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.

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!

"LOVE STILL HAS SOMETHING."

BY SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.-1639-1701.

[SIR CHARLES SEDLEY was born at Aylesford, in Kent, in 1639, and was educated at Oxford. He was one of the leading wits of the Court of Charles II., where he squandered his estates, his time, and his moral character. But in his latter years he redeemed his reputation; and opposed, in Parliament, the arbitrary measures of James II. His daughter was the mistress of that monarch, who made her Countess of Dorchester; and when Sedley was asked why he promoted the Revolution, he replied that he did it out of gratitude; for since the king made his daughter a countess, it was fit that he should make the king's daughter a queen. He died in 1701.]

LOVE still has something of the sea,

From whence his mother rose;

No time his slaves from doubt can free,
Nor give their thoughts repose.

They are becalm'd in clearest days,
And in rough weather toss'd ;
They wither under cold delays,
Or are in tempests lost.

One while they seem to touch the port,
Then straight into the main
Some angry wind, in cruel sport,
The vessel drives again.

At first disdain and pride they fear,
Which, if they chance to 'scape,
Rivals and falsehood soon appear
In a more cruel shape.

By such decrees to joy they come,
And are so long withstood;
So slowly they receive the sun,
It hardly does them good.