Now strike the golden lyre again :
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain !
Break his bands of sleep asunder

And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark! the horrid sound

Has raised up his head:

As awaked from the dead

And amazed he stares around.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,

See the Furies arise!

See the snakes that they rear

How they hiss in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain

And unburied remain

Inglorious on the plain :

Give the vengeance due

To the valiant crew!

Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes

And glittering temples of their hostile gods.

The princes applaud with a furious joy:

And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way

To light him to his prey,

And like another Helen, fired another Troy!

Thus, long ago,

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute,

Timotheus, to his breathing flute

And sounding lyre

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;

The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store

Enlarged the former narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds,

With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before.

Let old Timotheus yield the prize

Or both divide the crown;

He raised a mortal to the skies;

She drew an angel down!

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.

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

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 clangor

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!"

The soft complaining flute

In dying notes discovers

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.

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.

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 blest 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.

JOHN GAY

(1685-1732)

BLACK-EYED SUSAN

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard;

"O! where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true
If my sweet William sails among the crew."

William, who high upon the yard
Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard
He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below:

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high poised in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest:
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.

"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain ; Let me kiss off that falling tear;

We only part to meet again.

Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.

"Believe not what the landmen say

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind:
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
In every port a mistress find:

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

"If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.

Thus every beauteous object that I view
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

"Though battle call me from thy arms
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms
William shall to his Dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.”

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer must she stay aboard;

They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; “Adieu!” she cries; and waved her lily hand.

ALEXANDER POPE

(1688-1744)

THE QUIET LIFE

HAPPY the man, whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air

In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire ;

Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years, slide soft away

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,