ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

He sung, and Hell consented
To hear the poet's prayer:
Stern Proserpine relented,
And gave him back the fair:
Thus song could prevail

O'er Death and o'er Hell,

A conquest how hard, and how glorious!
Though Fate had fast bound her,
With Styx nine times round her,
Yet Music and Love were victorious.

But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes,
Again she falls-again she dies-she dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move?
No crime was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,

Beside the falls of fountains,

Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in meanders,
All alone,

Unheard, unknown,
He makes his moan;
And calls her ghost,
For ever, ever, ever lost!
Now with Furies surrounded,
Despairing, confounded,

He trembles, he glows,

Amidst Rhodope's snows:

See, wild as the winds, o'er the desert he flies;

265

Hark! Hæmus resounds with the Bacchanals' criesAh see, he dies!

Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung,

Eurydice still trembled on his tongue,

Eurydice the woods,

Eurydice the floods,

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ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

Eurydice the rocks, and hollow mountains rung.
Music the fiercest grief can charm,

And fate's severest rage disarm;
Music can soften pain to ease,

And make despair and madness please;
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,

And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th' immortal pow'rs incline their ear
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire;
And angels lean from Heav'n to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater pow'r is giv'n;
His numbers rais'd a shade from Hell,
Hers lift the soul to Heav'n.

A. Pope.

ODE ON THE UNIVERSE.

ODE ON THE UNIVERSE.

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky
And spangled heavens (a shining frame)
Their great Original proclaim.

The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,

And publishes to every land

The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale;
And nightly to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth;

Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings, as they roll

And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What, though in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
What, though no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found;
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice:
For ever singing as they shine:-
"The Hand that made us is divine."
Joseph Addison.

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268 ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.

ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing

That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty

Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside; and, here with us to be,

Forsook the courts of everlasting day,

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein

Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain

To welcome him to this his new abode,

Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod,

Hath took no print of the approaching light,

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

See how from far, upon the eastern road,

The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet:

O run, prevent them with thy humble ode

ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 269

And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,

And join thy voice unto the angel quire

From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.

It was the winter wild

THE HYMN.

While the heaven-born Child

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
Nature in awe to him

Had doff'd her gaudy trim,

With her great Master so to sympathize:
It was no season then for her

To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

Only with speeches fair

She woos the gentle air

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow;
And on her naked shame,

Pollute with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw;

Confounded, that her Maker's eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

But he, her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;

She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere,

His ready harbinger,

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;

And waving wide her myrtle wand,

She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

No war, or battle's sound

Was heard the world around: