by John Dryden
From the chearless dawn of Morning
Till the Dews of Night returning, 5
Singing thus she made her mone:
Hope is banish’d,
Joys are vanish’d,
Damon, my belov’d, is gone!
2
Time, I dare thee to discover 10
Such a Youth, and such a Lover;
Oh, so true, so kind was he!
Damon was the pride of Nature,
Charming in his every Feature;
Damon liv’d alone for me: 15
Melting Kisses,
Murmuring Blisses;
Who so liv’d and lov’d as we!
3
Never shall we curse the Morning,
Never bless the Night returning, 20
Sweet Embraces to restore:
Never shall we both ly dying,
Nature failing, love supplying
All the Joys he drain’d before.
Death come end me 25
To befriend me;
Love and Damon are no more.
Song (“Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of Fifteen”)
I.
Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of Fifteen
Felt an innocent warmth, as she lay on the green;
She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guest
By the towzing and tumbling and touching her Breast:
She saw the men eager, but was at a loss, 5
What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing,
And sighing and kissing, 10
And sighing and kissing so close.
II.
Ah she cry’d, ah for a languishing Maid
In a Country of Christians to die without aid!
Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least,
Or a Protestant Parson or Catholick Priest, 15
To instruct a young Virgin that is at a loss
What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing, 20
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.
III.
Cupid in Shape of a Swayn did appear,
He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near,
Then show’d her his Arrow, and bid her not fear, 25
For the pain was no more than a Maiden may bear;
When the balm was infus’d, she was not at a loss
What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining, 30
And panting and wishing,
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.
A Song for St. Cecilia’s Day, November 22, 1687
1
FROM Harmony, from heav’nly Harmony
This universal Frame began;
When Nature underneath a heap
Of jarring Atomes lay,
And cou’d not heave her Head. 5
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 MUSICK’S pow’r obey. 10
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. 15
2
What Passion cannot MUSICK raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the corded Shell,
His listening Brethren stood around,
And, wond’ring, on their Faces fell
To worship that Celestial Sound: 20
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 MUSICK raise and quell?
3
The TRUMPETS loud Clangor 25
Excites us to Arms
With shrill Notes of Anger
And mortal Alarms.
The double double double beat
Of the thund’ring DRUM 30
Cryes, heark the Foes come;
Charge, Charge, ’tis too late to retreat.
4
The soft complaining FLUTE
In dying Notes discovers
The Woes of hopeless Lovers, 35
Whose Dirge is whisper’d by the warbling LUTE.
5
Sharp VIOLINS proclaim
Their jealous Pangs and Desperation,
Fury, frantick Indignation,
Depth of Pains and Height of Passion, 40
For the fair, disdainful Dame.
6
But oh! what Art can teach
What human Voice can reach
The sacred ORGANS Praise?
Notes inspiring holy Love, 45
Notes that wing their heavenly Ways
To mend the Choires above.
7
Orpheus cou’d lead the savage race,
And Trees unrooted left their Place,
Sequacious of the Lyre; 50
But bright CECILIA rais’d the Wonder high’r:
When to her Organ vocal Breath was given,
An Angel heard, and straight appear’d
Mistaking Earth for Heav’n.
Grand CHORUS.
As from the Pow’r of Sacred Lays 55
The Spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator’s Praise
To all the bless’d above;
So, when the last and dreadful Hour
This crumbling Pageant shall devour, 60
The TRUMPET shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And MUSICK shall untune the Sky.
The Lady’s Song
I
A QUIRE of bright Beauties in Spring did appear,
To chuse a May-lady to govern the Year;
All the Nymphs were in White, and the Shepherds in Green,
The Garland was giv’n, and Phillis was Queen;
But Phillis refus’d it, and sighing did say, 5
I’ll not wear a Garland while Pan is away.
II
While Pan, and fair Syrinx, are fled from our Shore,
The Graces are banish’d, and Love is no more:
The soft God of Pleasure that warm’d our Desires
Has broken his Bow, and extinguish’d his Fires, 10
And vows that himself, and his Mother, will mourn,
Till Pan and fair Syrinx in Triumph return.
III
Forbear your Addresses, and Court us no more,
For we will perform what the Deity swore:
But, if you dare think of deserving our Charms, 15
Away with your Sheephooks, and take to your Arms;
Then Lawrels and Myrtles your Brows shall adorn,
When Pan, and his Son, and fair Syrinx, return.
A Song to a Fair Young Lady going out of Town in the Spring
1
ASK not the Cause, why sullen Spring
So long delays her flow’rs to bear;
Why warbling Birds forget to sing,
And Winter Storms invert the Year?
Chloris is gone; and Fate provides 5
To make it Spring, where she resides.
2
Chloris is gone, the Cruel Fair;
She cast not back a pitying Eye:
But left her Lover in Despair,
To sigh, to languish, and to die: 10
Ah, how can those fair Eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!
3
Great God of Love, why hast thou made
; A Face that can all Hearts command,
That all Religions can invade, 15
And change the Laws of ev’ry Land?
Where thou hadst plac’d such Pow’r before,
Thou shou’dst have made her Mercy more.
4
When Chloris to the Temple comes,
Adoring Crowds before her Fall; 20
She can restore the Dead from Tombs,
And every Life but mine recall.
I only am by Love design’d
To be the Victim for Mankind.
Alexander’s Feast; Or, The Power of Musique.
An Ode in honour of St. Cecilia’s Day: 1697
I
‘TWAS at the Royal Feast, for Persia won,
By Philip’s Warlike Son:
Aloft in awful State
The God-like Heroe sate
On his Imperial Throne; 5
His valiant Peers were plac’d around;
Their Brows with Roses and with Myrtles bound.
(So should Desert in Arms be Crown’d:)
The lovely Thais by his side,
Sate like a blooming Eastern Bride 10
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 deserves the Fair. 15
CHORUS.
Happy, happy, happy Pair!
None but the Brave,
None but the Brave,
None but the Brave deserves the Fair.
II
Timotheus plac’d on high 20
Amid the tuneful Quire,
With flying Fingers touch’d the Lyre:
The trembling Notes ascend the Sky,
And Heav’nly Joys inspire.
The Song began from Jove; 25
Who left his blissful Seats above,
(Such is the Pow’r of mighty Love.)
A Dragon’s fiery Form bely’d the God:
Sublime on Radiant Spires He rode,
When He to fair Olympia press’d: 30
And while He sought her snowy Breast:
Then, round her slender Waist he curl’d,
And stamp’d an Image of himself, a Sov’-raign of the World.
The list’ning crowd admire the lofty Sound,
A present Deity, they shout around: 35
A present Deity, the vaulted Roofs rebound.
With ravish’d Ears
The Monarch hears,
Assumes the God,
Affects to nod, 40
And seems to shake the Spheres.
CHORUS.
With ravish’d Ears
The Monarch hears,
Assumes the God,
Affects to nod, 45
And seems to shake the Spheres.
III.
The Praise of Bacchus then the sweet Musician sung,
Of Bacchus ever Fair, and ever Young:
The jolly God in Triumph comes;
Sound the Trumpets; beat the Drums; 50
Flush’d with a purple Grace
He shows his honest Face:
Now give the Hautboys breath; He comes, He comes.
Bacchus ever Fair and Young
Drinking Joys did first ordain; 55
Bacchus Blessings are a Treasure;
Drinking is the Soldiers Pleasure;
Rich the Treasure;
Sweet the Pleasure;
Sweet is Pleasure after Pain. 60
CHORUS.
Bacchus Blessings are a Treasure,
Drinking is the Soldier’s Pleasure;
Rich the Treasure,
Sweet the Pleasure,
Sweet is Pleasure after Pain. 65
IV.
Sooth’d with the Sound the King grew vain;
Fought all his Battails 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; 70
And while He Heav’n and Earth defy’d,
Chang’d his Hand, and check’d his Pride.
He chose a Mournful Muse,
Soft Pity to infuse;
He sung Darius Great and Good, 75
By too severe a Fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high Estate,
And weltring in his Blood:
Deserted at his utmost Need 80
By those his former Bounty fed;
On the bare Earth expos’d He lies,
With not a Friend to close his Eyes.
With down-cast Looks the joyless Victor sate,
Revolving in his alter’d Soul 85
The various Turns of Chance below;
And, now and then, a Sigh he stole,
And Tears began to flow.
CHORUS.
Revolving in his alter’d Soul
The various Turns of Chance below; 90
And, now and then, a Sigh he stole,
And Tears began to flow.
V.
The Mighty Master smil’d to see
That Love was in the next Degree;
’Twas but a Kindred-Sound to move, 95
For Pity melts the Mind to Love.
Softly sweet, in Lydian Measures,
Soon he sooth’d his Soul to Pleasures.
War, he sung, is Toil and Trouble;
Honour but an empty Bubble. 100
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying,
If the World be worth thy Winning,
Think, O think, it worth Enjoying.
Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 105
Take the Good the Gods provide thee.
The Many rend the Skies, with loud applause;
So Love was Crown’d, but Musique won the Cause.
The Prince, unable to conceal his Pain,
Gaz’d on the Fair 110
Who caus’d his Care,
And sigh’d and look’d, sigh’d and look’d,
Sigh’d and look’d, and sigh’d again:
At length, with Love and Wine at once oppress’d,
The vanquish’d Victor sunk upon her Breast. 115
CHORUS.
The Prince, unable to conceal his Pain,
Gaz’d on the fair
Who caus’d his Care,
And sigh’d and look’d, sigh’d and look’d,
Sigh’d and look’d, and sigh’d again; 120
At length, with Love and Wine at once oppress’d,
The vanquish’d Victor sunk upon her Breast.
VI.
Now strike the Golden Lyre again;
A lowder yet, and yet a lowder Strain.
Break his Bands of Sleep asunder, 125
And rouze him, like a rattling Peal of Thunder.
Hark, hark, the horrid Sound
Has rais’d up his Head;
As awak’d from the Dead,
And amaz’d, he stares around. 130
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the Furies arise!
See the Snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their Hair,
And the Sparkles that flash from their Eyes! 135
Behold a ghastly Band,
Each a Torch in his Hand!
Those are Grecian Ghosts, that in Battail were slain,
And unbury’d remain
Inglorious on the Plain: 140
Give the Vengeance due
To the Valiant Crew.
Behold how they toss their Torches on high,
How they point to the Persian Abodes,
And glitt’ring Temples of their Hostile Gods. 145
The Princes applaud with a furious Joy;
And the King seized a Flambeau with Zeal to destroy;
Thais led the Way,
To light him to his Prey,
And, like another Hellen, fir’d another Troy. 150
&n
bsp; CHORUS.
And the King seiz’d a Flambeau with Zeal to destroy;
Thais led the Way,
To light him to his Prey,
And, like another Hellen, fir’d another Troy.
VII.
Thus long ago, 155
‘Ere heaving Bellows learn’d to blow,
While Organs yet were mute,
Timotheus, to his breathing Flute
And sounding Lyre,
Cou’d swell the Soul to rage, or kindle soft Desire. 160
At last Divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the Vocal Frame;
The sweet Enthusiast, from her Sacred Store,
Enlarg’d the former narrow Bounds,
And added Length to solemn Sounds, 165
With Nature’s Mother-Wit, and Arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the Prize,
Or both divide the Crown:
He rais’d a Mortal to the Skies;
She drew an Angel down. 170
GRAND CHORUS.
At last Divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the Vocal Frame;
The sweet Enthusiast, from her Sacred Store,
Enlarg’d the former narrow Bounds,
And added Length to solemn Sounds, 175
With Nature’s Mother-Wit, and Arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the Prize,
Or both divide the Crown:
He rais’d a Mortal to the Skies;
She drew an Angel down. 180
A Song (“Go tell Amynta, gentle Swain”)
1
GO tell Amynta, gentle Swain,
I wou’d not die, nor dare complain,
Thy tuneful Voice with numbers joyn,
Thy words will more prevail than mine.
To Souls oppress’d, and dumb with grief, 5
The Gods ordain this kind relief;
That Musick shou’d in sounds convey
What dying Lovers dare not say.
2
A Sigh or Tear perhaps she’ll give,
But love on pitty cannot live. 10
Tell her that Hearts for Hearts were made,
And love with love is only paid.
Tell her my pains so fast encrease,
That soon they will be past redress;
But ah! the Wretch, that speechless lyes, 15
Attends but Death to close his Eyes.
Rondelay
1
CHLOE found Amyntas lying,
All in Tears, upon the Plain,
Sighing to himself, and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain!
Kiss me, Dear, before my dying; 5
Kiss me once, and ease my pain.
2
Sighing to himself, and crying,
Wretched I, to love in vain!
Ever scorning, and denying
To reward your faithful Swain 10
Kiss me, Dear, before my dying;
Kiss me once, and ease my pain!
3
Ever scorning, and denying