ODE ON ST. CECILIA's DAY. Christopher Smart Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1135 K093079.002 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. II. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 222-229. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ODE ON ST. CECILIA's DAY . BY THE SAME . I. FROM your lyre-enchanted towers , Ye musically mystic Powers , Ye , that inform the tuneful spheres , Inaudible to mortal ears , While each orb in ether swims Accordant to th' inspiring hymns ; Hither Paradise remove , Spirits of Harmony and Love ! Thou too , divine Urania , deign to appear , And with thy sweetly-solemn lute To the grand argument the numbers suit ; Such as sublime and clear , Replete with heavenly love , Charm th' inraptur'd souls above . Disdainful of fantastic play , Mix on your ambrosial tongue Weight of sense with sound of song , And be angelically gay . II . And you , ye sons of Harmony below , How little less than angels , when ye sing ! With Emulation's kindling warmth shall glow , And from your mellow-modulating throats The tribute of your grateful notes In union of piety shall bring . Shall Echo from her vocal cave Repay each note the shepherd gave , And shall not we our mistress praise , And give her back the borrow'd lays ? But farther still our praises we pursue ; For ev'n Cecilia , mighty maid , Confess'd she had superior aid — She did — and other rites to greater Powers are due : Higher swell the sound and higher : Let the winged numbers climb : To the heaven of heavens aspire , Solemn , sacred , and sublime : From heaven Music took its rise , Return it to its native skies . III . Music's a celestial art ; Cease to wonder at its power , Tho' lifeless rocks to motion start , Tho' trees dance lightly from the bower , Tho' rolling floods in sweet suspence Are held , and listen into sense , In Penshurst's plains , when Waller , sick with love , Has found some silent , solitary grove , Where the vague moon-beams pour a silver flood Of tremulous light athwart th' unshaven wood , Within an hoary moss-grown cell , He lays his careless limbs without reserve , And strikes , impetuous strikes each querulous nerve Of his resounding shell . In all the woods , in all the plains , Around a lively stillness reigns ; The deer approach the secret scene , And weave their way thro' labyrinths green ; While Philomela learns the lay , And answers from the neighbouring bay . But Medway , melancholy mute , Gently on his urn reclines , And all-attentive to the lute , In uncomplaining anguish pines : The crystal waters weep away , And bear the tidings to the sea : Neptune in the boisterous seas Spreads the placid bed of peace , While each blast , Or breathes its last , Or just does sigh a symphony and cease . IV . Behold Arion — on the stern he stands , Pall'd in theatrical attire , To the mute strings he moves th' enlivening hands , Great in distress , and wakes the golden lyre : While in a tender Orthian strain He thus accosts the mistress of the main : By the bright beams of Cynthia's eyes , Thro' which your waves attracted rise , And actuate the hoary deep ; By the secret coral cell , Where Love , and Joy , and Neptune dwell , And peaceful floods in silence sleep ; By the sea-flowers , that immerge Their heads around the grotto's verge , Dependent from the stooping stem ; By each roof-suspended drop , That lightly lingers on the top , And hesitates into a gem ; By thy kindred watery gods , The lakes , the rivulets , founts and floods , And all the Powers that live unseen Underneath the liquid green ; Great Amphitrite ( for thou canst bind The storm , and regulate the wind ) Hence waft me , fair Goddess , oh waft me away , Secure from the men , and the monsters of prey ! V. He sung — The winds are charm'd to sleep , Soft stillness steals along the deep , The Tritons and the Nereids sigh In soul-reflecting sympathy , And all the audience of waters weep . But Amphitrite her dolphin sends — the same , Which erst to Neptune brought the nobly perjur'd dame . — Pleas'd to obey , the beauteous monster flies , And on his scales as the gilt sun-beams play , Ten thousand variegated dies In copious streams of lustre rise , Rise o'er the level main , and signify his way . — And now the joyous Bard , in triumph bore , Rides the voluminous wave , and makes the wish'd-for shore . Come , ye festive , social throng , Who sweep the lyre , or pour the song , Your noblest melody employ , Such as becomes the mouth of Joy ; Bring the sky-aspiring thought , With bright expression richly wrought ; And hail the Muse ascending on her throne , The main at length subdu'd , and all the world her own . VI . But o'er th' affections too she claims the sway , Pierces the human heart , and steals the soul away ; And as attractive sounds move high or low , Th' obedient ductile passions ebb and flow . Has any nymph her faithful lover lost , And in the visions of the night , And all the day-dreams of the light , In Sorrow's tempest turbulently tost — From her cheeks the roses die , The radiations vanish from her sun-bright eye , And her breast , the throne of love , Can hardly , hardly , hardly move , To send th' ambrosial sigh . But let the skilful Bard appear , And pour the sounds medicinal in her ear : Sing some sad , some plaintive ditty , Steept in tears that endless flow , Melancholy notes of pity , Notes that mean a worldof woe ; She too shall sympathize , she too shall moan , And pitying others sorrows sigh away her own . VII . Wake , wake the kettle-drum , prolong The swelling trumpet's silver song , And let the kindred accents pass Thro' the horn's meandering brass . Arise — The patriot Muse invites to war , And mounts Bellona's brazen car ; While Harmony , terrific maid ! Appears in martial pomp array'd : The sword , the target , and the lance She wields , and as she moves , exalts the Pyrrhic dance . Trembles the earth , resound the skies — Swift o'er the fleet , the camp she flies With thunder in her voice , and lightning in her eyes . The gallant warriors engage With inextinguishable rage , And hearts unchill'd with fear ; Fame numbers all the chosen bands , Full in the front fair Victory stands , And Triumph crowns the rear . VIII . But hark the temple's hollow'd roof resounds , And Purcell lives along the solemn sounds . — Mellifluous , yet manly too , He pours his strains along , As from the lion Sampson slew , Comes sweetness from the strong . Not like the soft Italian swains , He trills the weak enervate strains , Where Sense and Music are at strife ; His vigorous notes with meaning teem , With fire , with force explain the theme , And sing the subject into life . Attend — he sings Cecilia — matchless dame ! 'Tis she — 'tis she , — fond to extend her fame , On the loud chords the notes conspire to stay , And sweetly swell into a long delay , And dwell delighted on her name . Blow on , ye sacred organs , blow , In tones magnificently slow ; Such is the music , such the lays Which suit your fair inventress' praise : While round religious silence reigns , And loitering winds expect the strains . Hail majestic mournful measure , Source of many a pensive pleasure ! Blest pledge of love to mortals given , As pattern of the rest of heaven ! And thou , chief honor of the veil , Hail , harmonious virgin , hail ! When Death shall blot out every name , And Time shall break the trump of Fame , Angels may listen to thy lute : Thy power shall last , thy bays shall bloom , When tongues shall cease , and worlds consume , And all the tuneful spheres be mute .