O footh her Cares

With fofteft, fweetest Airs,

'Till Victory and Peace restore Her faithful Lover to her tender Breast, Within her folding Arms to rest, Thence never to be parted more, No never to be parted more.

CHORUS.

Let Victory and Peace restore
Her faithful Lover to her tender Breast,
Within her folding Arms to reft,
Thence never to be parted more,
No never to be parted more,

VIII.

Enough, Urania, heav'nly Fair!
Now to thy native Skies repair,
And rule again the ftarry Sphere;
Cecilia comes, with holy Rapture fill'd,
To eafe the World of Care.
Cecilia, more than all the Muses skill'd!
Phoebus himself to her muft yield,
And at her Feet lay down

His golden Harp and laurel Crown.
The loft enervate Lyre is drown'd

In the deep Organ's more majestick Sound.
In Peals the fwelling Notes afcend the Skies;
Perpetual Breath the fwelling Notes fupplies,
And lafting as her Name,

Who form'd the tuneful Frame,

Th' immortal Mufick never dies,

GRAND CHORUS.

Cecilia, more than all the Muses skill'd,
Phoebus himself to her muft yield,

Aaa

And

Congreve.

Congreve.

And at her Feet lay down
His golden Harp and laurel Crown,
The loft enervate Lyre is drown'd

In the deep Organ's more majestick Sound.
In Peals the dwelling Notes afcend the skies;
Perpetual Breath the Iwelling Notes fupplies,
And lafting as her Name,

Who form'd the tuneful Frame,
Th' immortal Mufick never dies.

Dryden.

Seine, gleichfalls für den Cåcilientag bestimmte, mufis kalische Ode, Alexander's Feast, ist eins der herrlichsten Meis fterstücke der neuern Poesie; reich an zaubersoller Mannichfaltigkeit der Bilder und Beschreibungen, an Schönheit und Wohlklang des Ausdrucks, und am wirkungsvollsten Wechs fel der Empfindung. Schon im J. 1687 schrieb er auf eben diese Veranlassung eine kürzere Ode auf die Harmonie, die gleichfalls sehr schöne Stellen hat. Gar sehr aber übertraf er sich selbst, und alle seine Vorgänger und Nachfolger, in gegenwärtiger Ode, die Pope in seinem Effay on Criticism sehr treffend charakterisirt:

Hear, how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise,

And bid alternate paffions fall and rise!
While at each change the fon of Libyan Jove

Now burns with glory, and then melts with love;
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,`

Now fighs steal out, and tears begin to flow.

Perfians and Greeks like turns of nature found, And the world's victor stood fubdu'd by found. The pow'r of mufic all our hearts allow, And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now. Uebrigens weiß man, daß Håndel, im J. 1735, dieß Meis sterstück im eben so meißterhafte Musik seßte; und daß wir es Hrn. Rarnler zu verdanken haben, der eiren deutschen Text, mit Grundlage der Weißischen Ueberseßung, zu dieser Koms position einrichtete, daß diese lettre auch in Deutschland bekannter geworden, und mehrmals von Kennern bewundert ift.

ALEXANDER'S FEAST.

AN ODE

IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY.

Dryden.

I.

"T

was at the royal feaft, for Perfia won By Philip's warlike fon:

Aa3

Aloft

Dryden. Aloft in awful ftate
The godlike hero fate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around,
Their brows with rofes and with myrtles bound,

(So fhould defert in arms be crown'd).

The lovely Thais by his fide

Sate like a blooming Eaftern 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 quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre;
The trembling notes afcend the sky,
And heav'nly joys inspire.

The fong began from Jove,
Who left his blifsful feats above,
(Such is the pow'r of mighty love)

A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god;
Sublime on radiant fpires he rode,
When he to fair Olympia prest,

And while he fought her fnowy breaft;

Then round her flender waift he curl'd,

And ftamp'd an image of himself a fov'reign of the

world.

The lift'ning crowd admire the lofty found;

A prefent Deity! they fhoot around,

A prefent Deity! the vaulted roofs rebound.

The praile of Bacchus then the fweet mufician fung;

ཟླ་།

Of Bacchus, ever fair and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums:
Flufh'd with a purple grace,

He fhews his honeft face.

Now give the hautboys breath. He comes! he

comes!