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous To sweep at once her life and beauty But, like a harden'd felon, took a pride 160 But thus Orinda died: Heav'n, by the same disease, did both translate; As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate. IX Meantime her warlike brother on the seas His waving streamers to the winds dis plays, And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays. Ah, generous youth, that wish forbear, The winds too soon will waft thee here! Slack all thy sails, and fear to come, 170 Alas, thou know'st not, thou art wreck'd at home! No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face, Thou hast already had her last embrace. But look aloft, and if thou kenn'st from far Among the Pleiads a new kindled star; If any sparkles than the rest more bright, "T is she that shines in that propitious light. A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY [About 1683 a musical society in London began the custom of celebrating November 22, the Feast of St. Cecilia, the patroness of music, by a public concert. Dryden wrote the following ode, which was set to music by an Italian composer, Giovanni Battista Draghi, for the performance of 1687.] I FROM harmony, from heav'nly harmony When Nature underneath a heap 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 pow'r obey. From harmony, from heav'nly harmony This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Thro' all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man. II ΤΟ Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain; The master saw the madness rise; Soft pity to infuse: Fallen from his high estate, 70 80 |