Now all those charms, that blooming grace,

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The well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous
face,
Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes:
In earth the much-lamented virgin lies!
Not wit, nor piety could fate prevent;
Nor was the cruel Destiny content
To finish all the murder at a blow,

To sweep at once her life and beauty too;

But, like a harden'd felon, took a pride
To work more mischievously slow,
And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd.
O double sacrilege on things divine,
To rob the relic, and deface the shrine!

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But thus Orinda died:

Heav'n, by the same disease, did both translate;

As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate.

IX

Meantime her warlike brother on the seas His waving streamers to the winds dis

plays,

And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays.

Ah, generous youth, that wish forbear, The winds too soon will waft thee here! Slack all thy sails, and fear to come, 170 Alas, thou know'st not, thou art wreck'd at home!

No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face, Thou hast already had her last embrace. But look aloft, and if thou kenu'st from far

Among the Pleiads a new kindled star; If any sparkles than the rest more bright, "T is she that shines in that propitious light.

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY

[About 1683 a musical society in London began the custom of celebrating November 22, the Feast of St. Cecilia, the patroness of music, by a public concert. Dryden wrote the following ode, which was set to music by an Italian composer, Giovanni Battista Draghi, for the performance of 1687.]

I

FROM harmony, from heav'nly 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 pow'r obey.

From harmony, from heav'nly harmony This universal frame begau: From harmony to harmony

Thro' all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man.

II

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Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again;

And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he slew the slain.

The master saw the madness rise;
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heav'n and earth defied,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful Muse,

Soft pity to infuse:
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,

Fallen from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

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