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If golden fconces hang not on the walls,
If well-tun'd harps, nor the more pleafing found
Yet on the grafs, beneath a poplar fhade,
By the cool ftream, our careless limbs are laid;
With golden canopies and beds of state;
And tremble in the dark; fo riper years,
E'en in broad day-light, are poffeft with fears;
As thofe which in the breaft of children reign.
Their beams abroad, and bring the darkfome foul to day.
VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS,
CREATOR Spirit, by whofe aid,
The world's foundations firft were laid,
pour thy joys on human kind:
From fin and forrow fet us free,
Plenteous of grace, defcend from high,
Rich in thy feven-fold energy!
Thou ftrength of his Almighty hand,
Whofe pow'r does heav'n and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who doft the gift of tongues difpense,
And crown'ft thy gift with eloquence!
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
Chafe from our minds th' infernal for,
Make us eternal truths receive,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee!
The Power of Music.
AN ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.
"TWAS at the royal feaft, for Perfia won,
By Philip's warlike fon :
Aloft in awful ftate
The god-like hero fate
On his imperial throne :
His valiant peers were plac'd around;
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound, (So fhould defert in arms be crown'd:)
The lovely Thais by his fide
Sat like a blooming eastern bride,
In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deferves the fair,
Timotheus plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful choir,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes afcend the sky,
The fong began from Jove;
Who left his blifsful feats above,
(Such is the power of mighty love!)
When he to fair Olympia press'd,
And ftamp'd an image of himself, a fov'reign of the The lift'ning crowd admire the lofty found;
A prefent deity, they thout around,
A prefent deity the vaulted roofs rebound.
With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears;
Affects to nod,
And feems to shake the spheres.
The praife of Bacchus then, the fweet mufician fung
Of Bacchus, ever fair, and ever young:
He thews his honeft face.
Now give the hautboys breath: he comes, he comes!
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did first ordain :
Bacchus' bleffings are a treasure;
Drinking is the foldier's pleasure :
Sweet the pleasure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Sooth'd with the found, the king grew vain ;
Fought all his battles o'er again;
And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he flew the
The mafter faw the madnefs rife ;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
Fail'n from his high eftate,