Poems On several Occasions, and Translations Wherein The First and Second books of Virgil's Aeneis are attempted, In English. By Tho. Fletcher |
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On the Feast of Cecilia. 1686.
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 | Poems On several Occasions, and Translations |  |
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On the Feast of Cecilia. 1686.
An ODE.
1.
Io! With triumphant Noise,With Musick's loudest Voice,
This day a solemn Feast proclame.
A solemn Feast to Great Cecilia's Name.
No cloudy Thought, no sullen Tear,
No tumultuous Care or Fear
Approach the limits of this sacred Day,
Sacred to Musick and Cecilia;
But all be sweet, serene and gay;
Sweet as the Saint to whom these Rites we pay;
Sweet as the Notes she did below, or now above does play.
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2
Musick! thou only perfect Joy,Which neither present Fears allay,
Nor after pangs destroy!
The dear remembrance of the Pleasure past
Shall no Repentance cost,
Bring with it no Regret,
But be, like it's own Eccho sweet.
Musick! thou mighty Soul o'th' Universe!
Which dost, like (thine own God) the Sun,
Thro' all thine active pow'r disperse,
And all the stupid Mass with life and beauty crown:
Methinks I now behold sweet Orpheus sit
On Strymon's Bank, and tune his Lyre
To Sounds which life and vig'rous joys inspire:
Round him the list'ning Beasts their food forget,
Forget to play,
And without motion round the Charmer stay.
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(Musick which gives them ear)
Leap forth, and wanton round the place;
Trees skip, like Beasts; Beasts stand unmov'd, like Trees.
Pines, Elms, and Cedars in long rows advance,
An aged Oak leads up the Dance:
Two hundred years it stood the Wood's chief pride,
So long Jove's Bolts and strugling Winds defy'd;
Now from it's bed of Earth away it tears,
And round it's spreading roots a weighty Mountain bears.
3.
Hark! Hark! th' harmonious accents move,Thro' the brisk Air th' enliven'd Numbers rove;
About they dance, about they play,
And call the ravish'd Soul away:
The Soul th' harmonious Summons does obey;
The Soul, which is it self all Harmony.
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Out at the Ear it flies.
Hence 'tis, that oft with height of Extasie
We faint and die away.
The Soul, in hast to be at large,
And heedless of it's Charge,
Leaves almost uninform'd the stupid Clay.
Now o'er the trembling strings it bounds,
Now thro' the Air pursues the slitting Sounds;
Then lured back again,
By some more gentle strain,
Calm and languishing it lies,
Grasping the new-born Accents as they rise;
Greets all th' harmonious Brethren as they pass;
Does each soft Note embrace:
And fain would here acquainted grow
With that, that only Joy,
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Shall with it self share Immortality.
4.
To thee, Cecilia, Guardian Saint, to theeThis Tribute of our Time and Art we pay.
While thou in lofty Thoughts and sweetest Lays
Exalt'st thy Maker's praise;
We (tho' in humbler Verse, in coarser strain)
Presume to prattle thine.
Musick, dear Saint, is both thy Bliss and Care,
Above thou enjoy'st it, and protect'st it here.
So that 'tis hard to say,
Thou blessest Musick most; or Musick thee.
Chorus.
Then sooner let the rolling Year forget,Among it's num'rous Train,
To bring this happy Day again,
Than we it's yearly Rites to celebrate:
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Which to harmonious Sounds does move
His Golden Sphere,
When he beholds this glitt'ring Day
Return, and in the Dance of Time appear,
Strike the Chords full, and make an universal Symphony.
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