H APPY and free, fecurely bleft; II. s; Till you defcending on our plains, III. Your smiles have more of conqu❜ring charms, Than all your native country arms: Their troops we can expel with ease, Who vanquish only when we please. IV. But in your eyes, oh! there's the fpell, You make us captives by your stay, Yet kill us if you go away. This fong is a compliment to the Dutchefs of Portsmouth on her first coming to England. On On the YOUNG STATESMEN. Written in 1680. had law and fenfe, CLAREN Clifford was fierce and brave; Bennet's grave look was a pretence, But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory 2, Protect us, mighty Providence, What would these madmen have ? Shall free-born men, in humble awe, Who from confent and cuftom draw The duke fhall wield his conqu'ring fword, The king fhall pafs his honeft word, And then, come kifs my breech. 2 Laurence Hyde, afterwards earl of Rochester, is the perfon here called Lory, So So have I seen a king on chefs (Hir rooks and knights withdrawn, His queen and bishops in diftrefs) Shifting about, grow lefs and lefs, With here and there a pawn. A SONG for St. CECILIA's Day, 1687. FROM I. ROM harmony, from heav'nly harmony When nature underneath a heap And cou'd not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Then cold, and hot, and moift, and dry, And Mufic's power obey. From harmony, from heav'nly harmony From harmony to harmony Thro' all the compafs of the notes it ran, II. What paffion cannot Mufic raise and quell! When Jubal ftruck the corded fhell, His lift'ning brethren ftcod around, Lefs Less than a God they thought there could not dwell That spoke so fweetly and fo well. What paffion cannot Mufic raise and quell ? III. The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Cries, hark! the foes come; Charge, Charge, 'tis too late to retreat. IV. The foft complaining flute In dying notes difcovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whofe dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. V. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and defperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of paffion, For the fair, difdainful, dame. VI. But oh! what art can teach, What human voice can reach, The facred organ's praise? Notes infpiring holy love, Notes that wing their heav'nly ways VII. Orpheus cou'd lead the favage race ; And trees uprooted left their place, Sequacious of the lyre: But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher: When When to her organ vocal breath was giv'n, Grand CHORUS. As from the pow'r of facred lays So when the laft and dreadful hour The TEARS of AMYNTA, for the DEATH of DAMON. SONG. I. Ο Na bank, befide a willow, Heav'n her cov'ring, earth her pillow, Sad Amynta figh'd alone: From the chearless dawn of morning Joys are vanifh'd, Damon, my belov'd, is gone! II. Time, |